The 100m world record holder in the T38 class shouldn’t have Mum’s Sunday roast – but sometimes she does. And the curry. And the crumble
Recently, a group of us athletes have been getting together for “kitchen coaching”. They’re cookery lessons run by another Sophie, Sophie Killer, a performance nutritionist with British Athletics. She divides us into groups of two or three athletes, cooking together. There’s four ovens and she gives us recipes, ingredients and help to cook. When we’ve finished cooking we sit down and try each team’s food and Killer reminds us why they’re healthy to eat and encourages us to take the recipe sheets home and continuemaking them. I still haven’t yet, but I’m sure I will do some time when I’m less busy training.
For the last two months, I’ve been having all my meals delivered, snacks included – Killer worked out the meal plan. The delivery van sometimes comes late in the evening, when I’m asleep, so Dad or Mum will stay up to receive all the polystyrene trays. Mum used to make all my meals until this happened, so it saves her time. Now she’ll put my evening meal in the microwave when Dad gets home and their own meals come out of the Aga, and I’ll eat with them in the orangery, chatting but with elbows strictly off the table. I still like my mother’s cooking. Sometimes I’ll sit there thinking, “I’ve got to follow the formula, but I wish I was having Mum’s spaghetti bolognese”, or “If only I could have a mouthful of what they’re having”.
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