whole

Every time I go to the farmers market, I am seduced by all the delicious-looking fruits and vegetables. I buy a bunch of them and balance them in my arms on the way back to the office. (Today one of the sellers tried for a hilariously long time to fit my little watermelon into a plastic bag that was just too small. It should have been a comedy routine. In the end, I had to carry the watermelon under my arm like a football.)

I always forget how long it takes to cook or cut or eat all that food, and that when I come home exhausted in the evening and still hoping to get a bit of a run in, I will end up snarfing some cold cereal or popcorn and then have to spend the post-run evening cutting watermelon and cooking corn and carmelizing onions and stir-frying beans and eating my way through a box of raspberries before they go bad. All of this after having ruined my appetite with the non-produce option that got me through my run.

Whole foods are exhausting.