I won't lie, the fact that this detox is an ebook you can download straight off of Jay Robb's website for a mere five bucks gave me the eebies. Yes, this Jay Robb is a clinical nutritionist and certified personal trainer, but I'm an American consumer, raised to believe that you get what you pay for. But hey, it's only a three-day program. Maybe I'm paying for the sheer quantity of time it takes, not the quality of information, or maybe Jay Robb really cares about my flabby arms and acne-prone skin and therefore decided to make his program easily accessible to all. Whatever the reason, this plan costs less than the glass of Pinot I will soon be deprived of and it only lasts for three days, so chances are good that I won't die.
The plan is also super basic. You only consume whole, fresh fruits and vegetables and lean protein shakes which together, Jay Robb claims, work to flush away accumulated toxins in the cells, excess fat, and toxic waste matter that have stagnated in the colon. Robb says fruit is nature's perfect cleansing food, as it is high in water content, fiber, slow-releasing sugars, and nutrients that help flush out toxins by way of urine and bowel movements.
The entire three-day program, which he recommends following once or twice a month throughout your lifetime, supplies your body with vitamin C, cleanses the tissues and lymph system, rinses away excess sodium, and peps up your sprits, says Robb. The bonus side effects of those things? Weight loss, clearer skin, and a "my, this tiny glass of whey protein shake is half full"-mentality. Supposedly.
Editor's note: The literature in Jay Robb's download is as cheesetastic (mmm, cheese) as the cover of the ebook and website in general. Jay Robb likens your body to a motor vehicle on more than one occasion and litters the text with random quotes from prolific writers like Miss Piggy.
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My starting point
Am I toxic, and how is this toxicity affecting my life? This is a question I need to answer before jumping on Jay's bandwagon. So a skin assessment and "sense of self" evaluation is in order. I visit the Murad Inclusive Health Spa, where they check my hydration levels, skin texture, wrinkles, pore size, sun damage, and more. (They'll check me again at the end of this detox to see if three days is really enough to change my skin and body for the better.) My energy levels, happiness with my appearance, stress level, and emotional life are taken into account too.
The results: Um, I have wrinkles. I'm in the 38th percentile for my age (the lower you are, the worse for wear). And sun damage (42nd percentile)?! But I'm part Hispanic. I thought we pigmented people don't have to worry about the sun. Detox and sunscreen suddenly seem super imperative. Luckily my skin texture is pretty good (73rd percentile), my spots are pretty good too (75th percentile), and my pore size is OK (60th percentile). Oh, and as for my sense of self, I'm apparently not happy with my weight, overall appearance, and I don't believe my life to have the ideal balance of work, relationships, and caring for myself. Damn, maybe I do need Jay Robb.
When I think "detox," I think torture. In a frantically dramatic fashion I picture myself trapped inside a grass hut yogi den for days on end with a bunch of highfalutin' hippies dry brushing each other between massive gulps of kale smoothies. Thanks, but no thanks.
So when my co-workers and I were assigned to follow and write about our journeys on detailed detox diets, I thought about ways I could a) come up with a really good excuse for not participating (Death in the family? No, I can't cry on cue. I'm pregnant? Nah, too hard to fake.) or b) find the easiest, quickest detox known to yuppiedom. Because really, who else starves for fun except yuppies?
Due to the fact that I am rational on most days, and that with serious consideration my vanity likes the idea of clearer skin and perhaps dropping a dress size, I chose option "b," which lead me to Jay Robb's "Fruit Flush" -- a detox promising to purge my body of toxins, help me "regain peace of mind," and (my favorite part) "lose up to nine pounds in three days." Three days?! I can totally do this, I thought, as I laughed evilly at my waif of a 97-pound co-worker Sarah, who signed on for a 21-day detox diet. And yum, I get to eat fruit. Let's bang this thing out.
