My body is a temple that is desecrated each summer by beer and barbeque. Thus, when the first chill in the air signaled the end of elastic-waistband shorts season this year, I knew it was time for something radical.
Detox.
Someone I trust recommended a best-selling three-week regime. It was guaranteed to get the poisons out of the ol' system, reinvigorate the ol' noodle and recover all the randomly dropped "d's" and "g's" in my writin'. It would also help me lose those stubborn honeymoon pounds. (Note to self: Buy wife card for 12th anniversary.)
Since my friend detoxed and lived to tell, I jumped right on board. Of course, reading the detox details ahead of time would have informed me that I was taking the crazy train to hell.
This detox was big on vegetables, especially dark leafy greens. However, you were only allowed to consume them after you boiled them beyond recognition, stuck the remnants in a $500 juicer and rendered them completely unrecognizable and tasteless.
The plan also called for taking a warehouse full of supplements. These would "fill the nutritional gaps" in the cleansing process. If what I can eat is that short on essential vitamins and minerals, couldn't I just take the supplements and eat Twinkies? Woofing down the cardboard box they came in would fulfill my fiber needs.
Finally, this plan was big on weekly enemas. I passed on this. To me, coffee should only enter the body through a portal on the other end of the digestive system.
Sounds fun, huh? Then let's detox!
Day 1: Not bad. I get to eat every two hours. By "eat," I mean I drink quarts of enzyme concoctions and gallons of herbal tea. All are fruit flavored, yet a nice crisp Macintosh violates the detox. Go figure.
Day 2: I'm peeing nearly every hour. Dear Lord, am I pregnant?
Day 3: Lost 4 pounds. Knowing this helps me resist the stale box of donuts in the trash.
Day 4: Neither light-headed nor dizzy today. I feel like I lost an old friend.
Day 5: I make "cleansing soup." Gallons of vegetables and seasonings later, it tastes …, mmm, ... like hot water.
Day 6: Since I no longer chew anything, I give up brushing and flossing. Bonus!
Day 7: Down 8 pounds but, I confess, my dog's kibble smells fantastic today.
Day 8: I haven't gone this long without alcohol since high school, yet no DTs. I consider this confirmation that I'm not an alcoholic.
Day 9: I'm craving a cigarette, though I haven't smoked in eons. Is detoxing like sex? That's assuming sex is like shotgunning "vegetable" juice, distilled water and herbal tea.
Day 10: Seeing the 180s again! This is because my body is free of all heavy metals, insecticides and other poisons. Or because I'm consuming only 348 calories a day.
Day 11: Just read the diet book's last chapter about coming off detox too soon. Could send my body into fatal shock. Now that's incentive.
Day 12: Dropped 13 pounds. I don't miss food. I just miss flavor. Any flavor. Except [bleeeeeep] herbal [bleeeeeep] tea flavor.
Day 13: Screw it. Going for a latte and a maple nut scone.
After nearly two weeks, I was 15 pounds lighter. But healthier?
I never experienced the epiphany of clear-headedness and boundless energy many detoxers claim they have. In fact, most of the time I was dizzy, grouchy and obsessed by the thought of eating something NOT in liquid form.
Conclusion: Life's too short to be pure, thin and miserable.
Stamford native Kevin McKeever, a married father of two, is a freelance writer and editor. He also writes the humor blog, Always Home and Uncool, and is a contributor to DadCentric.com. He spent 10 years as a reporter and editor for local newspapers, another nine creating and running the employee communications program for a Fortune 200 company, and then he wised up.
His humorous view of health and wellness, "Rubbing It In," will be featured regularly in future issues of Aetherial Living.
If you enjoy this article, or would like to know more about Kevin, please drop him a comment at kevin@aetheriaspa.com
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