Adventure: El Jugo de la Vida

What you do is your business, but this doesn’t mean I can’t throw an idea your way. I’m not sure how healthy you are, but I’ve had health issues my entire life. I lived in an oxygen tent when I was six months old. (Double bronchial pneumonia.) I was in there long enough to figure out how to disassemble the damn thing. Ya, I was Bubble Boy. Twenty years of severe asthma, then I ventured into Epstein-Barr Virus. Funny how that name now takes on entirely new meaning. Epstein, Epstein, Epstein, we can never let them off the hook. My little dance with EB led to Mono, which entirely wiped me out. As I ventured into adulthood, I danced with bronchitis, walking pneumonia, and full-blown pneumonia, at least a dozen times. (The three combined.) And just for good measure, I picked up all kinds of intestinal delicacies like Giardia, parasites, and even one unknown thing that stumped the docs. But I wasn’t done yet. I did a little dance with meningitis, and then took on a five-year battle with Lyme Disease. I might have even had jock itch at some point. I’m not ruling it out.

The point is, I’ve been at war with my body since day one.

As I got older, it became readily apparent that the better shape I was in, the less likely I was to get sick. I finally left the smog of Southern California and began to take my health and fitness seriously, moving here to the mountains where I had a chance at a cleaner life. I started cycling and running consistently, and added in high-altitude hiking, birdwatching, and hook hicks, which I save for spring bears coming out of their slumber. I also began to pay much more attention to my diet. It wasn’t that I wasn’t doing these things in California; I was, but the air pollution in Orange County wasn’t helping. When I pushed myself hard, I’d get bronchitis or worse. Year after year. My respiratory doctor said, “Leave Southern California.” On a sidenote, want to know where the worst air in the city was the year I left? Venice Beach. I did a shoot for an environmental lawyer who blew my mind about the realities of pollution in SoCal. In short, it’s not pretty, no matter where you are.

While still in California, someone gave me a juicer. It wasn’t a great juicer. I still have it, and it still sucks, but there it sits way up high in our kitchen. But I’d gotten away from using it. Not sure why. Several weeks ago, after returning from my round-the-world trip and subsequent additional trip for Blurb meetings, I found myself at home sick as a dog. I didn’t eat for five days. Two things happened. By about day four, I didn’t really think about food, felt a glow around my illness, and had an extreme desire to feel the burn of ginger in my throat. Weird, I know.

Alarm bells went off in my mind and body. “Get a real juicer, you ignorant cuss.” So, I did. I’ll sell the old one to some unsuspecting slouch. The new juicer is a real one. Cold press, masticating, and capable of producing sizable batches, which means I can juice once, but have juice for days. I have glass jars, fill them to the top, and then slurp whenever I feel like. If you’ve ever seen the movie “Fat, Sick, and Nearly Dead,” about Joe Cross losing 100 pounds on a 60-day juice fast as he drives across the United States, it’s totally worth seeing regardless of your opinion on any of this. It’s funny, people, it’s funny. (and serious)

I try to keep my combinations to 80/20, meaning 80% vegetables and 20% fruit. You don’t want too much sugar, but I’ll let you figure out your own recipes. The juicer comes with a ton. FYI. Juice hits my body, bloodstream, brain, and everything else in a specific way. It’s instant, or feels that way. My body says, “Yes, give me more of that.” As opposed to what I’m going to do to myself tomorrow night when I venture to Valentina’s restaurant here in town and eat a plate of New Mexican food that is the size of the hood of my car. Yes, I still eat this stuff, but RARELY. Moderation, my friends, moderation. Do I crave New Mexican, yes. Do I scratch this itch? Yes. But once every few months. But now my body has begun, once again, to crave the feeling of the juice.

I weigh 174 pounds with all my clothes and shoes, so let’s say I’m 170 in my birthday suit. I feel like I could add some muscle and take off a pound or two, which I know makes zero sense, but what about me makes sense? Creatine has been a godsend, and I feel the same way about coming back into contact with consistent juicing. Feeling good is good enough. I think that might be a line from Platoon, but I’m taking it anyway.

Look, I’m not a health and fitness expert. Not even close. All I can tell you is how I feel when I ingest this stuff. Yes, I get my ginger burn, and at times it feels like I’m drinking the Earth, but the more I do this, the better I feel. And as for my health, I’m still sickly, at least at times. I can burn hot in the field for extended periods, running 16-18-hour days for weeks, but at some point I pay the piper. When I do, it’s nice to have this little option running in the background. A little advice: get a good juicer. It’s worth it. Mine came with a fifteen-year warranty. Or start small and go buy a juice from someone doing it right. This will be pricy, but it will be a good test run.

The photograph above shows what I juiced early today. This provided two days of juice. There is a technique involved, and certain things will appeal to certain people, but not to others. That’s okay. Each of us has to find our own path. But just look at those colors. Every healthy eating guide I’ve ever read talks about eating color, and this is a very fun way to do it. I also still eat non-juiced veggies and fruit, but the juicing thing cuts out all the bad intermittent snacks and processed shit because I feel so much better when I just have the juice.