The big concern I hear from people about a plant-based diet is difficulty. It takes too long. It requires too much focus. For those folks I make this dish, which鈥攊f you cook the rice beforehand鈥攜ou can have on the table in less than 20 minutes. The brown rice gives the dish a nutty texture and provides essential amino acids. Tempeh contains three grams of protein for every gram of fat, which makes it one of the leanest, most protein-heavy of the soy products (which was invaluable when I was cranking up my training, looking for more protein). Better, it鈥檚 fermented and easily digestible, even for people who have trouble with most soy products.

4 cups uncooked brown rice
2 3鈦�4 cups water
1 teaspoon coconut or olive oil
8鈥�12 ounces tempeh, sliced 1鈦�8- to 1鈦�4-inch thick
Juice of 1 lime or lemon
1 tablespoon tamari or shoyu mixed with 1 tablespoon water
Red Curry Almond Sauce

Add the brown rice and water to a pot and bring to a boil. Simmer over low heat for 30 to 40 minutes, until the water evaporates and the rice is tender. Fluff with a fork and cool.

Coat a large skillet with the oil and heat over medium-low heat until a drop of water sizzles when it hits the pan. Saute the tempeh for three to five minutes on each side, until lightly browned. Remove from the heat. Squeeze the lime or lemon over the tempeh and sprinkle with the tamari or shoyu.

For each serving, place a cup of brown rice on a plate or in a bowl. Crumble several pieces of tempeh on top and drizzle with one to two tablespoons Red Curry Almond Sauce. Enjoy with a side of Indonesian Cabbage Salad.

Makes 4 servings.

鈥淥f Bears and Gazelles鈥� from Eat and Run by Scott Jurek with Steve Friedman. Copyright 漏 2012 by Scott Jurek. Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

The post Scott Jurek’s Tamari-Lime Tempeh and Brown Rice appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

I knew my fourth try was going to be brutal. It was 105 degrees, I had a touch of the flu, and I was sure people were talking about me the way I had talked about Twietmeyer. The world was filled with guys like Ricklefs. I had been a guy like that. Maybe the past year someone had been holed up in a basement apartment on the outskirts of Seattle, emerging at night only to run Mount Si, back to back to back to back. Maybe that guy was faster than me, stronger. Maybe he was a better athlete.

If I thought biology was destiny, I would have given up a long time ago. I鈥檝e got scoliosis, my left foot toes out, I had high blood pressure in elementary school, and my marathon time of 2:38 is nothing special. My height is a mixed blessing鈥攇ood for stride length, bad for heat and technical trails鈥攚hich makes my brain that much more important.

In a sprint, if you don鈥檛 have perfect form, you鈥檙e doomed. The ultra distance forgives injury, fatigue, bad form, and illness. A bear with determination will defeat a dreamy gazelle every time. I can鈥檛 count the number of times people have said, 鈥淚 can鈥檛 believe he beat me.鈥� Distance strips you bare.

So what if other bodies might be stronger? I would use my mind. Bushido.

鈥淚 want to make everyone work hard,鈥� I told a reporter before the race. 鈥淚 want to make them hurt.鈥�

I loved ultrarunning and I loved ultrarunners, but even a super-polite vegan could be a dick during competition, sometimes even to a friend.

Dave Terry, the world-class projectile vomiter, was running on my shoulder by mile 15 of the Western States. Three years had passed since I鈥檇 first rolled to the finish line, and Dave and I had become pals. I had grown to admire his work ethic and the way he went out of the way to show kindness to everyone he met. Dave was a solid runner, often in the top three, but seldom a winner. He never let his frustration boil into anything like rudeness. What was most striking was the way he seemed to understand someone鈥檚 sadness before it was even mentioned. Dave always had a few wise words of encouragement to share鈥攅specially, it seemed, to those who needed them most.

鈥淗ey, Scott,鈥� Dave said as he pulled alongside. Such a sweet guy. I smiled.

