While it is true that I do not usually fast in Ramzan, I do fast at other times of the year. Take last summer for instance, when I had to drop 20 lbs to be able to look semi-decent at the beach in September. I ate healthy, but only between the hours of 12-6 pm, which if you think about it is basically 18 hours of fasting. I enjoyed the process, truth be told, mainly because if you fall headfirst into a pit of double chocolate chip ice cream at 6 pm, you often feel fine (or forget it) by bedtime. It’s those late night, full fat-shame eating sessions that get you in the end.
I was talking about this to a fitness friend the other day.
“That’s called intermittent fasting,” he said.
“Is it? And did I just invent that?”
“No,” he sighed. “No, it’s been around for a while. Much like veganism.”
“Ah, well.” This was slightly deflating news. “They should publicise it more. And stop trying to make everything about being ‘Vegan’. I’m never going to be bloody Vegan. I refuse to eat grass forever”
He ignored my hostility. “It’s about discipline. And, if you think about it, Ramzan is essentially the same thing. The mechanics are somewhat different, obviously, but the concept that limiting caloric intake to a certain period of time has health benefits is not without merit.”
“Well, I’m a huge fan of fasting.”
“Bullshit! When was the last time you fasted in Ramzan?”
“Well, last summer I-”
“Yes, yes I know. You ate a salad at lunch and relied on sleeping pills for the rest of the day I remember. That’s not a proper fast.”
“First off,” I began, “I didn’t rely on sleeping pills, I just found that two Tylenol PM’s helped with crippling pain from malnutrition. And second, I could totally do it. Of course I could.”
“Prove it,” he said. “One day. One fast. If you do it, I’ll pay for dinner next week.”
“Anywhere?”
“Anywhere.” I was already making reservations at a restaurant where the appetisers cost more than most of my clothes. “But if you can’t do it…”
“Yes…?”
“You become a Vegan for a week.”
“Deal.”
It was only after this that I realised the sun rises here at 4 am and sets at 8:30 pm, meaning my fast was going to be 16 hours long. So I woke up at 3 am when it was still darkness, for sehri. You’ll be fine, I thought, and went back to sleep without eating. I woke up in the morning puffy and bleary as always, but smugly skipped coffee and went out into the world, thirsty but revitalised by the knowledge that I, too, was a faster, not a feaster. By hour two, my stomach was growling and I felt that satisfying thinness that only mild hunger can elicit. By hour 4 my faster’s breath was palpable enough that I kept my mouth shut. But at lunchtime my good mood shifted precipitously. I had never noticed how many people are constantly eating and drinking everywhere until I was conscious that I couldn’t do it too. Walking down any street in NY I was assaulted by signs for coffee, cupcakes, crepes, chicken caesars. There was a child licking a melting ice cream. Here was a man biting a delicious-looking burger. I saw a plate of fries in the trash that nearly broke my heart. The worst were the pizza shops, the seductive smell of that melted cheese like a siren calling me to my doom. I couldn’t be out here, so I ran back into my apartment to sequester myself in darkness until darkness. Movies might help, but intermittent fasting allows you water, and I was already cotton-mouthed. By 2 pm (time dies when you fast) I felt like all the water in my body had been leached out by stone demons. My head was throbbing. The pain only occasionally was replaced with pangs of a deep, ravenous, soul-crushing hunger.
Vegan iftar
My friend had come over to make sure I didn't cheat, and I almost gave in and had some water. But no. You can be damn sure I was not going to be a Vegan for six days, not matter how many hallucinations of talking kebabs I was seeing
I hadn’t had any caffeine for the first time since 2003, which made the headaches worse, and by 5 pm I was just staring at the clock, comatose. My friend had come over to make sure I didn’t cheat, and I almost gave in and had some water. But no. You can be damn sure I was not going to be a Vegan for six days, not matter how many hallucinations of talking kebabs I was seeing. And so, after two movies and at least one ten-minute period where I cried while staring at a wall, 8 pm came. Sunset was supposed to be at 8:23 pm and let me tell you that 23 minutes can take forever when you’re waiting, one arm on the fridge door, waiting for planets to move.
For the last ten seconds he gave me a New Year’s Eve-style countdown, and for my first iftari I had chosen a McDonalds Big Mac Meal (go judge yourself). Finally it was over and I pounced. My friend looked on, horrified. Bits of meat and potatoes flew into the air as I attacked the brown bag with the ferocity of a feral creature. I didn’t care because at least I did it. I had fasted and survived. The experience reminded me of the mental battles that all fasters are waging, and how remarkable it is to win them. Especially when you do it for a whole month.
So Eid Mubarak, truly, because you’ve made it. Now you can eat, drink, have lunch and be merry once more. And a special, heartfelt Mubarak because neither of us have to be Vegan, even for a week.
