The Master Cleanse: Day Three

I think I've had a bit of a breakthrough. Today my food cravings are totally muted. I still wish I could eat a sourdough loaf in seven seconds, but it's more of a faraway, nostalgic feeling than a day-ruining, "I'm going to die if I don't stuff my face, sir, so please hand over your lunch" yearning. I'm also the least spaced out I've been so far, and no headaches!

This afternoon I forced myself to go into Whole Foods to stock up on grade B maple syrup and buy 4,000 more lemons. Yesterday I might have cried while walking past the fresh tamales, but today I kept my composure. The deli area smelled incredible, but I was able to appreciate the aromas without feeling like I needed to put the aromas in my stomach. It's a weird sensation, and a little hard to explain. I guess I just feel disconnected from food, not unlike how I felt when I first gave up red meat and gradually stopped craving Sequoia cheeseburgers.

Now that I've discovered the Master Cleanse forums, I'm obsessed with how everyone else is doing. A lot of people fall off the wagon, but just as many make it through the full ten days (or more), and everyone who succeeds is extremely proud. Many of them are looking to drop a lot of weight, which seems a bit misguided to me. I mean, clearly we're all losing a few pounds by not eating, but it's going to come back eventually, right? Maybe if the fast helps people lose the urge to eat unhealthy food going forward, it can be the start of new habits.

Tomorrow I'm back at work, which should be interesting. I've been spoiled over the long, stress-free weekend, but the real test is about to begin. Wish me luck.

The Master Cleanse: Day Two

I'm feeling ok today. A little low on energy, but nothing too dramatic. Luckily, the last couple weeks I've cut down my green tea intake to a single cup in the morning, so there isn't much caffeine withdrawl to suffer through. Last night around 9 p.m. I almost caved and ate a waffle (nights have always been my snacking weakness), but I knew I'd feel like a loser afterward, so I drank my tea and went to sleep instead.

For those of you wondering what the Master Cleanse entails, here are the dirty deets:

• Night before first fast day: drink laxative tea before going to bed

Fast days 1-10:

• Morning - Mix 2 teaspoons of unrefined sea salt into 1 quart of warm water. Drink. Stay near a bathroom for the next hour.
• Throughout the day - Drink "lemonade" cocktail comprised of 16 oz filtered water, 2 tablespoons grade B maple syrup, 2 tablespoons fresh squeezed lemon juice, and a pinch of two of cayenne pepper. You can drink as many of these as you want, but making it is kind of a hassle, so I prefer to make two servings at a time.

• Night - laxative tea before bed.

That's all. Talk about saving money on food.

The salt water flush is mildly unpleasant to drink, so I've been chugging it down as quickly as possible, just to get it over with. I've read on the internet that people have the hardest time with this part of the fast. I don't blame them - it's like swallowing a quart of seawater. Still, doable. But I'm not kidding about staying near the bathroom.

The lemonade itself is actually yummy, and the cayenne pepper gives it a spicy kick. I'm supposed to drink at least 6 servings of the stuff throughout the day, along with lots of water. I had 8 yesterday, and only stopped there because I ran out of lemons.

Note to self: buy more lemons.

I miss eating, though, and it goes deeper than hunger pangs. I miss rich tastes and textures. I miss my friends that I'm avoiding because I don't want to be tempted by sushi or red wine. I miss treating myself to a handful of chocolate chips after vacuuming the house. I miss TV, which I've turned off to spare myself from food commercials. I miss watching butter fry on an iron skillet. I know this is all heavily psychological, but being without food is depressing.

Then again, it's just my second day. It's not like I have to say goodbye to food forever. I'm going to eat nachos again, and they're going to taste as good as I remember them. I've heard the first few days on the Master Cleanse are the hardest, which is why I chose to take advantage of the three-day weekend and not have to watch my co-workers slobbering over their super baby burritos and tuna melts. Come Tuesday, I hope the temptation to eat has waned considerably, otherwise I fear I might hurt someone.

The Master Cleanse: Day One

Fasting is exhausting. I'm halfway through the first day of what is supposed to be a ten-day fast, and my head is throbbing. I'm dreaming of tearing through a loaf of sourdough walnut bread. I want bread so bad it hurts. Oh, to chew, swallow, and digest! Thankfully, I really like my lemon/maple/cayenne cocktail, and I can have as many of them as I want.

I started the Master Cleanse in order to spend several days literally flushing my body free of food and toxins and see if some of my allergies lighten up. I've also always been curious about fasting and wanted to see if I could hack it. I have a huge appetite and love to eat... can I actually survive this?

I'm pretty sure I can survive the first day, but if the sourdough cravings continue tomorrow, I'm screwed.

I'm Cooperative

It's 5 p.m. at Rainbow Grocery, San Francisco's premier co-op supermarket, and the place is packed. I had entered the store with the intention of grabbing a few Kombuchas for the week (they're a FULL DOLLAR CHEAPER here than at Whole Foods), and nearly two hours later, I find myself pondering a vat of almond butter in the bulk section, my cart overflowing with soba noodles, fish oil, and passionflower tinctures. An aging hippie next to me nibbles on the corner of a fig newton he lifted from a bulk jar. He sees that I've noticed and shuffles away, humiliated. Two dreadlocked boys to my left are loading up on granola for their upcoming drive to Burning Man. I tell them to try the pumpkin granola (full of omega-3s!). The taller of the two puts his hands together, bows slightly in my direction, and murmurs "Namaste". I detect no sarcasm. They fade away toward the beer coolers.

Usually I prefer nectarines to peaches (no fuzz), but today a handwritten sign above a crate of big, ripe peaches in the produce section catches my eye. Apparently, these peaches were transported here from a small, organic farm in Shasta County in the back of a truck running on biodiesel fuel. Seems worth it. I pick up three.

In the housewares aisle, a customer asks a Rainbow employee why they don't have a better incense selection. She recommends a great incense place on Telegraph and 33rd in Berkeley. He writes the address down, thanks her and their conversation shifts to beeswax varieties.

Along the back wall of the store, I open a glass door to grab a carton of free-range eggs, and get blasted with Cat Power – He War from some hidden stereo behind the wall of dairy (no doubt to help motivate the guy stocking Kefir). I close the door and the music abruptly switches back to Neil Diamond on the store's main speaker system. I decide I prefer Cat Power, but stop myself from opening the glass door again and wasting valuable cold air.

At the checkout stand, I bag my own groceries. They don't do this for you at Rainbow. I could feel put out if I wanted to, but I'm already on their shit list for forgetting my cloth bags. Again. And truth be told, I kind of enjoy the task. I make it a game to finish bagging as quickly as possible, so as not to hold up the next guy in line (it's the aging hippie!). I also used to bag groceries for money as a teenager and like to think of myself as a shape/weight/temperature/ingredient grouping aficionado. The kids at Whole Foods don't know what they're doing these days. Seriously, who puts milk on top of bananas? But I digress.

On the way back to my car, a twitchy guy in a parka approaches me with a spray bottle full of something blue, begging me to let him clean my windshield. I politely decline, explaining that I just washed my car (true). He persists, gesturing off toward Mission Street, something about a burrito truck. His desperation pulls at my heart strings, so I reach into the grocery bag I packed full of things containing wheat flour and offer him a sprouted bagel. He scoffs at it and pedals away on his bike.

I've missed you, San Francisco.

The Shadow People

Found a neat new way to share my Flickr sets! Below you'll find my expose on the mysterious Shadow People counterculture. I lead a dangerous journalistic life.