At Will’s age, I’d spent so much of my life in forced denial. I could not remember how it was, as it must have been at some point, to eat a meal without a constant running tally of calories and fat grams thrumming in my head. I have to this day no memories prior to my early twenties, of eating anything, ever, and truly enjoying it. Eating was a
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Then I read something like this, and I remember why I get hives at the idea of counting calories. I'm just not built for self-deprivation like that. I don't understand it.
(The long-winded way of saying, "Yay, FA!" I suppose.)
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Also, I can't find the link right now, but I remember a post from a scientist about how our understanding of what is a calorie and how many calories we actually get from food is based on archaic science and probably wildly inaccurate, so there's that problem as well.
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