Marathon training, at long last, is tapering to an end, and despite my quest to find the ideal running food, the mere idea of packaged bars and goos and gummy things has seriously begun to turn my stomach. The one power product that I still looked forward to after a long run was Gatorade, but then one morning not so long ago, I watched someone drinking a bottle of it and thought, “No one should be drinking anything that is that shade of anti-freeze blue.” Suddenly, the fictitious flavors like “Rain Berry” and “Glacier Freeze” in the refrigerator case of my corner bodega seemed ominous rather than refreshing.

And then we went to The Grocery in Carroll Gardens. The Grocery is one of those restaurants that we don’t usually talk about on this blog, not because it is not delicious, but because it’s the kind of upscale grub that is already championed by publications like the New York Times, publications that have actual restaurant critics with actual expense accounts.

Anyway, we were treating ourselves to dinner in their lovely garden, and one of the co-owners, Charles Kiely, brought us a little scoop of hibiscus sorbet to finish our meal. When we raved about the yummy, tangy flavor, he told us that he developed it when he began to have qualms about what was really in Gatorade. “So I made hibiscus tea and put a bunch of salts and sugars in it,” he said. “We drink it all summer.”

That seemed like too good of an idea not to try it myself. Chef Kiely had kindly revealed that he gets the dried hibiscus flowers at Sahadi’s, a Brooklyn store that Jason has long adored. You can get a sizable container for less than two dollars! (If you can’t find bulk hibiscus in your local grocery, just look for herbal tea bags that contain hibiscus.) I threw a handful of hibiscus petals into a pitcher of hot water and started to experiment. Sugars like honey and raw cane sugar added some carbohydrates to the brew, and sea salt contributed electrolytes. They did, however, mask some of the nice sour flavor of the hibiscus, so I threw in a little lime juice, as well, to add tartness back into the mix. Then I chilled it overnight in anticipation of my last long run before the marathon.

I won’t pretend that the flavor was as good as a real chef could produce. But, poured into a tall glass of ice, its lovely fuchsia color gleaming, it was finally a power beverage that looked appetizing, especially when I was sweaty and tired. And whether it was the recipe or the power of my imagination, I found it every bit as refreshing as the mass-produced stuff. Toss the Glacier Freeze and give it a try.