Nobody profits from telling you the body rebuilds itself. So nobody tells you. Your taste buds are new every 10 to 14 days. The tongue that read this sentence is a fortnight old. Your gut lining is new every 3 to 5 days. The stomach that struggled with last week's dinner has already been demolished. Your skin is new every 4 weeks. You have grown a whole fresh surface since the last time the bins went out. Your white blood cells are new within days. Tonight's immune army was not on duty last week. Your red blood cells are new every 120 days. Four months, and the entire fleet is scrapped and relaunched. The fat in your cell walls is replaced too, slowly. Years of stored seed oil can be walked back out, one meal at a time. Your liver regenerates without being asked. It holds no grudge about the bad years. Your skeleton is rebuilt over roughly ten years. The bones you made in the worst years are not the bones you finish with. Every one of those rebuilds is made out of what you ate. Feed the site meat, fat, sunlight and sleep, and the crew builds you out of the good stuff. Feed it sugar, seed oil and the sofa, and the crew builds with what it was given. There is a version of you under construction right now, due for delivery next year. The order was placed at breakfast.