Building Back Better.

Water Fasting: A Journey of Deconstruction and Reconstruction.

Water fasting—a practice steeped in ancient traditions and spiritual disciplines—remains curiously overlooked by modern medicine. Why? Simple: no profits, no investment, no widespread research. And let’s be honest, this lack of mainstream credibility suits Big Pharma just fine. But don’t get me wrong; I’m not here to preach without caution. Fasting is a practice that demands respect, preparation, and self-awareness. Approach it recklessly, and you’ll likely regret it.

So, why on earth would anyone willingly starve themselves? Well, buckle up, Dorothy—this isn’t Kansas anymore.

Looking Down The Rabbit Hole. My curiosity about fasting began during the rise of the keto craze and its magical promise of ketones. For the uninitiated, ketosis is a metabolic state where the body shifts from burning glucose to fat for energy. Prolonged water fasting amplifies this state, but what really hooked me was autophagy—a cellular self-cleaning process where your body clears out damaged cells to regenerate healthier ones. It’s like a deep clean for your body, and trust me, it’s fascinating stuff.

I could write a paragraph on both these aspects of fasting but are you really going to listen to some guy waffling on a blog with no expertise in either area?? Do some research, because like everything else that carries a hippy holistic label the onus is on self-awareness and knowledge. A practice must be suitable for your current physical and mental state. On a cellular level this stuff is pretty interesting, especially if you like the idea of self-healing and growing old gracefully:

This is an aggressive practice, physically and mentally. This will get real, real fast.

Fasting safely means knowing when enough is enough—and that starts with a “baby steps” mindset. You’ll face hunger waves, headaches, dizziness, moments of exhaustion, and heavy limbs. But over time, you learn these sensations come and go. With practice, you get better at recognising the difference between a passing wave and a “check yourself before you wreck yourself” moment. If side effects become intense, that’s your body telling you to pull the ejector handle. This isn’t a practice for the ego. I’ve bailed on two fasts during my journey—and in both cases, I learned just as much from the so-called failures as I did from the successes.

So, before boredom kicks in, let’s jump straight into what I believe is the most powerful part of fasting: the mindset.

We live in such a world of convenience that we’ve unintentionally rewired ourselves to be ungrateful for the things that matter most. I remember sitting under a tree—physically drained, emotionally exhausted, patiently waiting to eat—and feeling completely at peace. I knew food was only a couple of hours away, and in that moment, I felt deeply grateful to live in a place of abundance.

When I finally broke the fast, every bite felt sacred. That meal showed me how much I normally waste, how often I over-consume, and how much energy I burn before a fork even touches my mouth.

Has food become our entertainment… instead of the fuel that allows us to truly entertain ourselves?

Fasting transformed my relationship with food—and life. I still enjoy bold flavours, but most days now revolve around simple, nutrient-packed meals. Streamlining how I shop, cook, and eat has given me back time and mental clarity. Strip things down to the essentials, and you start seeing what really matters—and shedding the life leeches.

Life leeches. Addictions. Mankind’s greatest gift—and greatest curse—is our ability to slip into hypnotic patterns. It’s helped us build wonders, but for most of us, it breeds obsession and stagnation.

Fasting doesn’t just cleanse the body of coffee, nicotine, alcohol, and sugar. It also breaks the grip of habits and practices that no longer serve us.

In moments of deconstruction, vulnerability takes center stage—an emotion most people avoid. Fasting rips off your seatbelt, slams the accelerator, and blindfolds you for good measure. Suddenly, the world feels different. Your senses sharpen, social cues you normally miss become clear, and yes—you’ll smell food everywhere. (Seriously, can you inhale nutrients?)

This vulnerability isn’t something to fear. Exposing yourself can be liberating as you navigate life on an empty tank, your mind tuned into the frequencies of every interaction.

We adapt to survive.

One of fasting’s greatest gifts is the undeniable proof that you’re capable of far more than you ever imagined. The hardest phase often hits just before ketosis—when your glycogen stores run dry, and your body floods your mind with fatigue and emotion, urging you to eat.

Around day two, I get irritable—angry at myself for fasting, frustrated with others for overeating, snappy, restless. But I’ve learned to watch these waves and let them pass.

Pushing through this “red light” brings you to ketosis—a state fueled by fat, where peace and mental clarity return. This is where the real magic happens, and your mind finds fluidity.

Over nine years, I’ve explored water fasting in increments, recently completing my fifth five-day fast. This time, starting leaner at 8% body fat, I felt both apprehensive and curious about how my body would respond.

The post-fast statistics revealed some interesting new insights compared to previous fasts. Below is an updated table tracking key markers during this latest fast: 08/06/2025 – 13/06/2025

By day five, I was leaner than ever and honestly a bit anxious about my body fat being too low. I was sitting under 4%, and logically that raised some red flags—but subjectively, I felt grounded. Strong. Balanced. The data from the last day does skew slightly, as it was taken after my first re-feed. That first meal—slow, mindful, reverent—was everything. But not all signs were rosy. The whites of my eyes took on a milky yellow tint, which I later pinned to the liver struggling to break down fats efficiently post-fast. Three days of nettle tea with dandelion root helped clear it up, but it was a reminder: when you go deep, your body responds in ways that can’t be ignored.

Stretching, though—that’s where the magic really stuck. Deep holds, once stiff and hesitant, suddenly had give. The flexibility gains weren’t just in my hamstrings or shoulders, but in my nervous system too. Everything felt more elastic, more open. And even now, weeks out, those improvements haven’t faded. If anything, they’ve become my new baseline. Training has been ridiculously good since then—some PBs in weighted movements I hadn’t hit in months, and my calisthenics has found a new gear. Cardio? Fully back to pre-fast levels, with zero drag.

The only thing that’s lingered is the muscle twitching. It’s faint now, mostly background noise, but still there three weeks on. Nothing alarming—just a reminder that the body remembers everything, especially when you take it somewhere it’s never been before. I’ll be doing this again in 12 months; it’s become my annual clean-up, a reset for both body and mind. Each round reveals something new—physical, emotional, even spiritual.

A few things I’ve learned along the way: cleaning up your diet before the fast makes a massive difference. Ditching all stimulants—caffeine, alcohol, sugar—three days out, and switching to fruit-only meals in the 24 hours before, helped smooth out those tough early days. Set your intentions clearly. Be mindful of your expectations. It’s not about punishment or proving something. It’s about creating space. Just remember: we are at our best when we are creating, not consuming.