There's Something About August

I’m not sure if the words haven’t been invented yet or if I’m in desperate need of a vocabulary refurbishing (I’m thinking it’s the latter), but I can never seem to find the words to explain how little miss August makes me feel. Yes, she is definitively considered just as much of a summer month as June and July, but for some reason whenever I wake up on August 1^st, I feel... different. On July 31^st, I naively believe that summer will last forever and I’ve got all the time in the world to hit every roof top bar and ice cream shop in NYC before the season’s end. Year after year, however, when the clock strikes twelve, August wraps me in a blanket of uneasiness and I think to myself “I have thirty-one days left to live. I must make the most of my time here.”

The irony of someone demanding that you relax and enjoy the present moment is that it’s pretty difficult to relax and enjoy yourself when someone is demanding something of you. Most of the time when somebody tells me to “relax” or “chill”, I’m like the little aliens from space jam that steal the NBA’s talent and become huge, obnoxious monsters. Furthermore, when I tell myself I need to be present and cherish the moment, my mind goes into overdrive and I start worrying about whether the cashier at Whole Foods gave me the correct amount of change for the water I bought three weeks ago.

As much as August gently screams “live in the moment”, my boisterous mind screams “You need to relax. Are you relaxing? How do you really know if you’re relaxing? You need to enjoy yourself without worrying about what’s next. Or money. Or how you look in your bikini. Stop thinking. Are you seriously still thinking?” a smidge louder. Being present and mindful is something society talks about so haughtily, but can never actually execute, and without sounding too much like a bohemian-vegan-yoga instructor, it is essential to one’s peace and happiness. That is why, for the remainder of August, I’m making it my number one priority to be more mindful.

Why am I bothering you with this? Well, for one, because you guys are the only thing I can think of to keep me (actually) accountable, and two, because chances are, if you’ve been reading my blog and can relate to the absurd things that go torpedoing out of my mouth, you need to work on your mindfulness too. It seems fairly obvious that you accomplish a task most efficiently when you’re giving your 100% concentration and effort, and yet here we are eating dinner while simultaneously scrolling through Instagram, watching the latest Real Housewives, and trying to have a conversation with your roommate. What is the secret to doing it all? It’s not doing it all at once.

For the month of August, when I’m doing something, that’s all I’ll be doing. When I’m out to dinner with a friend, I won’t bring my phone and I’ll savor every last bite of my gluttonous meal. When I’m working out, I won’t think about what my post-workout snack is going to be or what other tasks I should be accomplishing by day’s end. When I’m dipping my toes in the ocean, I’m not going to think about whether or not my baby abs are poking through my pouch that day.

I implore (and sort of beg) you guys to undertake this challenge along with me; if not for the betterment of your entire wellbeing, do it for the sheer, disturbing fact that it is August...and her days are numbered.

The Slowest Fast Known to Humankind

Recently, I attempted the inconceivable. No, I didn’t try to abide by the serving size suggested by “doctors” on the peanut butter jar...I tried one of those damn juice cleanses. At a BBQ during July 4th weekend, my friend Emma and I declared (while inhaling a hot dog battered in beer in the same way I imagine whales quaff krill) that come Tuesday, we’d make up for all this debauchery with a 3-day juice cleanse. It all seemed so daring and exciting four cocktails in. Come Tuesday, the excitement was nothing but a figment of our imagination.

While normally we leave anything we spoke about in one of our drunken stupor’s in the past, along with what’s left of our dignities, we realized we might have taken things too far when SOMEBODY thought it was a good idea to bring alcohol-infused Funfetti cake with SPECULOOS FROSTING. Whoever you are, I want to kiss you, and kill you.

Before we could wrap our heads around the unfeasible journey we were embarking on, we paid $189 dollars to be absolutely miserable for three days. There are SO many fricken’ juice cleanses out there now-a-days (seriously, they’re popping up like Starbucks in urban cities), we were a little overwhelmed when picking our poison, but we ended up landing on the Juice Shop Cleanse. The three-day cleanse (fast) consisted of 102 liquid ounces a day of algae elixirs and local, organic cold-pressed concoctions that came in dainty glass bottles in flavors like kale and celery, beet and carrots, pear and chia seed and, the utter ambrosia, raw almond and Himalayan salt. They promised detoxification, recalibration, and regeneration, and since neither of us knew what any of those words meant, we thought it was the obvious choice.

So, how did it go? If I could compare my experience to another’s, I imagine it would be similar to a bear coming out of hibernation for 8 months and not being allowed to eat until they are willing to kill their cub for food. Are you wondering whether or not you should embark on this preposterous journey? Well, before you do, let me tell you about my own experience so you know what lunacy you’re getting yourself into.

Day 1:
Morning: I wake up unsurprisingly anxious about this challenge. I am repeating a mantra of “you can do this, you’ve been awake for an hour,” in my head, and I’m feeling wired and confident. Downed my first juice, ironically pondered about how “this is a piece of cake,” and was on my way for some “light exercise.”

Mid-Morning: I have no idea what the hell light exercise is, I run 4 miles and have to actively tear myself away from the treadmill. Feeling good from the exercise endorphins, but also have a pit in my stomach with the message “what have you just done...”

Lunch: Downing my second juice of the day and I’m still feeling pretty swell. Thinking this whole thing might be a breeze for a tenacious nugget like me. Life is good. Bless up.

Dinner: OH MY GOD I AM DILAPITATING. The “I am feeling good and ready to take on this challenge” feeling fades faster than it began. I am god damn STARVING. My stomach is growling incessantly and I drank enough herbal tea to drown a small village.

Day 2:

Morning: I am savoring every single tiny chia seed swimming in my morning juice.  I desperately attempt to reach the ones on the very bottom of the stupid bottle with my tongue before I realize I resemble a seagull picking up scraps in the garbage.

Lunch: I start fasting on the Juice fast. The Deep Greens will not go down, no way, no how.

Dinner: Irritable is the understatement of the past twenty-two years of my existence. I can’t talk. I can’t think. The only thing I can do is scroll through the best food accounts on Instagram and dream of a day when I am no longer in chained to the chair that is health. I am also thanking Jesus, Mary, and whoever else wants to listen that I didn’t work out today because yesterday, that resulted in a ravenous lion that only Sex and The City and 10 mg of Melatonin could tame.

Day 3:
Morning: I cannot go in public. I will physically assault somebody.

Lunch: I have a persistent headache that I think is here to stay, but I’m not so much thinking about food anymore. I’m thinking about the end goal and how tomorrow could possibly be the best day of my life. Not only do I get to reunite with my significant other, but I also get to speak to my family and friends again without wanting to throw them off a cliff. I’m also itching to get back to the gym, even though I am getting out of breath just walking up a flight of stairs. I start to feel extremely proud of myself until I snap back to reality and realize this race is not finished.

Dinner: I imagine it was similar to somebody running the last mile of the Iron Man: Gluttony is within fingertip distance. Do. Not. F***. This. Up.

Takeaway: I really just wanted to see if I could do it. And yeah, I can do it, but that’s if I don’t make any sudden movements, speak to anybody, or leave my bedside for 3 days straight. This is never happening again, so savor that sm