Monday, August 01, 2011

Iron Rich

My juice fast ended not a moment too soon, right after my body told me that if I didn't get some salt in my diet my insides would begin to ferment like beer and right before I took a blow to the head that caused an inch and a half long gash and much bleeding.

Day three of juice-a-poo-looza started off with my feeling pretty decent.  Cleaner than I'd felt in a long time.  That's not because I gave my colon overtime on day one and then two days off but because my blood stream was not busy pumping through any trans fats or excess sugars.  My brain felt sharp.  My kidneys felt effervescent.  My stomach felt calm and weirdly satiated.  I was farting like a motorboat but there was absolutely no odor whatsoever.  It's an odd superpower to find yourself with but I'll take it.  The grumpiness caused by the lack of solid food seemed to have passed and I thought that smooth sailing would commence.


By three in the afternoon I felt compelled to swallow pickles whole.  Compelled to lick rocks.  Desperate to purchase and consume a gallon jar of pigs feet.  Not hungry or empty feeling but intensely craving.  Needing salt and protein and unsure of whether or not my juicer could handle a can of Hormel chili.

...and I'd lost six pounds in two days.

That might be something you would congratulate a person on but for me that kind of weight loss is just too fast.  All it meant is that despite drinking my meals and peeing all my waste every half hour, my body had become dehydrated. 

I rectified this craving with a tall glass of water and some nitrate and iron rich processed pork with a lot of mustard.  It was a deliciousness that I cannot describe other than to say it was total nirvana and ultimate conciousness.  Bliss.  Rapture.  The meaning of life.

When I was pregnant with my first I had similar cravings.  Bologna or hotdogs served with enough mustard to hide the meat entirely.  Enough mustard to have to eat my sandwich with a fork.  Enough mustard to offend church going types.  Hallellujah hosannah.

In hindsight, quitting my juice fast was a pretty good plan because on what would have been day four of that ridiculousness I was bonked on the crown of my head by steal shelf support while I was working.  Because I had enough well rounded nutrition in my body I was able to shake off the dizziness but unfortunately, it wasn't enough to keep me from bleeding all down the back of my neck.

Justin called our EMT neighbors over for an unofficial visit and they were nice enough to declare my pupils normal, determine that my gash was not deep enough for stitches, spray it with disinfectant, and jerry rig a bandage to it that didn't require me shaving my head.  They told me that I should be woken up on the hour and that I'd have a headache for sure, oh, and don't wash your hair for at least a day.

Blood and guts in your hair-do is quite the look.  Something to match your belt and handbag with.

Today I'm fine and healing well but the scab on my scalp is driving me bonkers.  Ooooh I want to peel it off!  It's so, so, so three dimensional!  It's sooooo crispy!!

But I won't.  Good thing I'm over those salt and protein cravings, right?

I'm not against repeating my juice fast again, someday, when I'm feeling sludgy or when my bladder is acting obstinate. Next time though I'm going to juice Slim Jims and Grey Poupon along with my kale.  Just for flavor.


  1. A friend was recently recommending juicing to me. Hmm. Maybe if I get a juicer...

  2. You are hilarious! Just found your website after I read your comments for someone about her husband on another site (!). I also need to do a juice fast... and I just looked at the sodium content on my mustard (not good for such a small serving). Good to know! I'll bookmark you so I can find you again. Keep writing! And if you have never read Jen Lancaster you would probably like her stuff.

  3. Thanks. I know where you come from and I'm a ton more serious there, as befits the site. I think most people that come from that direction wonder if I have multiple personalities.


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