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Impure

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It has been a week since I completed an 8-day detox. This was not a stay-at-home and mix some lemon and apple cider vinegar cleanse type of thing, this was a go to a place get lulled into relaxation by the beautiful surroundings then get beaten up by treatments kinda deal.

I may be a tad bit dramatic here.

What I did is called panchakarma. It is an Ayurvedic detoxification process. Ayurveda is the sister science to yoga – they kind of grew up together – which focuses on food, the physical body and its relationship to nature. Yoga, is the spiritual practice that is its companion.

You may be confused by that last sentence as yoga certainly seems like a physical exercise and in part it is, but that is just one small aspect of the philosophy. But we’ll get into that at another time.

Panchakarma translates to: pancha = five, karma = actions. There are five actions taken to help the body detoxify, but the actual detoxification is three weeks long (or forever). Here are the cliff notes:

Week One: The week before attending panchakarma I met with the doctor. Based on his assessment of my overall health he prescribed medicated ghee (an organic clarified butter with helpful herbs for my constitution), a powder to mix into hot water and drink before meals, and castor oil to drink at night. For 7 days.

Week Two: Go to the location of the panchakarma and receive the five actions, as well as; participate in breath work, meditation and yoga each morning; eat healthy balancing food provided throughout the day; and attend a lecture each evening.

The five actions in brief:

Abhyanga – a two-person lymphatic massage using a gallon of oil. Two people work on opposite sides of the body, in tandem, to help the lymph move through to carry toxins out of the body. There are other add-ons to the body work that I will share as they happen.

Swedana – Steaming out the impurities either through a canvas steamed dome that is lowered over the massage table or a steam box in which one sits with the head out.

Shirodhara – a continuous warm oil drip onto the third eye. You might see god, it’s that divine.

Vamana or Vierechana – Controlled Elimination. Depending on the individual’s constitution and level of impurities, they are administered herbs to either “gently” vomit or have “controlled” diarrhea.

Basti – enema. Do you want the name and number of this magical retreat yet? There are two types: a 2 ounce oleating enema that mostly gets absorbed into the colon, and the 12-ounce bag (think IV size) that is filled with a personalized prescription of oils and herbs. The results of this one are markedly different from the 2-ounce as you’ve likely already surmised.

Rakta Mokshana – Blood letting. Like leeches. We did not do this one. Apparently the FDA has rules about the health of leeches so we missed out.

Ok, I know that’s six and there are also nasya – medicated oil up the nose, and netra tarpin – eye drops. Just know we got the full package, plus some extras, minus the leeches.

Week Three: During week two diet and lifestyle practices have been discussed and then prescribed for home. In addition, some herbs or supplements may be recommended. And in all honesty, this third week is really a suggested way to continue eating and living for the next three months. Or forever. I am doing the vegan thing until May. At least. To the best of my ability. [Please note: chocolate, wine and coffee are all vegan.]

By now you may be wondering, Why? Why would you do this and why are you sharing this masochistic torture with me?

Because the results are amazing.

It is a complete reset. When I showed up at the center’s front door, I was stressed beyond my capacity to deal with it in a healthy manner, instead I was on the fuck it diet – eating whatever I wanted – and drinking way too much wine. I let go of all my helpful practices and even gave up riding my beloved bike, Ruby Blue. I was just too busy being overwhelmed and important to take care of myself. I was on auto-destruct but powering through.

I had to disrupt all my habits.

I had committed to the panchakarma six months before going. A couple of friends from California were going to do it and invited me join, so I say yes. One of my best yesses, I’d say.

The first few days of panchakarma I was still stuck in my head, anxious without an impossible list of tasks to complete, but by mid-week I had relaxed into the rhythm and surrendered to the schedule. I could feel the stress turning to vapor and leaving my body (it left in other ways too, but I don’t want to spoil it), I could feel my mind beginning to clear and my muscles and righteousness beginning to relax.

By the time I left, I had a clarity and focus I have not had in years. My body felt lighter and more open. I could breathe fully and smile easily. My skin was glowing.

Why would I want to give that up? Why would I ever want to go back to the old uptight pressure cooker I was? I wouldn’t. I don’t. I am doing all I can to maintain my peace and continue to heal body and mind.

What will follow the next few days is my day-by-day account of what I went through. It’s written in real time, as I was experiencing it, so it has all the snark that comes along with a sarcastic, stressed, overweight, toxic, middle-aged woman being asked to get naked so her body can be sanded, slathered and sweated for her own good.

