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.
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Time to hit up the grocery store
Fifty some odd pages of printed "Fruit Flush" copy in hand, I make my way to Trader Joe's. On my shopping list: Organic fruit of all varieties, organic mixed greens, organic potatoes, and olive oil. I gather my goods, walk briskly yet longingly past the "Two Buck Chuck" aisle (for those of you unfortunately unaware or perhaps too classy, Two Buck Chuck is Trader Joe's two-dollar wine, which I may or may not buy by the caseload), and make my way to checkout. I spend about $20 total, not bad considering I drop upwards of $12 on a lunch salad alone most days.
Next and final stop: GNC for whey protein powder and psyllium seed husks, which help um, move things along in the digestive system. Total ransom at GNC: $33. At this rate, I'm about even for how much I typically spend in three days on food and drink.
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Day 1: "Wait, where's the fruit?"
On the detox menu: NO coffee, NO oatmeal, NO $12 lunch salad, NO dinner with friends and a glass of red wine. Instead, four glasses of "Fat-Burning Protein Shake" (aka some whey protein and psyllium seed husks mixed in water) during the day and for din din, three cups of mixed greens topped with one tablespoon of olive oil and one baked potato topped with half of an avocado.
10 a.m.: First protein shake. Mmm, yummy. Tastes like chocolate milk. Alright, this won't be so bad. 11:16 a.m.: Feels like nap time is in serious order and I'm ready for lunch � two hours earlier than normal. 1:17 p.m.: Time for shake number two. Still tastes kind of yum, but not as good as the first one. Headache is starting to knock on the door of my forehead. 3:13 p.m.: WHERE'S THE FRUIT? I THOUGHT I GET FRUIT?! 4:22 p.m.: Ew, shake number three suddenly tastes bad. Aftertaste coming on strong. Must. Wash. Down. 5:45 p.m.: Work is almost over and I'm super hungry but refuse to drink another shake. So there. 6:45 p.m.: I never eat dinner this early, but I feel the intense need to physically chomp on things. You know what's the best combination of food ever? A baked potato and avocado -- who would have thought?
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Day 2: "Finally, fruit"
On the detox menu: Four servings of fresh fruit and the delish salad and baked potato combo for dinner.
9:45 a.m.: Oh man, fruit is so delicious. I have two small apples and eat them with intense pride. 10:42 a.m.: Why am I hungry again? I got apples. Shut up Anna. 10:45 p.m.: I look jealously at my coworker's yogurt -- and I don't even like yogurt. Time for a peach. 12: 36 p.m.: How about half a cantaloupe? Don't mind if I do. 2:22 p.m.: Oh my gosh. I just ate grapefruit and a handful of strawberries and my servings of fruit are done for the day. 5:45 p.m.: I'm officially angry. I'm writing a story about "healthy fast food" options and find myself salivating over things I would never normally care about. Like peanuts. 6:33 p.m.: Finally, dinnertime. The baked potato and avocado are more of a delight tonight than they were yesterday. I think I'm going to go to bed soon though, just so I don't suddenly start gnawing on the only other food in my house -- frozen meatballs. P.S. The only people I know who go to bed before 7 are in diapers, young and old.
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Day 3: "Anna, please put down the champagne"
On the detox menu: Same as yesterday, ho fricken' hum.
My restraint is tested at an after-work event where champagne is flowing and little crab cake deliciousnesses are being passed around. I did actually feel less hungry today, though, and more light on my feet in general. My spirits were high too. Strange. I actually think if I had to do this again tomorrow -- which thank god I don't because I am a sneaky genius and picked the three-day detox plan -- I would be fine.
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.
