Life in the "Fast" Lane

I Recently Completed a 108-Hour Fast  

(4.5 days: water, black coffee, nothing else)

I didn’t do it to be holy or to punish myself. This was a controlled test of one question: Can I stare down the loudest, most primitive drive in my body for four and a half days and refuse to blink?

The answer is yes. And the side effects were a fair bit more interesting than I anticipated.

**Hours 0–60: Pure Carnage**  

Exactly what you’ve heard. Stomach growling like a chained dog. Brain projecting 4K fantasies of pepperoni pizza, ribeyes, diet coke, ice cream straight from the tub. My mouth literally watered at memories of foods I don’t even like that much. Hunger doesn’t negotiate; it screams, threatens, bargains, sulks, then screams again. It’s astonishing how creative the mind gets when you tell it “no” for the 50th time in a row.

**Hour 60–108: The Script Flipped**  

Then, without ceremony, the noise just… stopped. Not diminished; stopped. The body finally accepted the new management and shut the alarm off. The last two days were eerily peaceful. Energy stable, mood level, mind sharp. I wasn’t “fighting” anything anymore because there was nothing left to fight.

In that vacuum, something else moved in.

I didn’t go hunting for divine exposure; it walked through the door the moment the toddler tantrum wore itself out. A deeper signal—quiet, steady, unmistakably alive—rose to the surface. The same nervous system that had been hijacked by cravings suddenly had more spiritual bandwidth. It tuned to a frequency I usually drown out with snacks, scrolling, and background noise.

When you forcibly dethrone the hunger for food, another hunger wakes up— It’s subtle, but once you feel it, it’s unmistakable. The air tastes sweeter. Colors look richer. Prayer feels less like talking to the ceiling and more like talking to Someone who’s been waiting in the next room. 

I now have added firsthand proof that the loudest tyrants in life—food cravings, impulse buys, doomscrolling, fill-in-the-blank—are paper tigers. They only rule because I keep taking their calls. Say “no” firmly, consistently, long enough, and they go quiet. And when they do, there’s room for a Voice that was always there, waiting for the stage to clear.

The fridge is full again. My appetites pacing at the door, whining to be let back in. But the Guest who showed up on day four hasn’t left. And I’ve decided I like His company a lot more.

Signed

John The-Not-So-Beloved