At the ripe old age of 41, I’ve accepted, finally, that there are just some things I’m always going to suck at. I’m a decent writer, an okay Mom, a fairly good partner and friend – and in the Grand Scheme Of Things these are the biggies, so I’m grateful that I don’t completely blow at them, that I can manage some semblance of vague competency relative to those roles and their related tasks. But in other realms… well, as C would say in his down-home country-fried redneck sort of way, I’m kind of like a nun with a dildo (and yes, you can feel free to co-opt that charming turn of phrase and deploy with aplomb in every day life as if it was your own, and you’re welcome).
Such is the case with most things related to being healthy, staying healthy, and/or treating my body in such a way as to stave off death. This I suck mightily at.
Now don’t get me wrong, if given the choice between immediate negative consequences – say, between pain or physical bodily harm and doing something healthy, I’ll reluctantly and with much whining and heavy sighing “choose” to be healthy, as I did when I turned quasi-vegan because of my severe dairy allergy. EXCRUCIATING, MIND NUMBING PAIN AND CONSTANT SINUS/EAR INFECTIONS or AN ABSENCE OF CHEESE?
Wait, let me think about that for a minute. I SAID LET ME THINK, GODDAMMIT.
Okay, fine, no cheese. BUT I WON’T LIKE IT AND THERE WILL BE SIGNIFICANT GRUMBLING.
Of course in most circumstances in daily life the health-related stakes aren’t quite so high and the repercussions aren’t felt quite so instantaneously. And if they aren’t – if the outcome of my actions aren’t going to be felt for months or years (if at all), chances are I’m going to go the most slovenly, convenient, and immediately gratifying route. I’m not only not going to go out of my way to be EXTRA SUPER HEALTHY, but instead going to do exactly what’s easiest and most enjoyable until my limbs start dropping off and people flee in terror upon seeing my mangled-by-self-indulgance-and-dissipation visage. I’m a Sloth Enthusiast, I guess you’d say.
Which is why it should come as no surprise to everyone – myself included – that I’m totally EPIC FAIL-ing at doing a 3-day juice cleanse.
I don’t know what overtook my own common sense and general reason, but at some point a few months back I decided doing this cleanse thing would be a good idea. It’s as if for a minute I caught a case of viral amnesia and completely forgot who I am, what I’m made of, and that by and large I suck at things that involve any kind of deprivation. Also, that my taste in beverages tends to vacillate between two extreme poles – Crystal Light and very dirty martinis – rarely branching out beyond them, and motherfucker, what is Juice?
The juices arrived yesterday by Fed Ex (it’s like Juice Cleansing For Dummies – all of the juices come in single-serving containers numbered in the order you’re supposed to drink them each day, because yes, you’re just that stupid, you stupid dumb juice moron), and their terrorizing of my person instantly commenced.
I took one look at all them neatly lined up in my fridge and could only think two things:
1. Holy fuck I’m an idiot.
2. I’m really, really hungry.
And for the remainder of the day that’s about all I could muster the energy to think – Idiot! Hungry! Idiot! Hungry! THE IDIOT IS HUNGRY, MOTHERFUCKERS!1!!!
The juices weren’t all bad though, assuming you like that sort of thing. Flavor-wise, I’d place each of them somewhere on a continuum between Kale Dipped in Pencil Shavings and Apple with Extra Dryer Lint. But that’s what Healthy Organic Juice is supposed to taste like, right? It’s supposed to be difficult and unpleasant, so you feel like you’re really doing something special for your body, achieving something out-of-the-norm… so that you feel like drinking this medicinal-tonic-juice stuff will surely cause miraculous, spontaneous damage repair and healing. This juice is going to make you into an X-Men, you just know it is.
At about 4 o’clock in the afternoon I decided that all of this was bullshit and that I wasn’t ever going to turn into Wolverine (sob!) and that I needed a snack. Moreover, I determined that if I didn’t get a snack soon I was probably going to kill someone and/or stick my own hand in a blender, because I was suddenly feeling unnaturally curious about what Hand Juice might look and taste like. By 4 o’clock I had fucking lost it, in other words.
So off the wagon I fell, and decided that henceforth I was going to do this cleanse MY way, meaning the cowardly and half-assed way, which is doing it 9-5. Like doing the cleanse is my day job, but after hours I take off the work clothes and the 12 pieces of flair and it’s FUCKING PARTY TIME! Basically, I’ll follow the cleanse all day up until dinner time, at which point all bets are fucking off. Because I don’t think any of us really want to know what Foot Juice tastes like. OR DO WE?
And yes, I realize this is completely contrary to the idea of a cleanse and that many of you are probably going to tell me that doing it this way isn’t doing me any good, but hey, I had to get up in the middle of the fucking night last night to poop, and I have to believe that’s a good sign, because I never have to get out of bed in the middle of the night to poop, and night pooping is healthy, right? I’M EXCRETING TOXINS SO HARD IT’S WAKING ME UP AT 2AM. SURELY THIS IS WINNING.
Today is day two of the lamest juice cleanse ever. Pray for me and my in-the-line-of-fire underpants, kay?