Posts Tagged ‘master cleanse


Master Cleanse Day 8: frickin’ hungry

People ask me how I am. I’m f***in’ hungry, that’s how I am!

Proving to myself once again that I should stay in as much as possible, I was out walking on a busy thoroughfare this afternoon and the smells of food were overwhelming. Barbecue, Thai, sandwich boards advertising tiramisu… I’m surprised I’m still able to even form sentences for my lack of food.

Strangely, I had enough energy for a workout, one that even included some weights. In fact yesterday I had tons of energy, and today’s not so bad either. And when I do get hungry, I just take another swig of my trusty ol’ lemonade concoction (water, fresh squeezed lemon juice, maple syrup, a dash of cayenne). That seems to tide me over, until the next hunger pang, that is.

It’s Day 8, for those of you keeping track; I just got off the phone with someone, and of course since all I can talk about is this cleanse, I brought it up, and he said, “Is that the 14 day one?” A shivered with fright… God, I hope not! I thought it was 10 days, which is I think about all I can stand.

So; tonight and two more days, Saturday and Sunday. I’ll probably have to go out for supplies—maple syrup and lemons—tomorrow, but otherwise I’m not going to be going many places, although tonight I’ve got a couple of things I’m semi-commited to. The rest of the weekend will be spent working on a jigsaw puzzle and trying not to think about pizza.

The Twister, by the way, is now in Zurich. Apparently they take May Day pretty seriously over there, and she walked out of her b & b earlier into a cloud of mustard gas aimed at a bunch of demonstrators.

Mmmm, mustard gas….


master cleanse day iv: hanging in there

Day no. five, and I know where every last morsel of food is located in my apartment. There’s the miniature, blue-foil-wrapped chocolate egg left over from the Easter lying on the floor in my closet. There’s the bag of dried sugary cantaloupe slices I brought back from Palm Springs in the cupboard, along with dried cranberries and granola. There’s the chocolate bar I bought for the Twister, which she never ate, also sitting in the cupboard. (For those of you paying attention, the Twister has landed safely in Zurich.) There’s the bag of raisins in the fridge, also brought back from Palm Springs. Heck, even the cats’ 95% duck food is starting to look good.

Still, the end is in sight. Day 5 is hump day; after this, it’s just a matter of counting off the days ’til the end of this self-imposed sentence. I must be a glutton for punishment although, as I mentioned on Facebook, I’ve lost 80 pounds. (Not really, but that’s what I tell myself to keep going.)

What’s going to make it doubly hard tonight is that my cousin’s coming over for our weekly Movie Nite, which has been on hold for the last couple of weeks while I’ve been traveling. Traditionally, we order a large pizza with artichoke hearts or chicken and spinach or mushrooms and feta to go with the week’s flick, but tonight I’ll be swigging from my cup of cayenne-and-maple-syrup lemonade.

God. Could I go for a pizza right now.


Master cleanse, Day III: olfactory hallucinations

The talk of the people I was staying with out in California, the Master Cleanse is a 10-day torture in which you drink nothing but lemonade. Water, freshly squeezed lemon juice, a couple tablespoons of maple syrup and a dash of cayenne pepper, and voila—that’s your menu for the next week-and-a-half. For fun, you can also drink decaf herbal and/or laxative tea.

Day III is supposed to be the hardest, according to Charla, a veteran of this particular procedure. On Thursday, my last day in LA, she came out to lunch at the famous Nate & Al’s Deli, and just drank tea, which seemed particularly tortuous to me, to be in a place like that and denying yourself matzoh ball soup (a favourite since I was a kid) and a big fat corned-beef sandwich. I guess it was a form of food tourism, watching others eat, but I don’t see subjecting myself to watching others eat at fine restaurants over the next week.

Charla, a former Vancouverite now living L.A. with her husband Ed, is already pretty thin. So I don’t know what she’s trying to do—losing weight is probably the last things she needs to be doing, but then, what do I know? Women are funny about their bodies. I know why I’m doing it which is, yes, to lose some extra pounds brought on by too much Belgian beer and that one potato chip I had out in Palm Springs. Well, maybe two.

One thing I’ve noticed on my cleanse, is the smell of food. Maybe it was an olfactory hallucination, but I thought I smelled bacon when I was walking down the hall of my apartment building. Last night, I went to see a play that was, unfortunately, being put on in the back of a restaurant. To get to the theatre, I had to pass by diners consuming some awfully tasty smelling menu items. And then, one of the running themes of the play—it’s called Stop Kiss, and it’s set in New York—is food, since one of the protagonists, Callie (Missy Cross) knows all the good restaurants, and her friend Sara (Joey Bothwell) is new in town. Ouch!

One ironic thing about this whole cleanse is that, with the renos finally complete and the kitchen finally finished, my only “cooking” type activity is squeezing lemons, measuring out maple syrup and adding cayenne.

Fortunately I don’t have too much food around my condo unit to tempt me. This a.m. I found a chocolate bar I’d bought for the Twister, which she’d left. I bought some raisins in Palm Springs, and I have some dried cranberries and granola, but otherwise my figurative pantry isn’t overflowing with temptation. However, the Texas Twister, who is in Portland on her way to continental Europe to start her new job, did leave me with a parting gift:


August 2020

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