The habit: Eating like a pig, drinking like a fish

Model: Mireille/Elite

THE FIX: THE FAT FLUSH PLAN

I’m three days into a detoxification diet and the sudden realization that the spicy tang of chicken wings won’t touch my lips for weeks has totally ruined my morning. Plus, my head is throbbing so badly I want to dunk it in a tub of ice. I sadly unwrap the tinfoil holding my lunch: a chicken breast, which was cooked in a tablespoon of sodium-free vegetable broth the night before. I’ve got some salt packets mingling with the paperclips in my desk drawer, but since sodium is off limits, I sip my giant bottle of watered-down, unsweetened cranberry juice instead. Let’s be honest: Dieting sucks. But after a season brimming with holiday parties (fried apps and wine), airport eating (onion rings and beers) and football watching (nachos and wings), I need some fast, cheap help cleaning up my act.

My torture comes courtesy of a popular detox called The Fat Flush Plan by Ann Louise Gittleman (McGraw-Hill, $21.95). I’m in phase one, the two-week haze that kicks off a gradually less-restrictive three-part plan. The idea is that by eliminating certain foods and eating more of others, my untaxed liver will produce bile more efficiently, quickly breaking down fat in my body. Meanwhile, I’m supposedly ridding my body of harmful toxins and squashing lifelong addictions to evil stuff like caffeine. Unlike juice-only fasts, there’s plenty I can eat each day: eight ounces of lean protein, a couple of eggs, unlimited organic veggies (except for some high-carb ones like potatoes), certain fruits, and tons of water and cran-water. I’m also taking two tablespoons of flaxseed oil (a healthy fat), a multivitamin, and supplements like magnesium and GLA (an essential fatty acid some studies suggest may help regulate metabolism). But the off-limits list is extensive: no caffeine, no alcohol, no sugar, no oil, no bread and pasta products, no condiments, no medicine.

Aside from my headaches, the first week isn’t awful, but it’s no fun for my palate. Each night, I’m nanoseconds away from squeezing a bottle of ketchup directly into my mouth. I begin most days with either a fruit smoothie (using a recipe from the book) or scrambled eggs. Every morning and evening, I sip hot water with a lemon wedge and chug a “Full Life Cocktail”—a mixture of cranberry juice, water and psyllium husk powder, a fiber supplement that’s available at health food stores. At first the tiny husks swimming in my glass make me feel like I’m drinking gnats, but the beverage grows on you—though, despite all the added fiber, I never experience increased, shall we say…movement.

The deprivation has the eerie effect of making me feel holier-than-thou healthy. It also bums me out. It’s boring to steam veggies in a skillet of broth every night; normally cooking dinner is a fun event that I look forward to (especially when it involves homemade pizza). The worst part: After four days of clean-as-a-whistle eating and gnat cocktails, the stupid scale Has. Not. Budged.

I call Gittleman to discuss my (lack of) progress and she assures me every body is different and that because mine is already pretty fit I’m not going to see the eight-pound weight loss in a week that die-hard dieters who call themselves “Flushers” post about on her message board at FatFlush.com. Okay, that sucks, I can’t lose ten pounds before Saturday night like I wanted. But what about those headaches? “A great sign!” Gittleman enthuses. My body is simply detoxing—I’m suffering from intense caffeine withdrawal. (I calculate that the pre-Flush me drank at least five caffeinated drinks a day.)

By day nine I’m down four pounds, and I’m psyched. Praying she won’t burst my sugar-free bubble, I ask Chicago dietician Dawn Jackson Blatner for a reality check: Did I just lose water weight? She says the restrictive calorie intake (roughly 1,100 a day, at least 500 calories less than what I usually eat) accounts for, maybe, two pounds of “real” weight lost. And that “probably two of those pounds would come right back if you ate a piece of bread tomorrow.” Frack!

At the end of the two-week phase one, my rings are loose on my fingers and I feel great—like a clean slate. I’ll continue certain aspects of the plan (eggs in the morning, less caffeine, salads for lunch, more water). But—sorry, Flushers—I know I can’t resist the siren songs of beer and pizza forever.— Liz Plosser

TOTAL COST
$75 (including book, protein powder, psyllium husk powder and supplements)

HABIT-KILLING POWER

THE FIX: HEARTLAND HEALTH SPA

LIQUID DIET Quit boozing and binging on Heartland Health Spa’s tranquil grounds.

Flipping through the brochure for this wellness retreat on a 32-acre estate about 90 miles south of the city, I can’t really focus on the promise of three days (five-day programs are also offered) of healthy eating mixed with workout sessions and spa treatments in an alcohol-free environment. Instead, I keep staring at the photos featuring matching sweat suit–clad women in their forties (and up) going on walks and taking water-aerobics classes. As a relatively fit 29-year-old dude (with some greasy eating and weekly binge drinking habits), I couldn’t help but wonder what I’d gotten myself into.

That thought is still going through my head after my drive to the spa, located on a peaceful farm situated by a huge pond outside of Gilman. When I arrive, I’m immediately shown to my country-meets-Grandma–decorated room and given my loaner sweats (every client wears a pair with the Heartland logo; the “laundry fairies” replenish your spa wardrobe each day). As I take a tour of the facility, I’m told there’s no Internet connection on-site and only one television in a common area. Cell phones are only permitted in private rooms. Looks like the next couple of days are not only going to be dry, but also quiet.

Later in the evening I sit through what at first seemed like a not-so-informative workshop on meditation (“You can find a lot of ways to meditate on the Internet,” says Lana, the tai chi instructor) with my peers for the week: three ladies, one in her thirties and the other two in their late sixties. Even though I feel like I’m in some sort of bizarro-world episode of The Golden Girls, I’m thinking that at least I’d get to relax and not be hungover for the next couple of days. And then something happens that makes me go from skeptic to superfan. The instructor leads us through a meditation, and it’s the first time I’m able to really meditate. I feel like I’m melting into the floor and am at total peace.

The rest of my time at the spa continues my conversion. I eat healthy, well-portioned meals (like salmon for supper and mushroom pizza on a whole-wheat pita for lunch) at our group dinners and even pick up some recipes from the spa’s cookbook, which is available for sale ($30) in the boutique near the front desk. Barb, Heartland’s head chef, is on hand to chat about many of the meals we eat and also gives cooking demonstrations. I also get a massage, a detoxifying exfoliation scrub with pumpkin extract and take enough exercise classes (including boxing, yoga and an abs class) that I’m quite sore the next day. Downtime is spent reading or just hanging out and making small talk with the ladies. And instead of my usual evening cocktail or glass of wine, we help ourselves to hot tea and freshly popped unsalted popcorn. Each evening concludes with discussions on topics like energy healing and nutrition, and then it’s off to our rooms to read a little before falling asleep—usually before 10:30pm, which was a refreshing change from my usual fall-asleep-with-the-TV-on-at-midnight routine. By the second day, I decide I could get used to this “healthy living” thing.

Even though Heartland’s clientele is predominately women, I don’t feel uncomfortable as the only guy. We are all there for the same reasons: to relax and learn some healthy habits. And those reasons create a bond among the four of us. (So much so that I’ve been e-mailing back and forth with my new 68-year-old friend, Mary Kay.) I’ve also been recommending the place to all my friends; it’s like a health-oriented summer camp, and a weekend’s stay—or better yet, a five-day visit, if you can afford it—should be required at least once a year to clear your system of booze and junk food and get back on the road to healthy living.— Kevin Aeh

TOTAL COST
$730 for a two-night midweek stay (Wednesday through Friday); $1,725 for a five-night stay (Sunday through Friday).

HABIT-KILLING POWER