鈥淗ey, Dave!鈥� I said in the same tone of voice I might have used if we had been sharing a beer at his kitchen table or discussing plans for a Saturday night movie.

And then, before he could answer, I said, 鈥淲hat are you doing up here? You must really want to hurt today.鈥�

Then I took off.

No one called me flatlander anymore. No one opined (at least in my presence) that I was going out too fast or that Twietmeyer鈥攐r anyone else鈥攚as going to reel me in. When I wasn鈥檛 leading, I reeled others in.

It wasn鈥檛 just competitors who were treating me differently. People came into the store just to ask me questions鈥攁bout what I ate, how I trained, and what shoes I liked. I had sponsorship deals from various footwear, clothing, and energy bar manufacturers, but that only covered travel expenses (not necessarily lodging or food).

It was all because I could run far, fast. And I could do that, I was convinced, because of what I was eating. I stopped the raw diet right after my 2001 Western States victory鈥攖he extra time involved in chewing was too much. I鈥檓 serious. That, combined with my concern about getting enough calories, drew me back to cooking. But I kept a lot of what I had learned: the smoothies, a large salad for lunch, paying attention to ingredients and preparation. Eating raw was like getting a Ph.D. in a plant-based diet鈥攈ard work, but worth it.

At the same time, due to losing a food sponsor, I started making my own gels. I mixed brown rice syrup with blueberries or cocoa powder and made it in bulk. I also experimented with kalamata olives and hummus on whole wheat tortillas for long runs.

My blood pressure and triglyceride levels dropped to all-time lows; my HDL, 鈥済ood鈥� cholesterol, shot up to an all-time high. I had virtually no joint inflammation, even after miles of pounding trails and roads, and on the rare occasions I sprained an ankle or fell and whacked my elbow or knee, the soreness left faster than it ever had before.

Was it the fiber that sped food through my digestive tract, minimizing the impact of toxins? Was it the food I was adding鈥攖he vitamins and minerals, the lycopene, lutein, and beta carotene? Almost every day a new micronutrient is discovered in plant foods that offers protective effects against disease. Or was it what I wasn鈥檛 eating, the concentrated carcinogens, excess protein, refined carbohydrates, trans fats? Factory-farmed animals are treated with growth hormones and steroids to encourage their rapid transit from birth to slaughterhouse. If we wouldn鈥檛 take steroids ourselves鈥攐r eat a bowl of transgenic, pesticide-soaked soybeans鈥攚hy would we eat the flesh of an animal that has?

Or was the sum of a plant-based diet greater than its parts? Vegetarians are likely to have healthy habits outside the kitchen as well as more active lifestyles and less smoking. A major study shows that vegetarians watch less television, smoke less, and sleep more per night than meat-eaters.

I wasn鈥檛 sure of the answer, but my diet seemed to be working. So when I came across naysayers鈥攁nd there were plenty鈥擨 weighed my experience against their theories. When I read Eat Right 4 Your Type, by Peter D鈥橝damo, right before my first Western States and learned that my blood type, O, was the least suited of all types to vegetarianism, I worried a little, but not too much. According to D鈥橝damo, my ancestral profile made me a 鈥渃anny, aggressive predator鈥� who preferred baby seal meat to bean burritos. But those burritos had fueled me through that first Western States as well as two others. (I wasn鈥檛 the only one who didn鈥檛 go along with matching diet to blood type. Dr. Fredrick Stare, founder of the Nutrition Department at the Harvard School of Public Health, calls this book 鈥渘ot only one of the most preposterous books on the market, but also one of the most frightening. It contains just enough scientific-sounding nonsense, carefully woven into a complex theory, to actually seem convincing to the uninitiated.鈥�)

I maintained my smoothie habit. I made more friends at farmer鈥檚 markets. I soaked beans, baked bread, rolled oats. I entered other races, searched for new training routes. Even though I knew the Western States would be more challenging than ever, I was confident.

