Consisting of only lemons and maple syrup you’ve probably already heard of the Master Cleanse even if like me you’re not a seasoned detoxer. That’s because Beyonce is a fan and apparently it makes your hair, like, totally shiny.
I’ve never done a complete fast before. I say ‘complete’ as though I’ve dabbled in a partial one when actually all I’ve ever tried is to quit sugar (and failed) and I’ve never EVER tried a proper fast-style detox. In fact…
I am known to call myself a hypoglycemic in times of anger and religiously eat every three hours to avoid outbursts of rage. To cut a long story short I’m just ashamed at being a spiritualist without ever following any sort of spiritual lifestyle. I mean, I once saved enough money to go to India to do a yoga teacher training but spent the money on a weekend trip to Vegas instead.
The first step of true spiritualism (don’t shout at me here – I’ve researched this) is cleansing the body and all the important glands, most importantly, the pineal gland. It’s also a very important test of inner strength and discipline.
In this case, it’s a full three days of consuming only lemons and tree syrup – enough sugar to keep you alive and enough lemon juice to strip out the gunk. Oh, and some ginger, because the options are ginger or paprika and paprika belongs to the nightshade family which is a whole other post altogether.
Once I receive the inoffensive looking can of Madal Bal syrup in the post (thanks for the review freebie… I think!) I get chronic food poisoning from a rump steak (a sign from the gods if ever I saw one) I found in the freezer and decided to cook French (rare). Needless to say it was bad, but I got over that pretty quickly and began to ease my way in and prepare for the total melt down that would be my body detoxing.
A few days later a walk in the park turns into a bottle of wine, tequila, a 5am finish and a good three days to fully recover. I mean, to make it worse I had the shits again last night and am now in bed with a chronic headache right around my pineal gland slash third eye. I just can’t bear to put myself through a full detox, but I take the first steps to pick up some lemons and – two birds one stone – bring my dog with me, but now the fruit & veg shop won’t allow dogs (says the new sign on the door) and I’m back in bed smoking my cherry-flavoured vape.
In typical dieting ways just the thought of cutting out food has sent me into a blind panic. This is also happens to be the time of lent, completely coincidental (there’s no such thing as a coincidence), like – it’s time to show the gods i’m not a total twat and can go without food for a few hours. Hey, didn’t Jesus also not eat for 40 days?
But I just feel so MISERABLE about it. I’m just thankful I’m strong enough mentally to walk past the off licence without buying any milk for a gingerbread latte. Detox starts tomorrow.
I have to pick up a coffee on my morning walk so detox is again out the window, and more importantly I have to eat some toast because I’m sensible and flooding a dodgy stomach with lemon juice might aggravate what could be ulcerous colitis so now I’m sipping on a detox soup which is actually quite impressive of me. DETOX STARTS TOMORROW.
No excuses left I rise up early and prepare myself some of the elixir that is Madal Bal syrup, except it doesn’t taste anything like maple syrup, more like oil-slicked molasses mixed with burnt sorrow.
I don’t own a lemon squeezer so I scoop out the innards of half a lemon with my spoon, use my Protein World scoop to measure out the preferred amount of liquid and mix it together until it’s a sort of tar-like concoction with pond-scum lemon pulp and a few shavings of mashed up ginger.
Once some water is added (fuck I forgot to buy the bottled stuff) I have a sort of cloudy excuse for a lemonade. I sip it down and it tastes reasonable – not pleasant mind, but for about 30 minutes I feel pretty positive about this lemon detox malarky. I actually feel quite good but it’s sickly sweet and I emotionally plummet 30 minutes later before reaching desperately for the jug.
Another bump. A little high to raise my spiritus and i’m chasing the next like it’s crack. I become excessively aware of my feelings and am getting slightly, unnervingly dizzy in the process. An hour later I get up from my desk and nearly black out. Turns out my hypoglycemia might not be so psychosomatic after all and I decide not to risk the chance that a relative might find me dead two days later in a pile of blood and lemon pulp. This is stupid!
I eat five spoonfuls of peanut butter. Starving yourself is the absolute worse, which is odd because if I’ve been busy and missed a meal I haven’t had physical and mental reactions anywhere near as severe as these ones! To make it even more shameful I realise that by the laws of physics a 15g scoop does not equate to 15ml and now I’ve triple dosed and eaten half my body weight in mashed up peanuts and oil. The whole process is an absolute disaster so I pour it down the sink. I’m sorry Madal Bal Ltd! I had good intentions I promise.