Regardless of what that crazy bitch has to say, this clearer, calmer version of her, highly recommends the process and the amazing therapists and doctor of the Mind Body Wellness Center in Flagler Beach, Florida.

 

About 90% Committed

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I decided to do the Whole 30 “Abridged” version.

Which is to say, I’m cheating already.

In my defense, I have a nearly full carton of organic half and half just sitting in my fridge and since I no longer waste things, I have to use it. There may have also been a couple pieces of chocolate left too.

I’m also not completely prepared. I need to purchase a few provisions to make this as easy as possible.

What’s interesting to me, is that the Monday after Thanksgiving I quit it all: dairy, alcohol, grains of any kind, sugar. And it was easy. A switch had been thrown that would not allow me to stuff garbage into my pie hole.

That lasted nearly a month. Then someone found the switch and threw it in the other direction.

How does this happen?

I jumped off the junk train then because I felt disgusting and lethargic.

I no longer gauge if something is working by the scale but how I feel. What my energy level is. If I’m sleepy mid-day I know there’s way too much sludge in my veins and they need a nice clean-out with some juicing and/or water. NOT coffee or chocolate, as much as it pains me to write that out loud. And longer term, just better, cleaner eating habits.

I tripped back onto the sugar bus because I clearly wasn’t paying attention. I forgot that I was feeling great. Or, more likely, I succumbed to the ideal that a little won’t hurt.

But I’m back. And committed. 90%.

I have been reading the front of the Whole30 Cookbook and I’m becoming inspired. Enough to order the original Whole30 book with all the secrets for moral support. Thus far, it sounds suspiciously identical to the 21 Day Sugar Detox + 7 days. Either way, just reading about it will help me stay on task.

And either one of them will get me back to that energy sweet spot.

Next Monday 100%.

I’m gonna need all that sustained energy to finish counting all the things in my house.

 

21 Day Challenge – Day 17 – Poster Child

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I have a great friend I share a cup of coffee with every other week or so. We chat about yoga, life, travel, everything.

This week we talked about the gym, because for some reason I am obsessed.  I have belonged to gyms since high school, why I’m just falling in love now I don’t know.

Anyhoo. We both agreed that we feel great when we work out, that cardio lifts our spirits and energizes us. So naturally after a period of euphoria we just stop going.  We both had gym stories to share; silliness on some of the machines, punching ourselves in the face by using the weights incorrectly, not being able to walk properly after a prolonged period on the elliptical. It was great fun.

This friend has had gastric bypass surgery, is working the plan and doing great, but still has a considerable amount of weight to lose. I could drop a few sizes and some poundage. So, when over our first pumpkin spiced lattes of the season one of us commented on being the perfect poster children for the gym, we could hardly contain ourselves. We laughed and laughed, until finally we sighed our last laugh out, looking off into the middle distance, smiles fading back to reality.

Are we destined to relive this conversation? Are we stuck in a loop?

This idea of habits has me intrigued. In yoga we call them samskaras, grooves that are created by doing something over and over again. Some good, some not so helpful. The deeper the groove, the more difficult it is to crawl out and make change.

Quantum physics backs this up. Thoughts that are wired together fire together. With the repetition of a thought or behavior we create neuro-pathways that encourage that same behavior over and over.

Over many years, way more than I care to admit – just makes me tired thinking about it – I have been stuck in this loop. Even with all the education I’ve had on the very topics of nutrition and health.

I am committed to my good health, but somewhere a tiny voice is saying, “Yeah, but eventually you’re gonna be right back here again in the not too distant future.” How do I shut it up? Or better yet, how do I prove it wrong?

The gym seems like a good place to start.

And maybe not too many more pumpkin spiced lattes.

21 Day Challenge – Day 8 – Sweet Stuff

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Pouring sugar over a strawberry on a spoon

Sugar and I are madly in love and can’t be apart for more than a few hours. He’s with me during my morning coffee. He’s there for me if I’m feeling a little low. When I reach for an iced tea he’s there. We love to spend long, lazy summer afternoons together with a bowl of fresh strawberries or peaches. And at night, oh night time is the sweetest. We’ll sit for hours snuggled on the sofa and watch a movie or read a good book.

Sometimes he likes to hide from me, but I can always tell he’s been there by the flutter in my chest followed by sleepy bliss.

I wouldn’t dream of breaking up with him. Not completely.  I’ve done it before, we’ve taken a break or cooled it a little but never have we parted for long. Life loses all flavor without my little cupcake.

