ON MY BACK, knees up, naked under a micro-thin gown while enduring the insertion of long, cold tubing into my rectum, I hear five words that will transform my life: “Have you tried going raw?”
I suffered for years from bouts of intestinal disturbances. I’d been treated for parasites (twice), attempted home kits for colon cleansing, fasted for seven days on green vegetable juice, binged on junk food out of frustration and submitted to countless physical exams (including the notorious upper and lower G.I. series that require the patient to gulp down a gallon of chalk juice). In the end, diagnosis and physical relief proved elusive. It was time for a professional cleanse. Enter Cher, my colonic therapist.
“Raw?” I asked, stretched supinely with double-purified, ozone-enriched water traversing in and out of my colon.
“As in all raw food,” Cher clarified. Grasping to pull down the hiked-up paper gown, I stared up at her in disbelief. As a vegetarian, I felt fringe enough.
Cher casually claimed victory over cancer by “going raw.” Her philosophy was tangible enough: She ate only unprocessed and un cooked fresh fruits and vegetables, sprouts, seeds, nuts, grains, dried fruit and seaweed. Heating food above 118 degrees was believed to destroy enzymes needed for digestion and the absorption of nutrients. Cooking was thought to diminish the nutritional value and “life force” of food.
Most raw experts think the closer to 100-percent raw you get, the better off you’ll be in body, mind and spirit. I was in such physical agony (often doubled over with gastro-intestinal pain) that I decided to try. Plus, the book Cher recommended led me to believe that I could become nearly immortal just by what I did and didn’t put in my mouth. The mission was established.
I made time to devour nearly every book on raw food as well as every dish prepared at the premier raw food restaurants in Manhattan. While discovering raw cuisine I read The Secret, which emphasizes the age-old belief that you can transform your life through the power of positive thinking. If your thoughts create your reality and you are what you eat, I could tackle the equation of good health from two angles.
However, I hadn’t factored in the financial drain. For lunch, it wasn’t unusual for me to drop $40 dollars ordering from the local juice bar and then picking out fresh produce and a few raw treats—including pancakes made with raw oat grouts and agave nectar. I relied mostly on exorbitantly priced pre-prepared raw meals, resulting in the shameful temptation to borrow against my 401(k) to support this new habit.
Gripped with raw fever, I attended seminars, lectures and raw events in the tri-state area. I even flew down to Asheville, North Carolina, to participate in a weekend billed as an “Opulent Reality Symposium,” spear-headed by an enigmatic, raw food octogenarian who possesses super-human strength and performs record-breaking feats. He truly believes that there’s no reason why a person should die, other than his or her own belief in death.
The raw lifestyle requires a steadfast determination to say no to all of the starchy staples of the American diet.The shunning from friends and family was rapid and fierce. People talked about me and my “strange, new diet” while I sat there picking at the only raw food option on the menu: fatigued iceberg lettuce swimming on a small plate of dressing. I was forever creating excuses for not being able to dine out with the cooked food community with which I was formerly enmeshed.The loneliness was subtle, yet palpable; the full force of it struck while dining alone one evening at an East Village raw eatery. I caught the reflection of my chlorophyll-hued face in the window and looked out at all the passersby who appeared to be blissfully coupled. It was Valentine’s Day, no less.
My change in appearance gave the naysayers even more ammo.What I considered muscle mass was actually pasta puff layered onto an otherwise very lean frame. At 5-foot-7, I rapidly went from 155 pounds to 128 pounds. But as the puff slipped away, instead of resembling a strong raw food warrior, as promoted by all the spokespeople, I took on the appearance of a prisoner of war. The theory behind the sudden weight loss was not just based on the intake of fewer calories, it was the body shedding the old material comprised of processed, cooked food and rebuilding with the good stuff. I’ve since regained about 15 of the 27 lost pounds.
Physically, I feel better than ever. I managed to bypass the detoxification phase experienced by many people transitioning to a raw diet. I’m free from digestive problems, need less sleep, experience no illness and lost that late-afternoon craving to lay my head down on the computer keyboard for a power nap.
However, a pivotal moment arrived last year while attending a wellness conference. Standing before 350 attendees, I passionately extolled the virtues of the raw experience.The conference facilitator nodded, but instead of thanking me he stated that I might be a tad orthorexic—which indicates an obsessive fixation on eating healthy food. That was me.
Perhaps it was time to find a balance.
Four years after going raw, I still consider myself a raw foodist, but I’ve released my militant stance on being 100-percent raw. Not only does it feel uncomfortable, it’s impractical. In fact, eating out with some of my cooked food friends just last night, without doubt or shame I tucked into a big plate of French fries.
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