Hollywood's New Hot Diet

DAY 3. MONDAY.

Supposedly this is the hump day, at least according to the juice girl at my gym who probably knows better than most. I could barely get through the green coconut chunky delight this morning, but I do feel a bit more energetic and hit the elliptical.

My skin looks like it belongs to a seven-year-old, but my stomach is still not right. I am not “eliminating” anything and I feel like a camel heading into the desert. My stomach is distended. I look pregnant. My jeans are tight, causing more cramping pain. I take some more LaxElixir (supposed to be reserved for bedtime) and head to a lunch meeting.

I pick a table near the door hoping the place will, er, air out as customers pass in and out. My friends arrive and we chat and I patiently watch two people slowly devour grilled octopus, grilled chicken salad, and Moroccan lamb tagine. I sip a cup of mint tea for two hours, afraid to put any more liquid into my body. My colleagues take note of my incredible self-discipline. More like exhaustion. But I haven’t cheated, even when no one was looking.

Life really does revolve around food, especially in New York. It’s all about where to go for brunch, lunch, coffee, dinner, after-dinner drinks… We socialize around food, we do business around food. Usually, we don’t scrutinize what eat. I think about the cheeseburger I planned to eat on Wednesday when this is over, and I think—do I really want to eat a cheeseburger? Will it ever work its way out of my lower intestine?

DAY 4. TUESDAY

It’s day four—D day. I swear I can smell baked goods wafting in from the apartment down the hall. I leave my building and notice a cab with a Snickers ad on it. I immediately have the urge to chase it down Fifth Avenue. All of my senses have heightened, for better or worse. The world is a clearer place. I realize how bad Manhattan smells.

It is supposed to be the final day of the cleanse, but I haven’t “eliminated” anything since Friday and I am starting to worry. I call my friend, a fan of colonics, who recommends that I call Lyt on 34th Street. I know this sounds extreme, but I am in serious pain. I have imbibed four gallons of liquid and ingested a four-pound Bag-O-Fiber. I have crazy energy and I am not hungry, but I am not a happy camper either. I book myself into Lyt, tacking an additional $105 onto this experiment.

This is my first colonic ever. The therapist pushes on my sacrum and I scream in pain. She says this explains my headaches. I believe her. At this moment, I would believe anything she said. She kneads my stomach for 45 minutes as I finally let go of a week. It’s humiliating. All I wanted was to feel thin and focused and refreshed! Instead, I have turned myself into a toxic bubble. They tell me to come back on Friday.

The next morning, I step on the scale. I feel better, finally. I am five pounds lighter and my skin looks great. I make a cup of coffee and it tastes disgusting. I am still not hungry. I sip a cup of tea.

Was it worth it? Maybe, but I realize that one should not embark on such a drastic therapy without guidance. This do-it-yourself attitude was a bad idea. You really need some handholding and some expert advice when trying to reverse the damage you’ve done to your organs. Also, being forced to look at what comes out of one's body really makes you think about what you put in it. To all you detoxers, I salute you. I hope in time I will have forgotten the pain and misery and will have a similar story to tell.

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Alexandra Polier has worked for the past five years as a journalist in East Africa, covering everything from war and famine to culture and fashion for such publications as Newsweek, Forbes, Domino, People, Marie Claire, New York magazine and Foreign Policy. She is working as a freelance writer in New York and raising her 2-year-old son Lawrence.