There’s sweat pouring down my face as I watch a group of mostly Latinas walk past a table full of decadent, fall-themed donuts, pan dulce and pastries.
I’d be in shock if I weren’t in so much pain from the HIIT workout I just finished. My heart’s racing, my body’s on fire, but the wildest part is—I don’t even want the carbs. Not the conchas, not the pumpkin empanadas, not even the glazed donuts that look like they were designed by a marketing team to keep me from remembering what macros are.
That’s weird for me. Because even though this was one of the first real days of LA fall—the winds whipping my skin into a dry frenzy, mornings finally cold, daylight shrinking by the hour—I didn’t feel the usual pull of sweet bread.