73. Wrestling with the old me.

Up here again, in the sky, winging my way to a five star locked down location for a detox. I haven’t fallen off the wagon all year, and it’s August. But the truth is, I have my foot on the neck of a fat drunk girl who is dying to get back out and convince me how much more FUN she is than I am.  Frankly, after eight months, my leg is getting tired from holding her down.  I’d like some help.

I’ve been to Gwinganna before. It is in Queensland, near the New South Wales border. They run a slick operation with a team of people who couldn’t be better advertisements for the lifestyle. There’s a Gwinganna glow about their skin, and a particular pertness around their derriere that inspires me. Haven’t seen a fat one yet. Although there’s a few that turn up as guests of course.

The programmes are a mix of exercise, healthy food, indulgence, education and high thread count sheets. I’m good with this.

I am looking forward to releasing the hold on the old me for a few days. She couldn’t get out there, even if she tried.

69. The greedy bitch

So I’m staring at a golden ceiling, the birds are chirping, the river below is travelling through, Arvid the Indian bodyworks healer has my head in his hands and is lengthening my neck with commitment, and Jeff Buckley is singing Halleluyah on the stereo.

That. Just. Happened.

This man is the magic of the retreat, and the magic is in his hands. One hour a day on his table and five sessions in, I can feel myself uncurling, lengthening, standing taller. My neck isn’t tight and my shoulders are back in the right place. Apparently the right place for my shoulders is a lot further away from my ears than they’ve been living for the last few years.

The Australian couple sharing this experience with us are experiencing miracles. Mick’s chest was a block of concrete; Shirley’s left foot was slowly turning inwards which turned walking without shoes into a hobble. After four sessions, she was triumphantly padding around the place in her socks. The concrete in Mick’s chest is slowly being broken into rubble.

It’s day five and I have been running at 40 percent til just now when Arvid gave me back the other 60.  I’ve learned that for the first day or two of a fast, your body uses up the food remaining in your digestive tract from previous meals. For the next couple of days, your body uses stored food reserves from your liver. This means that a fast doesn’t really begin until about the fifth day.

I’m not calling it day one though; it could take me to the brink.

Today’s also the day the liver releases  its toxins apparently. Greedy bitch holding onto it all for that long.

I feel great. I have broken the back of the fast now. Stuff’s happening. I like it.

Release.      Release.     Release.

68. Suspended reality.

images-1Day four.

I can feel myself lightening.

I feel less connected to the ground somehow, though no less connected to the earth.

Took the rental car into town for the morning, walked on the beach barefoot. Talked to my kids on the phone. People looked normal, going about their days, long weekend, swim in the sea, lie on the warm sand.

Ambled around the Nelson markets, the alluring food smells seduced my senses and attempted to break my resolve. Salome, dance of the seven food stalls.

Had a fresh juice in town. Only okay. Becoming a bit of a fresh juice connoisseur.

Went to a movie “Beast of the Southern Wild”; we were the only two in the theatre.  No popcorn.

Not hungry. But undeniably empty.