On The Nine-Day Inner Cleansing and Blood Wash for Renewed Youthfulness and Health.
Around my neighborhood in Park Slope, there are all kinds of books littered along the stoops and sidewalks. I suspect it’s rare that the average pedestrian is interested in any of these books, but I’m susceptible to pick up any canonical text, like Anna Karenina, which I’ll never read regardless if it's in my apartment. My former roommate Rana and her boyfriend Colby, on the other hand, have a keen radar for picking up books that have likely sold less than fifty copies. Last summer they brought home one of these obscure texts, a book titled Nine-Day Inner Cleansing and Blood Wash for Renewed Youthfulness and Health.
Last week, we finished our second annual attempt of the Nine-Day Inner Cleansing and Blood Wash for Renewed Youthfulness and Health. Unlike the first year we did it, I cheated consistently throughout the nine days. Maybe you saw me in a stained alleyway on day two, hunched over, burrowing Cheez-its into my mouth like a disheveled squirrel. On day three I had nightmares. In one of them I denied any cheating. To see if I was lying, my imagined tormentors cut my right palm open and muddy blood flowed onto their shoes like a glass of celebratory champagne.
The proposed diet of the blood cleanse is simple. Fruits and vegetables. That is it. You can cook them, but you can’t use oil. Of the seven of us that underwent the blood cleanse this year, I don’t think any of us pretended we were doing it for our health. Harry Butram, inventor of the blood cleanse, is a certified bozo. His book is a catalog of hunches and inklings rather than practical breakdowns of logical nutrition. Most nights, you have to drink a cup of milky garlic broth and, in the mornings, a glass of sauerkraut juice. But as heinous as it is, I was able to endure all nine days last year.
This year however, I didn’t last two. And every time I disobeyed the rules, I experienced a unique and tactile guilt. On day six, while me and another participant who shall remain nameless, sat atop Sunset Park, overlooking the Manhattan skyline, enjoying two of the wettest burritos ever to be produced from a Chipotle, I felt a palpable tension in my body.
The reason for participating in the blood cleanse, I would tell people who asked, was for the feeling of camaraderie – doing something challenging - yet voluntarily - with your friends, born from a collective sense of curiosity and silliness. Quotidian adult life leaves little room for something like that. So secretly betraying a commitment I made entirely of my own volition felt like undermining some of the qualities I most valued among my friends. The curiosity. The silliness. The willingness to learn something about yourself. Or rather – to admit there is more to know.
Last year I learned a lot from the blood cleanse. Removing most of my diet exposed many of my eating tendencies and unveiled several aspects of my relationship with food. It proved my tendency to fill small pockets of time with snacking. It showed how little forethought was going into my decisions, and how impulsive my decisions for consumption had been. Most notably, it provided me the opportunity to be creative with ingredients. On the blood cleanse, with so little to choose from, one becomes a culinary gymnast in order not to starve from redundancy. You find yourself learning about seasoning for the first time. You’ll catch yourself googling how to blanch Bok Choy. You’ll reconsider what goes with what. This year, I learned almost nothing about preparing fruits and vegetables. Still however, in cheating and experiencing the guilt alongside it, I learned something equally foundational to my existence. Your diet does not start with food. It starts with people.
Last year, I lived with only other blood cleansers. This year, I took on the blood cleanse alongside a mud blood, a term we use to refer to a person not attempting the cleanse. I severely underestimated the challenge of watching someone eat your favorite foods, while chewing begrudgingly on your 15th celery stick of the evening. The discomfort within that contrast drove me, quite quickly I’ll add, to eat what my heart desired. This was not something to overcome last year. We cooked together. We learned together. And I was reminded of my own capacity for self control each time my roommate exhibited restraint herself. And most notably, and literally, we brought different things to the table. She enlightened me to the potential of cabbage, and I flooded the apartment with frozen grapes. Of course I don’t consider this a profound revelation – that your environment will influence what you eat. Not mind blowing, I know. But the blood cleanse magnifies this fact to a degree I had yet to experience. And it’s my impression that the discourse around diets in our country is primarily focused on food and portions, rather than considering the company you keep.
Once this anonymous other participant learned of my infidelity, it wasn’t long until their temptations would override their discipline. All it took was a sore shoulder after a round of golf. “I just feel like in order to heal, my body is going to need protein. Right?,” they asked earnestly. “Of course,” I said facetiously , “just go to the walk-in clinic and I’m sure the doctor will write you a script for chicken parm.” The next day, we ate the biggest schnitzel I’ve ever seen at the German Embassy calfeteria. The day after that, we split a large popcorn at the movies. We’d lost control. One minute we’re satiating our craving, and the next, we feel empty from gluttony. Perhaps similar to the way people who fornicate publicly might feel? Though, I can’t say for certain. ANYWAYS.
Three days after eating those burritos on top of Sunset Park, we arrived at the final blood cleanse dinner. Everyone was responsible for bringing an original blood cleanse recipe – ideally one that aided you through the experience. I brought oven-roasted broccoli. Without oil it was awful. I ate it once on the first day of cleanse and never again. Everyone else brought truly palatable food. Avocado and watermelon salad. Asparagus with a beet purè. Even roasted plantains. Throughout the meal I kept insisting to myself that had I been surrounded by this type of effort and support, I’d never have cheated. But mostly, I just felt jealous of everyone who steered the course. The first meal you eat after the blood cleanse is one of the more memorable eating experiences in a person’s life and I lamented not having the event to look forward to.
I didn’t go into the evening planning a confession but it was clear I wouldn’t be able to conceal it for long. After Colby confessed to pouring a splash of milk into his coffee on day six, I squealed like the little piggies I ate all week. The group was disappointed. Disgusted but equally compassionate. I held my head between my knees in shame, like a disobedient dog. I did the dishes as punishment. We laughed and teased. Everyone discussed what they were most looking forward to eating the next day. We all agreed, even the cheaters, that we’d give it another go next July. And until then, I’d just have to live with muddy blood.
P.S - Come to Commonwealth Running Club (Monday’s at 6:30 PM at Grand Army Plaza)
Cheater
Love u bro!