How to completely fail at detoxing
Somethingyousaid.com’s Sonia Clarke promises to treat her body like a temple, but the struggle continues.
Residing in Sydney – global centre for body fascism – many is the Monday morning when I solemnly swear I will start treating my body like a temple rather than its customary funfair. I like to mix these depressing detox attempts up, veering wildly from sugar bans to daily yoga, in an unseemly (and ultimately futile) attempt to mimic the behaviour of the beautiful people in my neighbourhood (Bondi).
I try. I really do try. I’m really, really bad at it though.
In no particularly order, here are some of the ways in which I have failed:
1. Wilfully ignore basic instructions because they seem a bit hard.
They can’t mean no meat, dairy, sugar or gluten, surely, as that leaves nothing food-shaped of any kind? No. Must be a lengthy typo. Would imagine a steak and chips is permitted. Chips are potatoes. Potatoes are from the ground, therefore good for you and virtually organic. Very nice.
2. Follow the letter of the detox while blatantly ignoring the principle.
Case in point – that time I did hot yoga everyday for 40 days while taking up smoking again and drinking ‘enthusiastically’. They didn’t specify you weren’t supposed to be tequila-hunting in Surry Hills during the detox period, presumably because they didn’t think they had to. Wrong, my friends! So wrong.
3. Make it so easy as to be pointless, yet still be really smug about it.
Hot water and lemon every morning? Bring it. Makes a delightful start to the day, if followed briskly by the worst-fast food Sydney has to offer. “Oh, me? Start every day with a cup full of self-righteous,” I’d trill, before subsisting solely on coffee and burgers for the next 16 hours.
4. Take the food group you love most in the world and ban it just to torture yourself.
Taking the maxim that everything good for you tastes hideous to its logical conclusion, it turns out sugar is addictive, makes you fat and susceptible to illness, all the while playing mad havoc with your energy levels. I therefore decided to end my lifelong romance with the sweet stuff and reap the benefits. It will surprise no-one to learn I lasted 10 days, during which I would frequently pop into my local supremarket and stand in the confectionary aisle, just looking at my old friends the Lindt bars (maybe crying a bit as well). While this was probably entertaining for the security staff, who may have thought I was conducting the most extensively researched act of shoplifting in the store’s history, it was an undignified stance for someone pushing 30. At the end of the 10 days I had stupid amounts of energy and looked thin, yes, but with that haunted look behind the eyes that would more likely indicate a recent stay at Her Majesty’s pleasure. Pending definitive proof that sugar will actually kill me in the next few years, this diet is not worth it. Nothing is worth that. They can pry the Lindt from my cold dead hands, or better yet, bury me with those slabs of joy.
5. Incorporate as many strange rules as possible.
Cook only with organic rose petal oil, harvested by a tribe of bright orange unicorns with a penchant for drum and bass. Start each day with a shot of freshly melted soy candle wax. Sprinkle every meal with sand obtained from Bondi beach during a full moon. Eat only raw food, unless the energy to cook the food has been generated by that weird island from Lost. You know, that kind of thing.
6. Decide it’s all nonsense and announce ‘everything in moderation’ to anyone who will listen.
And then exert no moderation whatsoever.
The struggle continues.