Since I’m already doing a cleanse this week, I decided to go full hippie and try oil pulling. (I’m building a slack line in the backyard this afternoon, right after I get back from the hookah bar.)
I don’t know what’s gotten into me.
Actually, that’s a lie. I know exactly what the problem is. I’ve not once worried about age or aging until a few months ago when my face broke out like a teenager, my metabolism bottomed out, and my gynecologist dropped the word perimenopause in a routine exam.
I’ll pause here for dramatic affect.
Even in my early twenties, I wasn’t a bit worried about my thirties. Nor was I scarcely worried about my forties. I’m healthy (mostly) and make good food and exercise choices (mostly), so what did I have to be worried about?
Then I was blind-sided with acne and fatigue and perimenopause.
I hate that word now, but let’s keep moving forward.
I’m on Day 3 of a week-long cleanse and felt adventurous last night while watching Mr. Selfridge. I was sitting all cozy in my new bed and thought, “Why not now?” So I took a small scoop of coconut oil and put it in my mouth.
It tasted like nothing. The texture was… not great. Once the little hard bits that felt like mucus broke down, the swishing was much better. I didn’t make it to twenty minutes, nor did I make it to ten. I’ll be honest and tell you I swished the oil for about five minutes and then I was bored. My cheeks started to hurt and it felt like the oil was dissipating, like maybe it was seeping down my throat. Was I digesting coconut oil? Was it slowly creeping down my esophagus?
That’s when the gag reflex kicked in and I decided oil pulling wasn’t for me.
The cleanse, for the record, isn’t for me either, but I’m continuing with it for three more days (or so) just to see what happens. It’s not entirely inconvenient, but it’s not my favorite way to spend time. It’s helpful that we don’t have many places to go this week, if you catch my drift.