“You need to try this cleanse.”
If the above statement is the first thing your friend says when you meet up for drinks, you have a problem. Either you’ve somehow accidentally friended one of those crazy granola types who will soon have you using washable toilet paper. (Yes, that is a real thing. I know. I also just threw up a bit in my mouth). OR, if your friend is decidedly not straying into the healthy breakfast category, then you do actually need to do a cleanse.
Unfortunately for me, I fell into the latter.
My posh London friend, who always, always looks fantastic, spends half our evening telling me about this cleanse she tried. GOOP recommended, friend-tested and normal person approved, it doesn’t take much to convince me to at least give it a look. “You’ll have so much more energy,” she says. “I lost 8 pounds in 21 days,” she says. “I feel fantastic.” And on and on and on. As she waxes poetically about the benefits of this miracle diet, I do a mental comparison of the two of us. Me: no energy, bloated, bags under the eyes and so done in by crappy food that I now crave salads. SALADS! Her: fit, fresh, bubbling with energy and enthusiasm. Dammit.
Just as I nod my head in agreement to give the cleanse a go, she drops the downside on the table and it goes off like an atom bomb. “Oh, and you can’t have any cheese, bread, caffeine or alcohol.” My screeching “WHAT?” is so loud that the lady next to us drops her fork mid-bite.
I mull over the idea for the entire bus ride back home. There is no doubt in my mind that I need to make a major change in my lifestyle. I feel like roadkill. But a cleanse? That is SOOOO not my thing.
Of course, I eventually decide to do it. I am stronger than my caffeine and alcohol addictions. I can survive a week without eating a chocolate chip cookie. I do a massive shop, stocking up on raw vegetables and fruit, coconut milk and almond butter. I plot out a week’s worth of blended breakfast and lunches and dinners of quinoa and roasted chicken. And then I dive in.
I last for five days. Two days of caffeine-withdrawal headaches. Five evenings of sleeping on my feet exhaustion. In his typical supportive fashion, Nomad Papa waves french bread and brie sandwiches under my nose and asks every day if I’m enjoying my body-builder shakes. And he laughs. A lot.
Finally, the end result. I lose three pounds that stay off. The random headaches I’d had for a few weeks stop. I head to bed earlier, get my rest and make a dent in the samsonites under my eyes. As the bags shrink, I discover three new wrinkles under each eye.
I learn that I do prop myself up with coffee and wine…and I do it for a reason. No sane, unaided person could possibly keep up the insane overachiever lifestyle I live without some kind of help. Blended zucchini and cauliflower shakes are not going to keep me typing until midnight every day. I abandon the blog, lacking the energy needed to transfer my thoughts from my brain to the keyboard.
Now I’m back…back from a two-week blogging hiatus while I focussed on feeling somewhat human again. I found a middle ground between the espresso shots and wine refills. Less store-bought tortellini and more fresh vegetables and whole grains. Less coffee, less wine and one night a week to just sleep. SLEEP.
I’m back and I’m back with a vengeance. So get ready….
You can read more about my crazy weightloss experiments in MY NEW BOOK – the paperback is available at a special pre-order price just until March 22nd, so don’t wait!