My great journey began, like most journeys do, with a divine message from Beyonce.
Or, more specifically, it began when I was listening to “Lemonade” on a plane ride home from Wisconsin after a solid week of drinking “Wisconsin-ably” with my family. A week of imbibing roughly 10,000 calories of beer a day – in addition to living off of bar food and not exercising – had taken its toll on me mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically.
It was in that moment that I knew I needed to make a change, so, I did what any self-respecting millennial woman would do under the same circumstance: look at 30-day health challenges on Pinterest.
The moment I learned that Beyonce drinks a gallon of water a day, I was sold. So began what the internet has dubbed "The Water Gallon Challenge."
Thirty days later, I can confidently inform you that even though I am possibly as hydrated as Beyonce, I am no closer to being her.
I can say my skin appears to look marginally better, my hair’s a little softer (but I also changed shampoo because a different brand was on sale), I need less caffeine, hangovers became virtually non-existent and all of my articles on 9NEWS.com are perfect and devoid of typos.
Ok … part of that was a lie. But below, you’ll find some tidbits about my experience during the gallon challenge:
The bathroom became my second home
If you didn’t know I was drinking a ridiculous amount of water every day, you might have thought I either had severe gastrointestinal issues or a debilitating drug problem.
During a nine-hour workday, I would find myself going to the bathroom 15 times … at least. I was peeing so much my coworker whose desk is conveniently located near the ladies room was taking a tally. I’m 90-percent sure that 9NEWS’ water bill increased directly as a result of me.
And when I wasn’t at work, I found myself believing Port-a-Potty’s I would have once avoided were some sort of palace. Thirty minute drives became a race against time … or more specifically, my bladder.
My gallon jug became a part of me
I majored in journalism. That means that calculating how many ounces are in my water bottles and then figuring out how many of those makes a gallon is far too taxing on me from a mathematical standpoint. So, I ended up just filling up a gallon jug of water and calling it good.
Did people laugh at me whenever I took a swig straight from my jug? Maybe. Did I look ridiculous walking into work and carrying that thing around? Probably. Did it fit in the refrigerator of my overpriced Denver micro-apartment? Heck, no.
But, I do feel like my forearms are marginally stronger after this 30-day journey. And I still can’t tell you off of the top of my head how many ounces are in a gallon, which I consider a win.