So I’m over the hump, in terms of hunger and, hopefully, irritability. Days 3 and 4 are the hardest–I felt that way last year and this year reaffirmed it. Climbing hills is a struggle. No amazing sense of smell just yet. But I’ve eaten fewer lemons than I thought: three every day except for yesterday’s four.
The AM salt water flush is nasty if you don’t drink it quickly. The colder it gets, the more it’s like swallowing surf in the ocean. The laxative tea (I use Smooth Move) tastes better than most medicinal teas and this year I haven’t awoken at 5:30 with cramps; it’s more like 7:30 with simply an urgent need to poop.
And poop I do! The entire cleanse is basically a machine designed to get you to poop frequently and productively without introducing any new solids into your system–except lemon seeds, which I swallow because I’m convinced that seeds of all kinds are good for you.
I did think, both last year and this year, something along the lines of “Well, since I’m not eating or drinking, I won’t be spending any money!” But it adds up, a little. Two weeks of four lemons a day is 56. I got them four to a lb. at the farmer’s market, so that’s $14. The organic Grade B maple syrup is $17 $7.99 for twelve oz. at Trader Joe’s, and it looks like I might be able to stretch a jar out to a week (I halve the prescribed amount of syrup because I want to purge as much fat as possible–if only to replace it with new fat–and it’s not causing me any agony to do so). Unless you live in Vermont, where I just assume there is a state-subsidized program for free syrup, you’re going to shell out that much.
The tea was $5 and lasts the entire time, as was the jar of cayenne pepper. I already had sea salt and I honestly don’t know what that costs. $5? You need a bottle graded with amounts on the side so you can see how much you’re filling it up, and you need a Brita. I’m going to buy probiotics this year, so I don’t experience periodic, um, flatulence. They can be expensive, but I got sixty for $5 that were the second-highest of the four available grades (also at Trader Joe’s).
Ironically, the one thing I don’t currently have is a scale. It’s psychologically fulfilling to see your weight drop almost every day, sometimes by 2lbs. I was pretty erratic last year, though, and this year I just have to judge my by shrinking belly.
Assuming you have those things, the entire cleanse costs $55, plus the probiotics. Say $100 $75 max, and I’m doing it for $90 $60. That’s a nice meal, and less than what you would probably spend on food in a week anyway, unless you’re totally broke. So you are saving money in addition to expurgating the previous year’s toxins out of your system. You save lots more by not going out or doing anything social whatsoever because everything revolves around food and drink. I read a lot and I’ve already watched 14 movies in January.
It’s as amazing as it is gross to see your feces days after you last ate something. The salt water flush comes out of you as if your butt were forcibly spitting, and it’s yellow-brown with mucusy strands of poo. It’s like what I imagine cholera to be, only controlled. Nasty, but at least it’s not inside you anymore. Already I feel my breathing passages opening up in a weird way–not that they were stuffy to begin with–as the body expels mucus.
One of the last taboos is a frank discussion of defecation, when it’s actually the act of eating that’s pretty gross. Eliminating poison is far better than consuming it. Not that I’m not looking forward to In-N-Out…
Suck the Rainbow 