I remember the taste of my first diet: milk chocolate and metal. It would be about a year after my body catapulted into puberty and I became increasingly mortified by the way it was changing. I made the decision in the locker room at the local ice rink as I gently ran my fingers along the elastic waistband of my shiny putty tights. The older girls had always joked that one of the trainers, a five-foot-tall blonde named Barbie, whose voice had the characteristic rasp of a lifelong smoker, would…
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