If there’s one thing my social media algorithm is feeding my confirmation bias, it’s that everyone is a nutritionist. Me included. There are foods that are easy to eat, require little to no preparation and provide the same in nutritional value. This is what I was used to shopping for. They’re easy to find and usually on offer. For example, my locker at work used be have packs of 10 of two things: Penguins and Wagon Wheels. However, I am, more recently, at a loss. Adjusting my diet to contain less of this and more of that, shopping has become an escalation that historically has been something that was merely stressful due to my inability to find the right aisle that contained eggs. Now, despite my great effort to shop organic, and find “free roaming” tomatoes, there is a looming dread every time I look for nutrition. Not the shopping itself; it’s what comes next.
Salad is my fridge’s nemesis. Massive bags of air with a few leaves floating around inside. The fridge shelves are the wrong shape for this stuff, and they don’t squish like they should.
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Don’t get me started on Superfoods.
I’m entering a Waitrose (because that is where I shop and you can judge me for it; I bring a Lidl shopper, just to confuse the other patrons), about to tackle to vegetable aisle and the superfoods stand there, sizing me up. It has better branding, a higher moral ground, and a cape made of kale.
I have a number of issues with this. They creep up in many sections. It’s not just spinach. It’s nuts. Also, it’s nuts. Superfoods in supermarkets. Why couldn’t we just get regular foods in regular markets, like in the old days I’ve heard about? If you want an affirmation to swallow, just grab a handful of blueberries. Do they have a mild-mannered identity that they had been hiding behind until the 2010s?
Well, it’s time to lose weight. And I cannot bring myself to go to the gym because they represent everything wrong with city life: gyms. I have visited Los Angeles on a few occasions, and there are long stretches of outside space along beaches and waterways that are being enjoyed by athletes on the second-storey, mindfully taking in the view through floor-to-ceiling windows on row after row of running machines. You could be doing this outside, folks.
The one good thing about salad is if you eat salad, you don’t have to go to the gym, do you? Because eating salad is exhausting.
I have this pile of leaves in front of me, and now we enter a forty-five minute interval workout. Why did I choose a fork? In fact, what cutlery is even appropriate for this cuisine? A salad is the only food that actively attempts to avoid being consumed; it’s a high-intensity bicep workout involving a piece of watercress. Maybe this is why they call some of these ingredients “super” foods. Regular foods, being too easy to consume, make us feel like we’ve nailed mealtimes. Salad is there to teach us to put us back in our place. These leaves look harmless when you step all over them during a hike, but place them in front of me as a starter, and my main course is delayed indefinitely.
I thought I’d ordered a salad, but I’d actually ordered RSI.
I’ve been trying to eat this green mess for 45 minutes, mouthful after mouthful, working out my jaw with zero warm up and no guidance provided in the à la carte menu. I look down at the bowl, and it’s all still there.
45 minutes of this chewing endurance and you’re in better shape than you ever have been. They say you are what you eat, but I’d adjust that slightly to, “you are what you attempt to eat.” My jawline is incredible, and I now have an Unstrangleable Neck. There are nutrients in the foods I’m raising towards my mouth, and the bicep curl involved in a clump of spinach is adding definition to my limbs. I cannot overeat because the salad is already calorie deficient, and, on top of that, it’s impossible to finish anyway. The food waste bin was specifically designed because nobody ever finishes a salad.
Maybe the problem is “super” foods are for “super” people, and they’ve been banished to pocket universes. And maybe that’s where all the food waste goes.
The salad is an infinite gauntlet placed in front of those who desire a healthy lifestyle. And these people, who are dragged in front of us by the thumb activated interface of Instagram or TikTok reels, are forcing the rest of humanity to consider their flawed selves, while the truth dawns: they’ve been outmanoeuvred by a vegetable with a superior prefix.
What am I to do? I’m in better shape, but I’m in calorie deficit because I haven’t managed to finish a full meal in 10 days while ensuring my heart rate is in zone 4. It’s just too much. Or not enough. Do I go back to Penguins? Even with the ‘chocolate flavoured coating’ now matching the quality of the jokes.
I suppose you have two options.
The Gym option
You are required to immediately tell everyone in your WhatsApp history that you have joined a gym and post a “before” picture. You have to adjust your musical taste to enjoy the soundtrack of incessant beats that accompany you as you tour the apparatus. Lose focus on one sport. This is not going to help you. You must now gain deep and rich insight into every single sport that could be televised at any moment during your time in the gymnasium.
You must then film a series of reaction videos to various creotine shake brands while you select the wrong kettle bell continually. Your next task is to, over a period of 10 days, take post-workout selfies in awkward places that inadvertently show that you haven’t wiped down the equipment carefully.
If you must, you may use YouTube to learn how to properly use the rowing machine. You are allowed three total occasions where you sit on the rowing machine, but get distracted by unboxing videos.
After an approximate six-month period, you can either post a #gains Facebook story or be forcably removed by the cleaning staff.
The Salad option
Live a life intimidated by cherry tomatoes and pine nuts.
