I was going to happily seize upon the opportunity to discuss my unusually exciting Spring Break, but this feeble idea has been usurped by a monthly event that happened to land on this day. Today I am fasting.
This all started two months ago, when I, furious at a bout of nasty blood glucose levels (see here), obstinately decided to halt all carbohydrate consumption for a day, in a misguided attempt to stabilize my fluctuating blood sugar [Misguided, I say, for this fails for reasons I shan't elaborate on here]. For the heck of it, and in part inspired by Wole Soyinka's brief essay, I decided to extend this regimen to a fast, and attempted to abstain from food for a 24 hour chunk of my life. This avoidance did not extend to water or tea, though, as the prospect of undergoing biking, fitness, and general daily happenings without a drop seemed too intense. Perhaps on a particularly insipid weekend, though. After all, a friend of mine's religion compelled him to abstain from food and water for a month, and he did so, despite this occurrence intersecting his cross-country season (ouch).
Despite the consolation of unlimited tea and water, the first fast was exceedingly hard for myself, though nothing, I'm sure, compared to what my friend underwent, nor what all the starved of the world suffer. Still, the experience was certainly interesting. The feeling of tea and water hitting an empty stomach is odd. Those weird stomach noises , its rumbles and gurgles. The pressure behind my eyes and temples that I envision as the entombed brain's plea for nutrients. A feeling of weakness, lethargy. Occasional faintness. Hunger. Nothing too exciting, to be sure, but crucially, still an overall state that is different .
For my whole life, I've always had good, wholesome, three-times-a-day-forever-and-ever meals. The extent to which I'd felt any semblance of hunger would have been the time I forgot my lunch in lower school. Even now, what I'm attempting to ignore via typing about could hardly be branded as "hunger". But I have a partially clearer notion of what it means to be hungry. I acknowledge, can't deny, the increasing fatigue of my mind and body (though mostly the mind, I'm pleased to note. And why not, with all the ample reserves, stored up over almost two decades of consistent eating?). Perhaps I could argue that this gives me a better perspective on the famished, the starving. But it's true, fasting like this doesn't actively accomplish anything externally. I'm helping nobody except myself. Perhaps, then, this fasting is an indulgence? It's aim, it appears, would be to only change my internal state. For example, I appreciate food a whole lot more now. Augustine says "Even the natural pleasures of human life are obtained through distress, not only through the unexpected calamities that befall against our will but also through deliberate and personal discomfort. There is no pleasure in eating and drinking unless the discomfort of hunger and thirst have preceded them". I agree, Augustine, I agree. After the first fast, the neglected, crusty piece of pizza nestled in the back of the fridge tasted incomparable to the piping hot delivery two days before.
Added to this increased appreciation for what some may take for granted (my body certainly does, it expects to be fed now, but not yet, not yet!) is the somewhat illusory feeling of control. Part of the pleasure of a successful fasting is undeniably the victory over the body. However, this sentiment of control is all too superficial and potentially disastrous; fasting, when done badly or with the wrong mentality, is one step away from an eating disorder. My hypochondriac mother was quick to point this out, which was not a surprise, given her incessant worryings. What was a bit surprising was a piece of her history that I had not known prior to my decision to fast: she had, around the same time (between the high-school to college transition) decided to fast, and for the same, vague reasons: to see what it feels like, to remind oneself what others constantly face, etc.
Weird. My decision, time, and rationalization to fast was almost identical to what my mother did so many years ago. Genetics strikes again, extending its grasp past the phenotype and into complex behavior. Or something like that. You'll have to excuse me, the tired typist doing a poor job ignoring the borborygmus while sipping my tea with dignity. I flail and fatigue, and I honestly can't wait until I can eat again tomorrow. For now, though, what an odd sensation, this stomach, this mind. Would I recommend that you, sparse readers, try it? Perhaps. Keep in mind, though, that this is by no means an extreme act; instead, it is merely a once-a-month event for an opportune time, such as when a weights-day and bad weather (read: no biking) coincide. Reportedly bad weather, I should amend, while I frown at the weatherman. But no matter about him. Well. I suppose if you take your food, your life, your daily schedule for granted, then yes, try a fast. If you are bored, complacent, angsty, whiny, yes. Try it one day, then perhaps afterwords your mundane schedule will feel decidedly more pleasant. Just some food for thought.
5 comments:
Food for thought? Very punny, John. :)
I agree that going a full day, or most of a day, without food is an extremely weird experience. Bad for the metabolism, probably. I'm sorry it didn't cure your blood-sugar ills.
My hypochondriac mother would probably freak out if I went biking after fasting all day. She would be afraid that I would faint. So perhaps it's for the best that you couldn't.
I really like the thoughtfulness you show in this post, especially when you explain the vagueness of trying to grasp a kind of suffering people we know don't usually experience. It's interesting that your mother went through the same ordeal. I wonder if she found it a worthwhile experience, since she seemed unhappy with your choice.
Side note: thanks for introducing me to the word "boborgymus."
I thought you did a very thorough job explaining the thought behind your decision to fast and it was a thought provoking blog. It definitely left me thinking about my own life and the comforts which I take for granted. Nice post!
Very thoughtful and interestingly reflective post. I find myself wondering if fasting is more difficult when you're diabetic?
I did a three-day fast one summer during grad school. I was surprised by how nauseated it made me, long about the second day. But I stuck it out, and it did seem to clear my mind quite a bit. It was an interesting experiment, but it's hard to imagine pulling it off when you're trying to get a lot done or have big responsibilities (like children). People do it all the time, though, under all those circumstances.
Claire de Lune: my mother thinks the principle and idea of the whole things is admirable and was a good idea, but she let it get a bit out of control-- verging on eating disorder (extending it to 2 days a month instead of 1, then getting ill from the lack of food); it explains her worry.
el-P: yes, I usually refrain from biking or doing fitness on fasting days (which lessens diabetic complications).
Mrs. Majerus: Three days! I can envision myself lasting two, but three would be very difficult. Perhaps during the summer, we'll see, though I've been advised by my doctor to stick with one day.
Thank you all for your kind comments!
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