The scale, laying brazenly against a mute wainscot wall in my dining room, does not lie. I am fat. No skinny mirror or perfectly angled camera lens can deny it any more. My pants are tight. A double chin has crept onto my face. I break a sweat within 3 minutes of sun salutations. At twenty-four, I should be wearing bikinis on beach vacations and enjoying romps with cute bartenders. But I’m not. I’m consumed with getting fit. Unfortunately, getting drunk on health has only upped the pounds. Dark chocolate is full of antioxidants, so I should eat 2 servings every day. Spicy food may increase your metabolism, let’s gorge on Mexican food at lunch. I’m getting my daily serving of vegetables in this massive salad, so what will a generous pour of blue cheese dressing hurt? Well, apparently, a lot. And don’t even get me started on wine. I’m pretty sure a California vineyard family can forget state school, their kid is going to a private university thanks to me. I’m not writing this out of pity or to wallow in my problems. Instead, I’m hoping that by holding myself accountable to writing this blog, sharing recipes, displaying pictures of what I eat each day (including calorie, fat, and carb counts), and explaining my exercise routine (let me be honest from the get go: I like to exercise, but I am very, very lazy about getting my workouts in); I will find the courage, ambitions and support to get my life onto a health path. So, deep breath now, let the food love begin.