Off to market

Farmer Joe. That's what I've named the kind man in the overalls at the farmers market. He's tall and a bit round. A beard of sandy blond hair covers his face.

He is also warm and very enthusiastic. Enthusiastic about the food he's grown, how to prepare it and how it tastes.

My loot from "Farmer Joe."

Take the purple-skinned Caribe potatoes. I was looking at them, as well as the "new" potatoes, Yukon golds and heirloom varieties, and he began to tell me why they looked a little less pretty (too much rain this spring). He told me that they would make the best mashed potatoes. Ever.

I'd love to buy them, I told him, but I wasn't planning on mashed taters for the upcoming week. I wanted something for the grill. He then directed me to the heirlooms, boasting that they are native to the area and have been around since at least the 1890s. Some of the potatoes, which he dug up himself, were tinier than a toy ball you get out of a vending machine. I think they'll make an excellent hash for some eggs tomorrow morning.

I moved around the table and he showed me some squash. "This one really surprised me," he said, pointing to the two-tone vegetable. I asked about baby squashes, I'll call them, a variety I had seen on Food Network. He told me that one was a bit nutty, another more like zucchini. Yes, to those please.

He packed up my purchases and I made my way to find some tomatoes. But as I wandered the market, I wanted to go back. Farmer Joe was just so adorable and his passion was refreshing. I was in love.

To think, though, that a year ago I might not have ever met Farmer Joe. I wouldn't have cared about eating better; I wouldn't have considered how to be better to me. It's amazing the things, and people, you'll discover when you're willing to make that stride toward health.

Up to tempo

Pre-workout fuel: Slice of whole-wheat toast with Polaner High-Fiber Orange Marmalade and cinnamon roast coffee
Workout: Ran 5.18 miles in 46 minutes, 15 seconds; average pace, 8:55.

I felt like an idiot. There I was, on the sidewalk alongside a semi-busy road, with my hand down the back of my pants. Fumbling with the dang zipper of my Adidas shorts. All I wanted to do was put my ear buds in my hidden pocket so they wouldn't bounce silently on my chest. That's all. Instead, I'm sure passing motorists thought I was having gluteus maximus issues ... or worse, gastrointestinal ones.

Nope. Just trying to put away the ear buds because my iPod crapped out on me. I bring the dern thing for the first time in a month (or more), and it can't even make it 4 miles, much less 5.

"Why did I bring it in the first place?" I thought to myself, in probably cruder language. Oh, yeah. I brought it because I thought I'd try my hand at a tempo run with two weeks to go before the Rock and Roll Chicago half-marathon. Yeah, that's how I stride.

Anyway ... I decided it might be fun to (arbitrarily) follow a Runner's World plan designed to help someone train for a sub-2:00 half. The Week 1 workout called for a mile warm-up, 3 miles at 8:54 pace and a mile cool down.

Splits: 9:59, 8:50*, 8:44*, 8:21*, 8:50**

*I obviously can't follow directions. **Subsequently, I'm fairly certain that I have no idea what a cool down is.

I took Denali with me for the run but I opted to loop home and drop him off after 3 miles because he was starting to look fatigued. Sad showing for a husky, really. I'm sure he'd blame the heat, humidity and brutal sun. Or maybe he knew I'd give him a frozen bone to chew on while I was gone. He's pretty manipulative that way.

Can you see the deception in his eyes?

This weekend is my last long run of this half training cycle. It might be 12 miles. It might be more. We'll see how I feel and how early I wake up.

Have a great Friday!