SWIMMING
Salt water from the ocean
contains natural healing
properties. I know this from
reading about hair products
made with sea salt, and following
attractive strangers online who
take a morning dip in Bondi each
day. Unfortunately, during my
last hangover, the closest body
of water was not a sparkling blue
sea but a chlorine-fi lled suburban
swimming pool that almost
defi nitely contained multiple
band-aids and an unthinkable
amount of dead skin cells. While
I can hypothesise that stepping
from powdery-soft sand into a
crashing wave would be benefi cial
to the body and soul, I can't
pretend a jumbo bathtub full of
mystery hair offers any benefi t
whatsoever. Unsurprisingly, a
headache is not aided by artifi cial
humidity and yelping children.
When I’m feeling fragile, my
patience – much like this pool’s
hygiene standards – runs low.
I give this hangover cure half a
star, and only because the snack
bar sold hot dogs. DFHAIR OF THE DOG
I don’t like day-drinking.
A glass of wine in the
afternoon or mimosa at
brunch sends me into child-
like fits of sleepiness and
accompanying crying jags.
I felt even less like drinking
after a night of martinis and- when the money ran out –
several pots of beer. Like a
true professional, though,
I faced up to my job of
knocking back a Bloody Mary,
and was surprised by how
easily it went down the gullet.
Only minutes before, I’d been
planning to bury myself in
a hole, but the combined
powers of alcohol, tabasco
and tomato juice lifted my
spirits. Am I recommending
more alcohol as a cure for
alcohol poisoning? A little,
but be warned: I crashed
out after breakfast and woke
up around lunch feeling like
my body had made little-to-no
progress in processing any
of the booze coursing
through it. CC
GATORADE
Electrolytes! Hydration!
Replenished minerals! Are you
impressed by my very scientifi c-
sounding buzzwords? If there’s
anything I’ve learned from years
of advertising consumption, it’s
that product labels are 100 per
cent accurate and can always
be trusted. Sports drinks are
especially fond of highlighting
the superpowers supposedly
contained within – which is
where the aforementioned
buzzwords come in. It makes
sense for a hungover husk
of a woman to need some
rehydrating after a night on the
turps, so I crawled up to a drinks
fridge at a local milk bar and
made my selection. As everyone
knows, blue is the most powerful
colour, so I gratefully poured the
coolant-hued Gatorade down
my throat. Was I an athlete
now? Were my electrolytes back
under control? Those questions
remained unanswered, but the
28 grams of sugar certainly
perked me up enough to enjoy
my saunter back home. DF
SWEATING IT OUT
This one is hard. Harder than
The Rock’s biceps. When I
woke, I wanted only darkness
and grease-slicked food.
Instead, I pulled on my Kmart
sports bra and leggings,
hating every inch of the
bare-all lycra. I didn’t bother
with headphones, because
my brain was shrinking from
the alcohol and any noise
hurt. Hungover running is a
special kind of hell. The thud
of my heels on the pavement
juddered through my skull;
my limbs were lead; my sweat
was 90-proof. But as it beaded
on my skin and my lungs
diligently fl ushed air in and
out, I felt increasingly awake.
By the time I’d fi nished a
limp around the oval, my skin
was fl ushed, my forehead
sweaty and I’d turned
the metaphorical corner.
Apparently, sweating works.
The caveat is that it’s good
for a low-level hangover – if
you’ve spent the night on the
bathroom fl oor, don’t try it.CCroad test