I wanted to tell my body to switch to backup power and burn those fat cells instead of demanding more food. I could pop a multivitamin a day to ward off scurvy. I’d hibernate in the woods with the bears all winter, wrapped in a coat of fat that would melt off my bones by the springtime. Instead, my only realistic option was to consume fewer calories than I burned. I hoped I wouldn’t find myself holding up the local Krispy Kreme in a sugar-crash psychosis, wielding a grapefruit spoon like a shiv. I needed to eat healthy, but what did that mean? Would I have to consume only locally grown organic foods? Become a vegan? Give up carbohydrates? What exactly was a carbohydrate besides the latest health buzz word? And how was I going to learn all this without adding “registered dietician” to my resume? Figuring out what was healthy seemed as subjective as determining who was the prettiest girl in a beauty pageant, but I had to start somewhere, even if there were flaws in the concepts I’d learned.