Before the race, Dusty had bet an old friend of his in Minnesota, Rod Raymond, one of the standout endurance athletes of Duluth, that I would win a fourth consecutive Western States. Rod took the bet. If Dusty lost, he would have to landscape the Raymonds鈥� front yard, a job worth $2,000. But if Dusty (and I) won, Rod had to give Dusty his 1984 Suzuki Tempter motorcycle.

The race was tough but not close. The last 20 miles, Dusty ran beside me, repeating over and over: 鈥淰room, vroom, c鈥檓on, Jurker, gotta get my motorcycle.鈥�

Later, Dusty called Rod and got his voicemail. He yelled into his cell phone. 鈥淵ou owe me a motorcycle, bitch!鈥�

I won a fifth Western States in 2003 in 16:01, another 20 minutes faster, and UltraRunning magazine called it 鈥淧erformance of the Year.鈥� During that race, Dusty, behind me, screamed something as we were descending a dried creek drainage, headed to the American River, but I didn鈥檛 pay attention. It was 72 miles in and I was gliding, effortlessly. 鈥淒ude,鈥� he said, 鈥渄o you realize you just stepped on a rattlesnake back there?鈥�

That was the race when Tonto died. He had been spending the week with Dusty and me, running every day. During the race, Tonto stayed at my friend Shannon Weil鈥檚 ranch, which was on the course. I saw Tonto at mile 55 when I passed the ranch. The next morning, after I had won, Shannon called to tell me Tonto was gone. After the awards ceremony, Dusty, Scott McCoubrey, and another friend and runner named Brandon Sybrowsky helped me bury Tonto just outside of Michigan Bluff, right next to the Western States Trail.

I won again the next year, in 2004, and set a new record of 15:36 (9:22 per mile pace), earning another 鈥淯ltrarunner of the Year鈥� honor and, more importantly, accomplishing what I had set out to do six years earlier. Brooks Sports hired me that year to work with their design team on a new trail shoe called the Cascadia and to do presentations and store appearances. In 2005 I won a seventh consecutive Western States, something no man had done before (or since). I also trimmed off 14 inches of my hair to donate to Locks of Love, for children with cancer. It was no big ceremony, but it felt better than any other haircut I had ever received.

I treasured those races, but just as much I treasured the weeks before the competition. The local press sought out Dusty, and he always had a quote ready. In 2003, the Auburn Journal accidentally ran Dusty on the front page with the caption, 鈥淪cott Jurek five-time winner of WS100.鈥� We laughed about it and even had him go up at first to accept my award. The WS board wasn鈥檛 happy. But we loved it.

At night, at the campsite Dusty and I had set up in the Sierra Nevada mountains, the temperature would drop into the 30s, and before turning in we鈥檇 look at the sky. Neither of us talked about the way Dusty had inspired me to run or the success that accrued to me because of that running. We didn鈥檛 talk about how being with each other was in many ways an escape for both of us. For Dusty, those weeks took him away from his peripatetic life, his wanderings in Minnesota and Colorado, chasing snowflakes and trying to eke out a living through odd carpentry jobs. For me, it was a refuge from a life of responsibilities I had never anticipated.

Not even 10 years earlier, I had been trudging snowmobile trails, dreaming big and spending big. I had planned on running hard, counted on winning. What I hadn鈥檛 anticipated were sponsorships with Brooks, Pro-Tec, and Clif Bar, delivering presentations, and attending trade shows in between races. But, as I had discovered, those were flags on the path of ultrarunning, markers on the path Hippie Dan had urged me to find. Or were they warning signs? I didn鈥檛 know.

I wanted more. I wanted to push myself, to crack myself open and discover something fresh. I wanted a new challenge.

鈥淥f Bears and Gazelles鈥� from Eat and Run by Scott Jurek with Steve Friedman. Copyright 漏 2012 by Scott Jurek. Used by permission of Houghton Mifflin Harcourt Publishing Company. All rights reserved.

The post Of Bears and Gazelles: Scott Jurek on How Determination Wins Every Time appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.