When my mother called to tell me that there was a possibility my family might be going to the beach this summer, I panicked. Up until a few weeks before spring break, we had no vacation plans, which in my mind meant no need to get bikini-body ready. With talk of Florida swirling in my head, I slowly became fearful for my life (and by life, I mean my twin sister looking cuter than me in a two-piece).

After rushing her off the phone, I looked down to examine my stomach and the nice pouch of insulation I had carefully constructed over the winter term. Frantically, I grabbed my running shoes, sped to the ARC and swore to myself I would lay off the chocolate chip pancakes from IHOP until the end of the semester. I vowed I would to stay true to this regimen of working out and eating fewer sweets — but then I pressed power on one of the televisions on the ellipticals, and knew without doubt that I was doomed to break my promise. Boy, was I doomed.

The television was already set on the Food Network, and right before my eyes was Paula Dean and her Gooey Toffee Butter Cake. The faster I pedaled, the more my mouth watered, until literally all I could think about was how badly I wanted to get off my machine and into my mom’s kitchen. Considering that my mom was two and half hours away, I settled on devouring a piece of chocolate cake in the dining hall.

The following day I mustered all the self-control I could, and decidedly side-stepped the elliptical in favor of a machine upstairs without a television to tempt me. I told myself I was strong, that I was not going to let Paula beat me today. That I was going to look like Minka Kelly if it killed me (side note: learn to set realistic goals).

Once settled on a stair-master, I glanced up at the televisions on the opposite wall and scanned the room. There she was, at it again, and this time on a giant flat-screen serving up chocolate cupcakes with coffee cream filling. Paralyzed by fear and a desire to hop a bus to Cakes on Walnut, I shifted my gaze slightly to the left and noticed I wasn’t the only one salivating at the screen. Everyone around me within sight of the television had their eyes glued to Paula’s spatula — and all I could think about was how counterproductive the whole situation was (and also how badly I wanted a cupcake).

Considering people theoretically go the ARC to stay in shape, or at any rate, help their bodies become healthier, I was struck by how in attempting to do so, we are still surrounded by ways in which to undo everything we are working for. I don’t know if it’s just me, but I can’t help but ask: is the ARC trying to break my brain? Is staying in shape impossible in a day and age in which Paula Dean seems to be around every corner wiggling a slice of French toast in my face?

Some days, especially days when my mother calls to tell me she’s set the date for our 21-hour drive to St. Pete, I really think so. Yet other days — most days — I am able to accept that I am being crazy, and that the hard truth of the matter is that I tend to gravitate to things filled with calories. I just can’t help it.

I’ve also realized that I can’t blame the ARC for having cable and airing a channel that is popular (because hey, remember this is America, and we do like food). So with that in mind, if you take away anything from this rambling mess of a column, take away this: if we’re going to play the blame game, we can’t point our middle fingers at the Food Network when the bikini doesn’t fit.

Personally, I’ve decided to point mine at Minka.

_Emily is a sophomore in LAS._