Most of the bananas available in the U.S. come from Ecuador and Mexico, because they need warm climates, rich soil, and lots of room (they grow best in large groups of other banana plants - they love community, too!). I was adequately convinced by the writers of the locavore movement to consider the amount of fossil fuel it takes to get tropical fruit into our supermarkets, and so for years have avoided buying it. Instead I enjoy the varieties of fruit that grow here (which is frankly not that difficult; have I mentioned that I'm a Californian?), and the only thing I really miss: bananas. Eating them is practically woven into my DNA as a lifelong runner. I eat them by the armfuls at races (because hey, the race organizers already bought them, shame to let them go to waste), and I haven't had a decent smoothie in years. But in a recent moment of weakness at the market, I gave in.
|Only in my weird little universe|
are bananas a "guilty pleasure."
Yesterday I made myself a glorious breakfast smoothie, and am looking forward to enjoying one after today's run. Four more of those beauties are staring at me from the kitchen counter, and as I felt a pang of guilt over them this morning, it occurred to me how completely ridiculous I can be sometimes. I think personal integrity is an important quality - I try to do what I say I will do, walk my own talk, and I generally expect other people to do the same. But sometimes, you know, it's okay to break your own rules. Sometimes you just want to eat a banana.