Easy There, Beet Juice

It was the largest beet I’d ever seen. They’re listed as “challenging” in the juicing book, which I believe is code for “NO!!!!!” After 20 minutes of prepping, washing, and liquefying pears, carrots, apples and a shrunken mummy head on which Whole Foods placed a sticker that read “beet”,  I had a half-full pitcher of purple liquid that I would clearly have to pour down my gullet at great speed — this was not the kind of juice I wanted to taste.

I drank the liter in around 15 seconds. Two pears, three apples, five carrots, and a hairy Wookie testicle. At first I experienced a disconcerting fullness, which quickly shifted to panic as my body considered eviction. I imagined a little Asian man inside my stomach shaking his fist and yelling, “No no, this too much!”

I paced around the kitchen considering whether to assist my body by purging, or to tough it out in hopes that a lease agreement might be reached.  But my brow and palms were damp, and my lips quivering. Whether it was a reaction to the nature bomb I planted in my GI tract, or pre-barf anxiety, I couldn’t tell.

Fifteen years ago, I might have been obsessively taking my pulse after mixing Jim Beam with Percocet. Now, at 40, that same panic is fueled by a fear that I’d drank too many root vegetables. How California of me.

I didn’t trust my mind or my body, so I sequestered myself in the small downstairs bathroom, where I continued to pace: one step, turn around, one step, turn around. I was a caged animal. My choices were limited, and I was tired of waiting.

I planted myself over the toilet as if preparing to peer down a well. I thought that, perhaps, the mere act of subjugating my pride might encourage my body to put a rush on its plans. But the old girl was tired, and wasn’t up to the challenge. I tried to jump-start her, but she just wasn’t interested. I knew something was going to happen, but it wasn’t to be forced. I would have to wait until she was ready, and I respected her wishes. Good things come to those who wait.

Instead of horrifying you with the details of the next thirty minutes, let me  remind you that beets are nature’s strongest dye. The Mayans first used them to color their moccasins for the spring killing season (totally made that up.) If it weren’t for google, I would have gone to the emergency room  to tell an unsympathetic doctor that I might have crapped-out my spleen.

On a positive note, if anyone wants a tie dye shirt, send me a white one knotted-up and I’d be happy to pee on it for you. Just provide return postage.

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