It’s nearing the end of marathon season and my last big race is coming up this weekend, and I haven’t been able to get this special vision of how a feedist relationship in which one partner is an avid distance runner/endurance athlete might play out.
We runners have to eat a lot, and I often have trouble getting in enough calories to maintain my weight, balancing out my energy output with enough input. It’s not been my most grueling training plan, but I consistently run about 80 miles a week, and sometimes the intensity of my workouts can ironically make it a bit harder to work up an appetite. I couldn’t help but wondering what it’d be like to have a fat cutie by my side during this training period, what it might be like in the future....
I envisioned a plush partner who loves to eat and cook, loving baking, experimenting with different macro ratios to optimize for things like pre-workout fueling needs and post-workout recovery--snacking all throughout on these various baked goods, encouraging me when I have trouble eating because of the toll intense training can take on the stomach/digestive system (not to mention the exhaustion). Eating my leftovers is just a bonus, of course.
Coming back from a long run on the weekend to a shower shake on the counter and a kiss on the cheek as they’re making the fixing for chimichangas--unquestionably a true breakfast of champions (a shower shake is a post-run shake you can just bring with you and drink in the shower lmao--like a shower beer--needless to say, we runners are weird lol--I mean, we just enjoy running around for hours, no surprise there haha), all the while sipping a shake of their own, because why not? Gotta keep their belly nice and topped off. Don’t mind the bits of tofu scram, breakfast potatoes, and soyrizo they’ve been tasting throughout the morning--that’s just being a proper chef! Gotta taste before you waste. Or something like that.
Bringing back burgers, fries, and shakes from that new vegan diner down the street one evening after work, enough for my fill, and a daring amount for my tubby love. I help feed them as they start to slow down, offering them sips of their milkshake in between bites, simultaneously cooling them down and filing them up with an absolutely divine oat- and tahini-based chocolate shake. Rubbing their big, inviting belly, pushing along the sides and upper arch in strategic moves to alleviate errant pressure.
“Good job, baby, you ate so much for me,” I’d say.
After languidly basking in the haze of their hedonistic fullness, they likewise help me, noticing I’ve only eaten half my burger and a few sips of my shake. Knowing I ran 16 miles earlier that morning and that I have a sensitive stomach, one soft-but-sure arm comes around to gently hold me around my ribs, pulling me closer, leaning against their squishy side, their other hand coming to slowly brush gently across my stomach.
”Stomach giving you trouble? You need to finish that darling, let me help you,” they’d tell me.
After working through our respective meals, in a sneakily caring plan to get more food into me after an intense week of training, they bring out some Tupperware filled with the pastries and other goods they baked to munch on while catching up on a show that night, ending up eating 3 or 4 or 5 for every one they got in me, but it works for us, for both of our goals, seemingly divergent, but actually at least parallel, harmonious even. Serving one another in this interesting feedist dynamic, where the feedee and feeder live outside of a rigid feedism binary and moreso in a synergistic space of care and affection and heat, realistically adaptable to situational realities, but familiar in many ways beyond those unique personal qualities.
Gosh, I can imagine finishing a race and seeing their cherubic cheeks bunched up in a laughing cheer, holding a sign in one hand and a snack in the other, falling into the soft, plush, pillowy form of an absolute babe, feeling flush and wild and electric with that post-race energy, the crowd still cheering as fellow runners cross the finish line.
“I’m so proud of you, darling,” I imagine they’d tell me as I catch my breath, “you made it!”
Cheekily, I might look at them mischievously and say, “wanna go help reup my glycogen stores?”
And with a brilliant grin they’d reply, absentmindedly rubbing their ever-burgeoning belly in anticipation “of course baby, I’ve been planning this feast for AGES. First we’re going to go to...”
I’d lovingly gaze at them as they guide me in my post-race daze back to the car, excited to eat hard after a long 26.2 miles on the road--and ensure my partner more than matches me and then some while we’re at it....
Yeah, I can definitely envision that.😌
