After running an 18k with Heather a few months ago, I discovered that the perfect running companion (well, in addition to Heather) was a plastic baggy full of Haribo. The tiny gummies provided the burst of sugar that I needed to conquer every kilometer, and I don’t think I would have made it past 10k without each little bear that I decapitated with my teeth.
This runner’s treat has since become an obsession. From smuggling back German varieties to wagging a finger at Franprix for not having my favorite (the sour Smurfs), it’s become unhealthy. Once I open a bag of Haribo, I know it won’t last long. Bears, Smurfs, crocodiles – no character is free from the wrath of my sweet tooth. Going for a run is just an excuse to eat an entire bag of sweets afterwards.