I know it’s not right. It’s one of those toxic relationships people just don’t want to talk about. So I think it’s time to limit our interaction with each other. He doesn’t have to linger as long in the mornings or come by at all during the day. Maybe he can stop by for a little dessert in the evenings. Little. Once in a while.

Besides, spending time away from my honey will make what time we do spend together all the sweeter.

He’s okay with it too. I tend to deplete him.

I would let him go altogether, I would, but he just comes back. And he comes on strong, whispering sweet nothings in my ear, bringing me chocolate and wine.

No, this is best, albeit bittersweet. Limited visitation. We’ll see how it goes from there.

Ah, but parting is such sweet sorrow.

Witches Brew

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Daily Prompt: Captain Picard was into Earl Grey tea; mention the Dude and we think: White Russians. What’s your signature beverage – and how did it achieve that status?

I wish I could tell you I’m never seen without my trusty water bottle or a bucket of green juice, but I can’t in good conscience.

Instead I can be caught with any number of liquids.

In the morning, it’s my own personal brew. A blend of dark and  lighter roast coffees from exotic origins.  The hot magma sends tendrils of steam upward, tickling my olfactory senses  and I begin to swoon. A dash of cinnamon, a teaspoon “or so” of organic raw sugar and a plop of organic half and half complete the alchemy.

I breathe deeply once  with the cup cradled in both hands, its precious contents at the ready. On that first intake I can feel the blood in my veins beginning to warm, animating the cells in my body, sparking the flint in my brain, cranking the gears to life. It’s necessary, medicine really. And there might be more than one cup.

Around lunch time I usually reach for that quintessential southern delicacy known as ‘Sweetea.’ On occasion water. On rare occasions. Not really very often at all.

In the evening, f I am going to imbibe, and often I am, it’s going to be a Pinot Noir. Deciding to have a glass of wine sends a message to the brain creating an internal environment to relax. A Mona Lisa smile begins to tug at the corners of my mouth as I twist the cork out of the bottle. That ‘pop’ signals my salivary glands to prepare for that first hint of bitterness. Yet I wait, I give the bottle a few minutes to acclimate, then I pour. This too requires a few moments.

It’s foreplay.

At that first sip my taste buds spring to life. I can feel the dark liquid slide down my throat and spread like warm fingers throughout my torso, hugging me. I sigh, lean back, take another sip then set the glass down as the day’s edges begin to soften.

When I’m in India I can’t get enough Chai. Jamaica, Sorrell tea and ok, Red Stripe. Whole Foods, Green Dream. Hindu temple, mango lassi. I don’t drink soda or nearly enough water. I get far too many calories from my liquids and entirely too much pleasure.

If I had to let go of any of these, for just a little while I hope, I could. Everything but the coffee, just one cup. Like I said, it’s medicine.

Writing Spaces

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When I first read the topic for today’s ‘postaday’ my mind instantly went to the right corner of my living room sofa, where the perfect mold of me awaits patiently each day. On the table to my right, an ebony wood Buddha holding a chunk of amethyst is overseeing my efforts, quietly cheering me on, as Buddhas are known to do. Surrounding him are my mug of steaming hot joe, a camera – I never know when I’ll be called outside by the sound of a cardinal or mocking bird for a photo shoot – and one of million journals. To my left one or two of four bite sized doggies snores softly.

A French door leading to the back patio swings in the gentle morning breeze as the sun reflects off the glass bouncing back into the living room. Occasionally the breeze brings with it the rich smell of the earth, still damp from the previous day’s storms. My painted toenails peek above my laptop screen. Somewhere nearby the coffee maker makes clicking sounds. The light and energy are good here.

But I also saw myself lying on my belly, propped on my elbows with my iPhone wedged between my hands, recounting the day’s events while in India. At a Starbucks on that same device in London as I waited out a spate of rain. I saw myself reaching into my purse for that flat little notebook I bought in a museum, that receives the freshest ideas that I may or may not act upon later. I saw myself sitting on my yoga mat in the middle of class begging that perfect sentence to stay somewhere within reach as I simultaneously tried to let go of everything.

My writing space is fluid, portable. It is my mind, my imagination. It’s between the ears and beyond my vision. It starts with a ping brought on by a word, a sight, a muse, then I just follow it. My writing space is everywhere. I couldn’t write of travel, insights, enchantment and experiences if I stayed in one place. My preferred typing space, however,  is in that light filled living room surrounded by four little dogs, the sound of birds singing in my backyard and the hum of the refrigerator in the next room.

But then, I haven’t had the opportunity to lift the lid of my laptop at a café in France yet.