It’s that time of year again! Yes, the time when I willingly submit myself to a chewing ban. Last year I juiced for nine weeks. This year I’m going for twelve weeks, because I am an attention-seeking masochist. This is my diary of the first week…
Day 1: It’s day one and I am confused. It’s not like I’m a newbie at this. If juice fasting won medals, I would have a freaking medal, but there are no medals, so we should just move on before my hopes realise what’s happening. Like I said, I am confused. I know what the first few days of a juice fast bring, and this is not it. The whole day I’ve been happy, energetic, and less likely to eat my loved ones than usual. That is not how it’s supposed to go down! Where are my headaches and random pains and extreme tiredness? Where are my mood swings and urges to kill? If I’m feeling good, are my toxins still hanging out inside me, waiting to mutate all of my cells with a sledgehammer? Call me paranoid, I don’t care. I could at least get an itchy boob or something. If I don’t get a good dowse of misery tomorrow, I’m writing a letter of complaint to Joe Cross…
Day 2: Today’s phrase is: I am sooo tired! Seriously, I can’t stop saying it. Also I can’t get out of bed, even though I need the toilet and would quite like to not die of dehydration. Isn’t that the strangest situation in the world? I need to pee, but I’m so thirsty! If I drink will I explode? If I pee will I die? Oh what a crazy, exciting life I lead. Anyway, I had a few juicing symptoms, so Joe and I are still bros. I had a mild headache this morning, I have felt a bit bleurgh at random times and have a delightfully disgusting tongue. And now of course I have glued myself to the bed with no hope of escape. Oh well never mind, this is most people’s dream come true.
Day 3: Today I am the weirdo who randomly grins at strangers. I am happy – SO happy. I think someone may have spiked my juice… I am just hanging out in my big bubble of Zen and gratitude and cheesy pop music and puppies and everything awesome about life. I remember this feeling, and I’ve just realised that I haven’t felt it since I last juiced. There is a well of joy inside me that’s only tapped when I’m juicing. How crazy is that? It’s mad how what you consume can change who you are. And this is probably proof that eating junk turns me into a psychotic, tearful mess. Juice it is then!
Day 4: Back to tired again. My body is doing this strange, looping rollercoaster of feelings. Elated and dancing around the supermarket to unconscious and back again. Today I decided that it would be a brilliant idea to muse on the meaning of life. This is NEVER a good idea, and always ends in misery and alcohol and death. Luckily there’s pineapple in my afternoon juice, so I’m distracted by the deliciousness more quickly than I would be by chocolate, since this is my only food source. Ooh, and while we’re talking about it, I don’t want chocolate. Ikr? I can’t even remember what it tastes like, it’s that much of a burned bridge. So I’m on the up of the rollercoaster right now, hanging out on the smug side of town.
Day 5: I am feeling good! I have all the energy and have used it for swimming and cycling and wandering to the library. I want to read all the books. I’m feeling super motivated right now, like I could become a completely different person, one who’s named after fairy tale creatures and says things like ‘rad’ and has delicate facial piercings and builds robots for fun. I love her already and I’ve just invented her. I’ve got to the point where I am not having much mood difference between full and hungry. I am not hangry any more, merely in need of juice. I am Zen and serene like a beautiful, robot-building mermaid. Must google how to swim, because I almost drowned several times. Not the juice’s fault, that’s my own ineptitude and lack of practice. But juice will transform me into a mermaid, because juice is like magic!
Day 6: I want to sleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeep. I was fine until I spotted my bed, and now all I want to do is snuggle up and grab some delicious Z’s. Everything hurts, I am freezing and I am verging on irritable. I’m pretty sure my body’s unearthed some major toxins under last month’s Glamour magazine, and now they’re raising hell, because in my head, my body is like a theme park spa. You know, there are rollercoasters, and they screech to a stop and flip you into a hot tub. Disney characters hand you glasses of champagne and Gaston, (my new boyfriend, Gaston) is on hand to rub you down in all the right places. Yeah, my body is definitely like that. So who can blame the poor little vicious toxins if they don’t want to leave? Exactly.
Day 7: I want to say that I am feeling freaking amazeballs, and bouncing off every wall there is, like a kid who’s inhaled a lifetime supply of sherbet sticks. I’m not. I’m tired. I’m so tired. I just want to sleep for a week, and I’m telling you this because, in my juicy experience, this is atypical. By day seven I should be verging towards something like normal at least. Maybe I would be if my tyrannical boss didn’t decide that today would be the day that we did ALL the work. Maybe I would be if I hadn’t embarked on a pretty packed exercise schedule. Who knows? All I know is that I’ve only lost three pounds, and instead of being upset about it, I’m happy. I have gained muscle. I know this because my calves are like rocks and my downward facing dog is looking pretty awesome.
So there we go. It’s the first week of twelve, and like being in a car driven by a platypus, it’s been a bumpy ride.* But it will get better. Oh wow, I sound so morose. I’m not, I promise. I’m just concentrating really hard on holding my face over my laptop via one elbow. Drool is a tech killer, people. So now I’m going to sleep, but before I do, I’m putting money on the fact that I’ll wake up as freaking Pollyanna.
*Platypuses are notoriously inept drivers. Everyone knows that.