Juicin' Juice: Day 7 of 7

Hey, welcome to day 7. Yep, that's day 7 of a 7 day juice fast. Boy howdy, it's a good thing we decided to do a 7 day juice fast instead of one of them 10 day juice fasts, cause... cause ten would have just been... um... stupid. Seven. Yessir, that's the magic number. Seven. Some people call it a week.

*sigh*

We awoke and lay in bed for a good while without speaking of food. I didn't want to bring it up, cause I was afraid the wife would say something like, "Well, I'm headed out for breakfast burritos. You're welcome to come if you like," which would force me into decision-time. Then again, part of me was also afraid that she wouldn't say it.

So we lay there, reading our books until our stomachs began to growl.

"I guess I better get up and drink some juice," she said. "My stomach's going nuts."

"Yeah," I said. "Me too."

I tried to drink another glass of the bright red beet concoction from yesterday afternoon, but it was horrifying. The wife mixed some of the remainder of her fruit-based juice that she'd liked from the day before into it and told me to try that. It was better, but arguably so. I got it down.

We sat in the living room, watching Doctor Who, while the wife looked for juice recipes online. Around lunch, the wife said she should get up and make something else. I told her that I should too, because I was having visions of french fries. She tried one of the recipes she'd found, which was supposed to be a cleansing juice. It contained half a grapefruit, half a beet, a quarter lemon, a handful of grapes and two apples. I was leery of anything involving beets, but it was delightful. One of the best juice combos I've tasted. Maybe the real trick to this is to stick to tried and true recipes rather than our more experimental efforts thus far.

Mid afternoon, the wife walked over to me as I sat in a low chair watching TV. She smiled, reached her hands out, took mine in hers and attempted to bring me to my feet in a kind of come-hither way.

"So..." she said with a coy smile. "Let's you and me... go get... those fries."

It was perhaps the sexiest thing she's ever said to me. But I still couldn't do it. I locked my knees. "No, don't make me go eat fries!" I cried.

"No, no," she said, hooking a foot under my knee to bend it. "Lift its little leg," she said.

"Nooooo. We can't, we can't," I said, rising to my feet, my stomach already growling at the prospect of fries. In that moment, I was weak and ready to give in.

"Well, at least let's just eat some stir fried veggies and leftover salmon," she said.

"But... but," I began. Then I considered this. If we were really going to stay home and not eat French fries, then I might as well just keep drinking juice. Veggies and salmon were healthy things to eat, but I'd not been on the diet for even a full week. I couldn't give in so quickly. At the very least I should do the full week, right? I argued this to the wife.

"So we're not going to eat any real food?" she asked.

I thought for a bit, weighed my heart's desire in the matter, then said the opposite. "No."

My wife began cursing the very name of juice. (Actual juice, not me.) She said she was tired of drinking it, she didn't want any of it, not even the good stuff. She needed some solid grub! And then, turning toward the kitchen, she announced. "I'm done."

I protested that I was not. I'd nearly made it a week and as much as I wanted to tuck into some salmon (or head for McDonalds) I just didn't want to do it until after I'd been on for the full week. Somehow the number was important. After all, most people who do a juice fast (except for stupid Joe Cross and his stupid 60 days) only do a five day cleanse. The majority of people don't make it to seven days, let alone ten. But if we could only make it to seven, that would at least be something. The wife then pointed out that it was already past lunch time, so I was only really talking about the difference of one meal and a few hours. This made sense to me. In particular, it made sense to my interior engines of rationalization, which had kicked into overdrive. But still I fought the urges to give in back and beat them about the face with a beer bottle... (Mmmm beer. Forgot about that stuff.) If I made it to at least seven total days, I could forever more say, "I went without solid food for a week." It doesn't sound nearly as good to say, "I went without solid food for six and a half days."

Temptation be damned, I was going to go the full week!

So while my wife cooked up some amazing smelling veggies and salmon into a stir fry, I feasted on a fruit juice combo and looked all surly about it. I wasn't mad at the wife for eating. I knew exactly how she felt and wanted to join in. But I was irritated at my own predicament. I didn't want any more juice, was determined to get through my week of no solid food, but still mad that I couldn't have what I really wanted, which was a cheeseburger and fries.

"Oh, don't be so cranky," the wife said, looking at my grimace of hunger.

We had to go to Wal-Mart a bit later on. I didn't trust myself to go close to the food section. Too many bags of Nutter Butters lurk in there. The wife seemed astounded we'd even made it to Wal-Mart, though. She thought I would just keep driving past it and head right to McDonalds.

"Don't think I haven't thought about making a midnight run there," I said.

We returned home whereupon the wife made for me the same kind of delightful citrus/apple/beet juice she'd made earlier. She had to add some extra grapefruit, though, cause it was too beety on first sip. If I never see a beet again it will be too soon.

I then sat for the rest of the evening, grumpy yet determined to get through it. I succeeded, but as I went to sleep my stomach was already growling with thoughts of Shoney's breakfast bar.