The Gimlet Eye

That Four-Mile Guinness

‘THOSE three Guinnesses?” said Mr. Boyle, peering at me conspiratorially. “You never drank them. They never passed your lips.” We were seated in the Mad Hatter, a saloon on Manhattan’s Upper East Side, after running the Four Leaf Clover four-mile race in Central Park. “Your metabolism speeds up, and you burn ’em right off.”