I’ve taught English in Mao’s hometown, walked 800 km – solo – across a large European country, fallen in mad love, packed up all my toys and moved to snow country to write a book without knowing a soul. But ask me to give up ice cream? Baguettes? Morning cuppa joe? Bacon? Juice glass of vino? No freakin’ way!
So I approached it gradually.
I bought Kris Carr‘s book, Crazy Sexy Diet, in January. I cleaned out the fridge in February. I bought an Omega Juicer in March – the Jag of juicers! Small steps. It’s like weaning myself off the bottle, only it’s not just the milk I’m relinquishing. It’s practically everything I put in my mouth. I was shooting for Lent (tried giving up sweets then, but I wasn’t quite ready. The sight of my first brownie signalled failure.) But spring time is about renewal, rebirth, rebooting our systems, yes? So, on March 30th, I launched full throttle into a master cleanse: no wheat, no dairy, no animals, no coffee, no alcohol, and my Achille’s heel – no sugar. No sugar! How in the wholly Himalayas was I gonna do that? Was I to feel like Sisyphus? Atlas? Or an orange jumpsuit-wearing prisoner relegated to a bowl of gruel?
I couldn’t have done it without Ms. Carr’s book. She led me gently through each day with a prayer, an affirmation, medical guidance, upbeat encouragement and expectations of what toxins feel like as they’re expelled. Thank goodness for her hand-holding and thank the snow gods for the meditative months that led up to this undertaking. I spent the winter shedding and I was ready for the final heave ho!
With all those restrictions, what did I eat and drink? Water with cayenne & lemon upon rising. Green & herbal teas throughout the day. Oatmeal with soy milk, seeds and flaxmeal for breakfast (my usual, anyway). 2-3 glasses of green juice daily. (Kale, romaine, fennel, carrots, beets, grapefruit, parsley, celery – whatever was on hand). Lunch was usually a version of
Mark Bittman’s celery & fennel salad, sometimes adding in turnips, beets, carrots, daikon, orange segments, pine nuts – anything I could slice on my Muji Mandoline. Dinner was some version of a grain/bean/veg combination: steamed or lightly sauteed broccoli, chard, mustard greens, collards – brown rice or quinoa – white beans, green or red lentils, chickpeas. I’d also snack on almonds, dried plums & cranberries, sesame crackers, apple slices with nut butter. I consulted a couple of macrobiotic and Japanese cookbooks on the shelf for more ideas, to keep it interesting. Having lived in Japan, I find much of their cuisine keeps with this particular dietary lifestyle. I miss eating there – no other country has satiated me more at the table.
I wondered if I would feel deprived, but Kris presents this cleanse in such a positive light that it truly felt like I was gaining health and well-being. The coffee was easy – I’m really more of a tea drinker – and the caffeine withdrawal headache only lasted a week or so, and was fairly mild. I kept super-hydrated and slept really well – better on both counts than usual. Maybe removing the caffeine/sugar roller-coaster was all I needed for deep and rejuvenating slumber. I awoke an hour earlier than normal, around 5:30, and experienced an unusually high amount of energy each day. I treated myself with a few lavender baths, worked out more at the gym (weight-lifting & laps, only – no cardio machines for me: boring.) I chose physical activities that were fun, not a chore, so daily walks and hikes were mood boosters.
Noticeably, my portions grew smaller as I was satisfied with less. I realize that I eat emotionally, hungry for more than just caloric nutrients. But somehow I was more tuned into my body and could put my fork down appropriately. Buying, preparing, and cooking my meals was faster and easier. Strangely, I found more hours in my day, as I was more mindful in every aspect of diet and digestion. Wow – I realized how we always wish for more space in our day, more time to carry out our to-do lists, but I had energy to burn! Granted, I’m not employed outside the home and I have no children to raise, but really – was all this uumph always available, yet hidden underneath crusty loaves and triple creme sheep’s milk? I feel like I could run a marathon, a business, and a small country now. And that’s just on Tuesday.
As I watched my scale groan less, I felt buoyant and effervescent. I started having profound shifts in perspective. But not before THAT ONE DAY. Oh, yes: that one day the Dragon of Craving rose up inside of me, in an all-consuming fire (is this what heroin addicts go through, seriously?). WINE! I MUST have a drink! Give me spaghetti Bolognese! A burger! – a juicy, rare burger, with cheese and bacon and… it didn’t matter that I wasn’t hungry; I was suffering an irrational rage.
I can’t describe the power of this monster inside, but I held on to my commitment and found relief: opting for popcorn in sacrificial appeasement. Then I got as far away from the kitchen as possible. I climbed in the car (leaving my wallet at home to avoid a sudden bakery raid), drove to the beach, walked over the boulders and along the shoreline, breathing in lungfuls, and called a friend. I was the queen of crank that afternoon, but friendship, water, and the sea air calmed, soothing that savage craving. May none of you ever meet that beast.
That was my only rough moment.
Well, except for the Morning of Traumatic Sobbing.
Interspersed with the cleanse were 3 days of green juice fasting. I’d do six days on, one day fasting, repeating over 3 weeks. And what happened the day after my first fast was incredible. It was an emotional release like no other.
Simultaneously, I’ve been asking/praying for clarity. I want revelation. I want to see where I’m going, or at least have an inclination about what’s next. My recent intention, to write in a wintry place, completed once March arrived and I started feeling anxious. Stay? Go? Love? Work? Home? Travel? So much monkey mind I couldn’t see through the fog, so I began asking for what I wanted, an arrow, a sign, a clue. All while eating carrots & celery sticks.
