You’d think for heavy eaters like John and me, the minimalist diet in Tokyo would have driven us to the opposite extreme. Actually, we’d originally planned on binging our hearts out on returning to Shanghai. Strangely enough though, one of us (and I honestly can’t remember whether it was John or I) had the bright idea to actually prolong (or rather exacerbate) the “eating in moderation” theme by undergoing a two-day brown rice/veggie/fruit-only diet. With all the Stateside buzz about detox and colonics, I was starting to believe: surely worms, parasites, and other creepy crawlers were thriving in my gunked-up intestines. They had to be eradicated. Through the grapevine, I’d heard of a few people getting hooked on colonics. They insisted the results were unfathomable, magical, life-altering. I just couldn’t get beyond the thought of manually flushing out that part of the system, so a “cleansing diet” seemed like the next best thing. Two days, how bad could it be? A good test of will, I suppose.

Well, I have to say: the cleansing diet sucked. Big time. It was horrible. I mean, sure, first meal or two, no big deal. Brown rice, steamed veggies. They kinda offered that vegetarian/yoga journal appeal. Whatever. Jesus Mary and Joseph, by day 2 morning, John and I were so frickin’ hungry. By day 2 evening, both of us felt like complete ass: totally weak and nauseous. I know I’m out of shape but damn, I had no idea such a brief change in diet would screw me like that: seriously, I was a moaning groaning cripple, writhing in pain on the futon. And man, I had the biggest migraine ever, smack dab in the middle of my forehead. I couldn’t concentrate on anything. I was trying to listen to a podcast, and nothing was registering. I was a total basketcase. And John was the same way. Finally, at like 10pm, he demanded an end to the madness. He headed straight to the kitchen where he cooked himself up a big, juicy, cheesy omelet. He then returned to the office (where I was still trying to hold out) and scarfed that thing down in record time. Within seconds, he was prancing around the room all happy go lucky, bragging about how the omelet made him feel instantly better. How could I resist? I figured, two days was the original goal anyway. I was pretty much there. Why torture myself further? What for?

Last month, I met someone who said he fasted (liquid only) twice a year for one week each time. Interested, I asked him why. He got all defensive and went into this diatribe about how fasting wasn’t just about physical detox; it was about spiritual renewal and rejunvenation. Ok, whatever. Let me tell you. I didn’t feel a single ounce of revitalization. I felt like I’d spent the day on a Cast Away raft. I was done, man. 10:21 pm. Got myself a chocolate bar and indulged. I felt instantly better.