The Biggest Loser
Dolvett Quince from “The Biggest Loser.”

I know I talk about vomit a lot, so I apologize for what’s about to come out (pun intended). I threw up nine times last Sunday night through early Monday morning, while burning up and yet shivering under piles of blankets. I know any one of the Biggest Loser trainers would have been proud of the ab workout I got from all the purging (I especially hope for the approval of Dolvett Quince, oh mama). But at the time, I felt like a different ‘biggest loser.’ I lied down on the couch with a blanket while the boob tube played for comfort, and my roommate Laura so graciously supplied me with juice and saltines to keep me functioning. I pathetically resembled a forgotten burrito that was rotting away all day.

Like most people, I really dislike being sick. I’d rather not let my body feel so weak that pressing the button on the remote is the most energy my body can expend (and maybe also yell out the answers during Wheel of Fortune).

sick as a burrito copy

Not only does one become a pale and ragged doll, but one of the greatest joys in life is taken away from you: eating to the best of your abilities (limited by finance, cooking ability, and geography of course). Yes, the desire to consume anything isn’t there for the first few days, but afterward, your appetite comes back like a beast in the wild. You will tear to pieces anything that is edible and preferably fleshy. But the problem with this is that after consuming the blandest of soups, saltines, and plain toast for days, you can’t jump from zero to sixty. You have to let your soups gradually get chunkier and spicier, and then move onto solids, fresh fruits and vegetables, and oils. By Wednesday, my mouth was crying. It questioned its purpose as the asset of this chubby, young, Chinese-American food-loving woman: “No more congee! No more chicken noodle soup! No more whole wheat bagels! Where the #$*! is any taste but salty?! UMAMIIIIIIIII”


It was torture. You can’t tell Anna Pavlova to settle for the hokey pokey. You can’t tell The Simpsons’ Comic Book Guy to choose one series to read. And you can’t tell a trapeze artist to just play on the monkey bars. Their passions are stripped from them. It simply cannot be!

The other reason I’d rather be healthy is the simple fact that it can waste your time. I had to cancel a ‘Life of Pi’ movie outing and a Laotian lunch with a new friend. What a better person I might have been if those experiences actually happened. Ang Lee could have encouraged me to reconcile my bad relations with animals by going on a sailing trip with a tiger. Or I could have already had people over for a Laotian meal I was inspired to make.

Even better: A Laotian meal with a tiger.
Or even better: A Laotian meal on a boat with a tiger.

But instead, I lost muscle mass and let Dr. Oz dictate my life.

I can’t remember the last time I was sick. I definitely haven’t had the stomach flu in ages, and I don’t even know for sure if that was my diagnosis. I was so afraid it might have been food poisoning from my own cooking, as Laura and I had just hosted dinner for our friends. How disastrous it would have been if I threatened the lives of four other innocent women–my reputation as an aspiring chef would be crushed. “Oh Amy Hu? Yeah that chick is cray. She destroys humanity with her COOKING.”

Thank you God, for letting me be the only one to puke my guts out.

My blackboard updated, thanks to my hilarious coworker Glenn.
My cubicle blackboard updated, thanks to my hilarious coworker Glenn.

This is Amy Hu signing off for January 26th, 2013.

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