Thursday, April 22, 2010


Carbohydrates. All girls know they are supposed to avoid them if they want to be skinny. They are they arch-enemy of a good physique. I can't tell you how many times I've commented with my roommates and friends on how awful we feel that all we can eat in Italy is carbs. Pasta is incorporated into every meal the Italians make. Not to mention that Italy is famous for pizza and bread. We're all going home extra-heavy from beig here for so long. All I've done in Italy has been consume, consume, consume, and most of that consumption has been carbs, topped off by the fact that in Germany I literally flooded my system with beer-more carbs. I decided after returning home that I was detoxing.

Detox diets are simple. Do not drink alcohol. Do not drink coffee. Do not eat carbs. Do not eat meats. Do not eat sweets. Eat only water, fruit, veggies, and sometimes nuts. Flush your system with freshly squeezed lemon juice every morning. Take a vitamin. Drink 2 litres of water daily. Drink tea at night. Have salad. I did this on day one and by lunchtime I started to get hungry. I'd had an apple for breakfast and lemon water replaced my daily double espresso. After my lunchtime salad I started to feel it: the caffine headache. Fellow students passed me with their Moka machine espressi and foamy cappucini and I started to lose my grip. All I wanted was some damn coffee. When I got home I had broccoli for dinner and green tea for dessert. I was miserable, but proud that I'd made it through such torture. I only had three more days to go.

I woke up the next morning and poor Casalinga had to deal with my neverending complaints about coffee and my cranky rage. I chomped on my apple bitterly and sucked down my lemon juice with a big giant sour puss on my face that wasn't forming because I was drinking lemon juice. I barely made it through the day; at one point I stood in front of the Moka machine for a solid four minutes, 60 euro cents held firmly in my hand which was hovering in front of the change slot. Walking away from that machine took more effort than anything I've ever done in my life. By the time I got home I was really looking forward to sitting down with a bottle of red wine and putting myself to sleep. I opened my bottle and was about to pour myself a glass when I realized, wait, I couldn't drink alcohol. I was seething at the dinner table, so pissed off at my corn and peas that I swallowed them all whole and gave myself a stomach ache. I got into my bed, kicking my blankets around and fluffing my pillow a hundred or so times before finally falling to sleep.

The rest of my detox passed in a similar fashion. I found myself so weary by the end of the four days, from headaches and stair-climbing with no energy, that I could barely get myself out of bed Friday morning. Casalinga was wary of me as I slowly sat up stared her down with bloodshot eyes and mussed up Medusa hair. No one was more relieved than she when I got up and made myself an espresso.
Arrivederci, for now.
Love, Gabby.

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