October 25 2011
Spa Junkie is undergoing a three-day Radiance juice cleanse.
My eyes are glazing over and I’m struggling to concentrate. I catch myself in a fixed gaze at a stapler on my desk, wondering how I got back here; talked into parting with almost £300 for a box of green juices and a few packets of bowel and colon cleanse. I remember my personal trainer bouncing with glee when I had skulked back into the gym after a summer of overindulgence, hunched over and hands dragging on the floor like an orangutan. “I have just done a five-day juice cleanse, and I feel great!” he enthused. “You really should do it too, and start your back-to-school on a clean and healthy high!” I slip quickly into a conspiracy theory daydream involving fruit sellers and gym professionals.
My hunger is now all-consuming. I’m snappy. I decide to call it a day and head home. I don’t think anyone will complain; I’m irritable and totally failing to deliver any meaningful work. I slink out of the office, ashamed by my lack of productivity. I crawl into a cab and remind myself, in an effort to stay the course, that brain cells come and go but fat cells live forever.
Crawl into bed. Feel like a hungry orphan. Please, sir, can I have anything?
Wake up from hunger pains – eat a piece of raw broccoli. Convince myself that if I chew it 40 times it will be just like juicing. Am at peace with this. Sleep well. No guilty conscience.
They say that after the first day you lose your cravings for food, sex and alcohol. Not in my case. I am hungrier this morning than at any time I can remember. There is not enough energy or will to even consider the latter two.
Scheduling my work meetings around juice times and using a full range of excuses not to meet during usual meal times is becoming tedious. An important client has just responded: “I’ve never been asked to meet for a juice, how odd, but thank you for making it a first.”
Birthday in the office. Cakes and champagne. I am losing the will to live. I stare blankly at the proposal. I simply can’t find the magic. I think cleanses should be done when you can lie flat on your back, read, sleep or meditate – ideally all three – and in a seriously beautiful sea-facing room on an exotic island.
Meeting with a client at The Berkeley. Midway through, I forget I’m on the cleanse. I’m so excited about the project that I instinctively take a handful of cashews. After a couple of seconds we simultaneously clock my lapse. “Aren’t you meant to be on a juice detox?” he asks. Like a naughty kid who stole the sweets, I try and pretend there is nothing in my mouth. I delicately swallow, mindful that I may have just eaten my willpower.
Spa Junkie pays for all her own travel, treatments and accommodation.