Well, you know what they say? Ask and you shall receive. Careful! It came in spades. Every day brought striking clarity, bold visions, answers to long-buried questions. One in particular, during meditation, a word appeared, so I moved to the desk and began writing about it. Before I even finished a sentence, I was sobbing. Hard and clean, not hysterical, but fully. Now, I don’t cry; I hold on tight. Last time I really cried was four years ago, and now tears were flushing out an unresolved memory from childhood that, it was dawning on me, I hadn’t grieved back then. It has held me back and I don’t want anything holding me back. Remarkably, there was no anger (at myself or anyone else), just release and mourning. And a big pile of tissues afterwards.
Compassion washed in, and I settled. Putting pen on paper, I wrote twenty, yes – 20 – pages and excavated decades old detritus. Phew. When we let go, we really let go. Goodbye past, hello bright future!
Those 21 days witnessed the passing of so much: defenses that no longer serve me, fears that aren’t scary anymore, eating and drinking patterns that are harmful. What I’ve learned is enormous. I now know that bread is as numbing as wine. That my sugar addiction has inflamed my shoulder for more than 25 years, and if I eliminate it as best I can, it no longer hurts. THIS alone is a miracle, and it’s ridiculous it took me this long to find out. Chronic pain clouds our sunshine, and pain’s absence liberates. My skin and dairy don’t make a good partnership – in fact, I was mistaken for a twentysomething the other day (I’m 43) and countless people have remarked on my glowing and youthful skin. That’s worth the price of admission, alone.
I supplemented my regimen with drybrushing, taking vitamins & aloe juice, lots of positive thinking, journaling, meditating, putting my Netflix habit on hold, getting a massage, getting an enema (more on that later), using essential oils, reading up on raw food & veganism, and exercising a bunch more than usual. Swimming laps and sweating it out in the sauna were divine.
What I didn’t experience were hardcore toxins getting expelled (bad smells, pimples, aches, etc…) and I think that’s due to a generally healthy diet from the start. I don’t eat much meat, fast food, or processed boxes & bags that sell in the center aisles anyway. I do like my Ciao Bella gelato and Newman-O’s, however…
This may sound silly, but the most dramatic thing I learned is that we are what we eat. Yes, I’ve always known that. But when we medicate ourselves with not just alcohol or even caffeine, but with pasta, butter, toast, cheese … we suffer for it. Eating animals that have not lived or surrendered their lives in compassionate hands means we’re digesting violence, fear, unmindfulness. Sugar is a replacement for a lack of sweetness, perhaps. I don’t mean to be preachy or change anyone’s mind. Live and let live. I just want to share the extraordinary sensitivity that I’ve developed both physically and emotionally.
Do I miss the old flavors? My taste buds have actually changed. Drinking a glass of white wine is like sipping sugar-water. Eating bread feels like I’m stuffing. That drawer full of cheese? I can feel it weighing me down already. I had no idea that what once brought me pleasure actually was a buffer to living and what I want now is to live like I mean it.
Have I since incorporated some of those taboo ingredients? Sure, but I’m keenly aware of their effect on body and mind, and make those choices consciously. Food tastes better. Almonds are delicious! That farro and grilled spring veg plate at Eataly? Delectable! A small piece of high quality 78% chocolate? Hits the spot!
Radical? Yes. And I’m so proud of myself for accomplishing it. I didn’t know I had it in me. Will it last? I’ll let you know…and in the meantime, I would love to hear if you’ve ever done one or thought about it, if you have any questions or want to share with me your experience. It was a journey of eye-opening magnitude for me!
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Alarm clocks are inhumane. I’ve better ideas on how to be roused from dreamland, and they don’t include whirring or obnoxious bells and whistles that’re better suited to the arcade or some Monty Hall dealmaking. Only an early morning flight to somewhere the tomatoes are luscious or the hot springs are bubbling warrants setting it. I’ve long been perplexed why anyone would want to be jolted out of blissful slumber at all, much less for the sake of getting to a jay-oh-bee. My body knows when it’s time to rise, even when I’ve abused it by going to bed in the starry wee hours, but I probably fell into bed with the ringing of the P*Funk All-Stars in my ears anyway.
It was only 6 weeks from seed to sprout – from deciding the most peaceful state in the union would harbor me for a spell to trading in my Brooklyn apartment for a four bedroom farmhouse on the midcoast – and it was there I found myself in March, unbundling from the snowiest, most glorious winter I can remember – but…something was off. My internal guidance system’s controls were spinning and I couldn’t get my bearings.
I’ve been totally kerfuffled by the Maine spring, what with global warming, the extension of Daylight Savings Time, and the fact that this was the longest transition from winter to summer ever. At 4 weeks away from the longest day of the year, it was a balmy 48 degrees. And today, 3 days from the solstice, I am scarf-free for the first time in 8 months.
It’s been tricky syncing up on the 44th: I cash out-of-state weather checks and they bounce. The northeastern spring sauntered instead of sprung, and the sun rises a few degrees differently here. Like a blindfolded child trying to pin the tail on a spring lamb, I fumbled around, grasping for signposts.
Do I pick fiddleheads, asparagus, and rhubarb or break out the sandals? I’m used to sunny evenings happening later in the season, not in March when it’s still cold. The cherry blossoms, forsythia and daffodils of late April are more familiar when they’re poking up through a last snow dusting and I’m not used to May nights that dip into the 30’s. This June, I christened 2011 as the year of my Cashmere Spring. Who knew that moving 400 miles north would result in such discombobulation?
off~peak 