Since the dawn of time, mankind has challenged itself with seemingly unreachable goals that push its capacities to the limit. Whether it was circumnavigating the globe, flying to the moon or inventing the beer bong, we have, time and time again, reached for the stars and found the heavens within our grasp. That is, unless that celestial body comes with toned abs and a chiseled torso. Let’s face it: there’s just no way for a normal person to go from schlub to stud. You’ve either got a hot bod or you don’t. Once those love handles get big enough to grab onto, there’s no letting go. Believe me. I spent all summer learning the lesson the hard way. My workout plan started innocently enough: a little less bacon here, some extra running there, plus a bench press or two and I would come back to SU a leaner, buffer version of myself. Men would be jealous of my superior physique. Women would swoon at my bulging biceps. For once, I’d have something in my pick-up arsenal other than ‘I’m that sexist guy who digs soft-core porn.’ Then, reality set in. As it turns out, I could maintain a decent workout routine, but my efforts toward a healthy diet were about as futile as rehab for Amy Winehouse. I mean, given the choice between a cheeseburger and a salad, who in their right mind passes up grease for mixed greens? Sure, my mom’s home cooking is both delicious and nutritious, but no matter what’s on my plate, I’d still rather deep fry it and smother it in cheese, than eat it plain. Even mozzarella sticks. You see, guys don’t just want junk food. We need junk food. Not only is it infinitely more delicious than anything at the salad bar, but it’s been psychologically programmed into our heads that anything that doesn’t shorten our life-expectancy by at least five years per bite is for sissies. Don’t believe me? Ask around and find out how many of your male friends are vegetarian because they want to eat a healthier diet. You can probably count them on one hand. Then, ask around and find out how many of your male friends mercilessly ridicule their vegetarian friends. From birth, we’re taught through the media and general man-code that we should hunt for our food, dip it in fat and wash it down with a tall glass of bacon grease when we’re done. It’s the American way; our cowboy forefathers didn’t get all liquored up and sign the Declaration of Independence so that we could eat tofu and sip lattes like the British. Yet as glorious as a deep-fried steak with gravy and french fries is to wolf down, as long as we fellas keep eating that crap, we’re not doing our bodies any favors. So, from this day on, I declare myself to be a healthy eater. No more deep-frying, no more baby-back binges, and no more pouring maple syrup on my key-lime-bacon pies. Guys, I suggest you do the same. It’s smarter, healthier and easier on the stomach. Besides, the best way to bag a classy lady is to show her some sexy abs. Or soft-core porn. Like it makes a difference. Danny Fersh is a sophomore broadcast journalism major. His columns appear every Wednesday and he is so happy to be back at Syracuse that he sacrificed a live pig in the school’s honor… then smothered it in barbecue sauce and ate it. He can be reached at dafersh@syr.edu.