Tomorrow, I’ll be toeing the start line of my 6th marathon, the NYC Marathon. I’m bringing my mother’s ricecakes. Who knows if they’re as helpful as those fancy gels and goos, but I’ll tell ya what—I’ll look forward to every single nutrition stop in a way that’ll keep me surging ahead. I think that counts a lot more than whether there’s the perfect amount of this carb or that macro to get me through the race. . I read an interesting article today in the Times about how food has been revealed as an ineffective tool for diplomacy. Perhaps it’s true. There’s simply too much pain for even the most delicious plate of pasta, the most tender bowl of tofu. At mile 18 of the marathon, I usually down a handful of ibuprofen, even while knowing that they won’t really do much at that point. It’s a grind to the finish line, no matter what, because as they say, “it never gets easier, you just get faster.” Still, I like to think the sight of Omma’s tteok will do something—maybe not get rid of the pain...