I’ve been feeling sort of sluggish lately.
It might have something to do with the tedium of offseason in the mountains. Sure, there’s the occasional three-day blizzard to keep us on our toes.
But the snow always melts after a couple of days, taking with it whatever life was left and leaving behind the marred grayish brown slopes and trees that look like mere skeletons without their leaves. Even the sky seems to lose its enthusiasm, donning a milky white coat instead of the usual exuberant bright blue.
I seem to lose my enthusiasm, too, not wanting to do much of anything but hang out with my guy friends, drink beer and watch sports on TV (not so much because I care, but I just love the ambiance).
My bikes have been leaning in the same position on my front porch since late September. Without the business of tourists, the town seems to shrink to the size of a school campus. Between the drinking and the carousing, it’s sort of like being in college again, except without learning anything.
One morning (OK, afternoon) when I woke up with a particularly harrowing hangover, I decided enough is enough. My friend Sarah gave me a book called “7-Day Detox Miracle” written by a couple of naturopathic docs who claim this program will “Revitalize Your Mind and Body” in big letters on the cover.
I did something I normally don’t do and read the book cover to cover. I’m pretty cynical by nature, and typically the eyeball rolling will ensue as soon as I get a whiff of anything that reeks of self-help.
But this book made sense. It detailed the multitude of ways our bodies can become toxic (all that alcohol and caffeine I’d been ingesting were at the top of the list). It explains what foods can be toxic and what supplements are best to repair the damage. It promised me I would feel great after following this program, clear-headed and full of energy.
I have to admit I felt slightly psychotic driving back from Whole Foods in Denver, my car loaded with $200 worth of bottled water, juice, organic produce, supplements and random organic products like toothpaste and deodorant. It took me six trips up and down the three flights of stairs to my apartment to get everything unpacked.
It didn’t occur to me that I should probably prepare my body for the process, maybe by cutting down on my caffeine and sugar intake beforehand. I do tend to partake in the triple-espresso latte once and awhile (OK, twice a day). And even though I don’t eat junk food, I’ll indulge in a little dessert here and there (it’s not my fault my brother wanted ice cream cake for his 30th birthday).
For the first two days, you’re supposed to fast (you get to feast on water with lemon and herbal tea). I was a little nervous about that because I’d done juice cleanses before, but never a straight-up fast.
My fears were justified: By mid-afternoon, I thought I was going to die.
I was starving from the minute I woke up. That might have even been psychosomatic, but the intense headache I felt was not. It was as if someone had stuck their fingers in my eyes and left them there. It only got worse as the day wore on (ever so slowly) until I decided to take a bath and crawl into bed at 3 p.m.
Aside from getting up to do the various hydrotherapy techniques the book prescribes (mostly hot and cold water baths and showers to stimulate circulation) I stayed in bed and nursed my bone-crushing headache with 16 hours of sleep.
Between naps, I called Tim to tell him I thought I might be dying. He suggested I drink a Coke. “It sounds like you need some caffeine,” he said. “Or maybe some sugar.”
Then my good friend Hope sent me an e-mail from Connecticut: “I totally thought of you this morning when I was eating candy for breakfast and pouring large amounts of sugar into my java.”
I wrote her back: “I’m not sure who has the right idea here, me or you.”
But there was something about the suffering that made me realize I had to stick it out, if for no other reason than to know that I could. As I write this, I’m on Day 2 of the fast and aside from a hollow, grumbling feeling that won’t leave my stomach, I’m doing OK.
Tomorrow I get to start eating a restricted diet that mostly consists of brown rice, vegetables and fruit – that sounds pretty heavenly about now.
I figure I might as well suffer. It’s offseason in the mountains and I’ve got nothing better to do.
Freelance columnist Alison Berkley can be reached at alison@berkleymedia.com.
