Lindsey Nair

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The first question that comes to mind is: Why would any sensible person start a weight-loss challenge that ends just before Thanksgiving, when they are liable to put it all back on?

Close on its heels, the second question: How can someone who writes about food for a living ever expect to diet successfully?

Well, I had no control over the timing of the eight-week "Y Not Be a Loser" challenge at the Kirk Family YMCA, but I knew it was time I did something about the tight waistbands and straining buttons.

As for the second question, well, I'm not sure. But I'm hoping to figure that out along the way.

My genes are my genes

I have never been a Nicole Richie or a Sarah Jessica Parker; never will be.

Born to a tall mother and a father nicknamed "Brawny Man" by a pal, my sister and I are both women of stature. (At 5-foot-9, she wore flats on her wedding day to avoid dwarfing her fiance).

As a woman just emerging from the shell of a little girl, I sat on a stool in Grandma's kitchen one day and lamented my not-so-model perfect figure.

"You're not fat," Grandma said firmly. "But you have the kind of build where you could be if you aren't careful."

Grandma wasn't trying to be mean; she was telling me straight up that I didn't have a Tasmanian devil metabolism or the frame of a bird. Dad said I shouldn't wish for such things because no man wants to love on a woman who is all knees and elbows.

But these careful, loving remarks from family were no match for the media messages that swarmed my brain every time I turned on the television or cracked a Seventeen magazine.

So it wasn't until my mid-20s that I finally learned to quiet my inner ninny, the one who whispered that any double-digit clothing size was "above average" and that ridiculous fashions-of-the-moment were supposed to look great on any body.

Recently, however, the ninny returned. She said if I wanted to be thin, I should find a new job, because nobody can stay thin testing new bakeries and judging rib cook-offs. Food writers make a deal with the devil, ninny said: awesome gig in exchange for flabby pig.

Fortunately, the more reasonable voice in my head lashed back. Nobody should have to sacrifice her health for her career.

Confession time

At least once a week, a heavy, square package arrives at my desk.

These food and cooking books range in topic from "The Amish Cook at Home" to "99 Drams of Whiskey."

Titles such as "Serious Barbecue," "The Cheesecake Bible" and "Cooking the Cowboy Way" put a gleam in my eye.

Conversely, it is all I can do to not toss "Vegan Brunch," "The Complete Whole Grains Cookbook" and "You Don't Have to Be Diabetic to Love This Cookbook" over my shoulder to make more room for "Chocolate" and "Field Guide to Candy."

I figured readers would appreciate my weeding out the boring stuff in favor of the fantasy foods -- this is, after all, the "Extra" section. But ignoring healthy options eventually translates into extra pounds, extra inches or extra cholesterol and blood pressure points.

By all but ignoring these healthy food books, I'm doing readers -- and myself -- a great disservice.

Still, don't expect me to clear out the Paula Deen grub for celery sticks and water. I'm not Padma Lakshmi (of Top Chef fame) and truthfully, I'm not sure I'd want to be.

According to various interviews, Lakshmi does about two hours of hard cardio per day during the seven-week Top Chef season. The rest of the time, she "eats clean."

So basically she enjoys food with wild abandon for less than two months of every year and diets the rest of the time. That would be like pigging out in November and December and eating like a bird the rest of the year. It doesn't make much sense and it doesn't sound like much fun (well, except for the temporary binge).

I'd rather treat myself a couple of times a week and eat sensibly the rest of the time. And I'd rather stay active but not burn away my life on a treadmill. It's all about balance.

Food coverage is all about balance, too, so expect to see more nutrition information in this column and on the Fridge Magnet blog at Roanoke.com. But don't fret -- this doesn't mean I'll be ignoring "The Cake Mix Doctor Returns" or "Glorious Grits."

I refuse to believe I can't have my cake and eat it, too.

Lindsey Nair's column runs Wednesdays in Extra.