I Fasted for 5 Days… and Then I Read This
- Joyce Kurisko

- 7 days ago
- 4 min read
In 1877, a physician named Dr. Henry Tanner decided it was time to die.
He wasn’t suicidal in the way we typically think of it. He simply believed that life, under his circumstances, wasn’t worth living. He was suffering from asthma, rheumatoid arthritis, and constant, unrelenting pain that defined his daily life. So he chose what he thought would be a quiet, predictable end—he would stop eating. At the time, it was widely believed that a human could only survive about ten days without food.
But something very different happened.
By the fifth day of his fast, Tanner began sleeping peacefully. By the eleventh day, he reported feeling “as well as in my youthful days.” Instead of deteriorating, he was improving. Fully expecting to be near death, he asked a fellow physician to examine him. The response was disbelief—he looked better than ever. Under supervision, Tanner continued fasting for a total of forty days. When it was over, he no longer suffered from asthma, rheumatism, or chronic pain, and he went on to live into his 90s.

It’s the kind of story that feels almost too strange to be true, which is probably why it has largely been dismissed or forgotten. It doesn’t fit neatly into what we’ve been taught about health, metabolism, or survival. But history is full of examples like this—observations that were ignored not because they weren’t real, but because they didn’t align with the thinking of the time.
I happened to read Tanner’s story in the middle of my own five-day fast, and I’ll admit—it hit differently.
Not because my experience mirrored his in some dramatic way, but because it challenged some assumptions I didn’t even realize I still held. Day one for me was surprisingly easy. I was a little hungry, but I still had energy and felt completely functional. Day two, however, was rough. I felt sick—and even vomited—which I hadn’t expected. It was a reminder that the body doesn’t always transition cleanly when you remove something as constant as food.
By days three and four, things leveled out. I didn’t feel energetic, but I also didn’t feel like I was starving. That sense of urgency around food—the one we’re all so familiar with—just wasn’t there. By day five, I actually felt pretty good again, at least until later in the afternoon. Around 4 p.m., I started to feel uneasy, and looking back, it was obvious why. I was doing too much. That day should have been a true rest day. Fasting isn’t just about not eating—it’s about allowing the body the space to do its work.
And that’s the part we don’t talk about enough.
When you stop eating, the body doesn’t simply shut down. It shifts. Insulin levels drop, stored energy begins to be used, and internal repair processes start to ramp up. This isn’t fringe thinking—it’s basic physiology. For most of human history, food wasn’t constantly available. Periods of fasting were not only normal, they were inevitable. Even animals instinctively stop eating when they’re sick, redirecting energy toward healing.
Somewhere along the way, we lost that instinct.
Instead, we’ve been conditioned to believe that hunger is something to fear—that it must be satisfied immediately, that skipping meals is inherently dangerous, and that more input equals better health. But what if that’s not always true? What if, in certain contexts, the body benefits not from more—but from less?
This is where fasting becomes uncomfortable—not physically, but intellectually. It doesn’t require a product. It doesn’t rely on a prescription. It doesn’t fit into a system built on constant consumption. And because of that, it’s often dismissed, minimized, or misunderstood.
To be clear, this isn’t an argument for extremes, and it’s not a blanket recommendation. Fasting isn’t appropriate for everyone, and it should be approached thoughtfully—especially for those with underlying conditions or who are on medications. But dismissing it entirely, without curiosity, may be just as unscientific as blindly embracing it.
At Kurisko & Company, we put our best efforts toward aging well - call it Aspirational Aging - it's about living with intention, energy, and clarity as we move through life. That usually means focusing on whole, plant-based foods, daily movement, restorative sleep, and meaningful connection. But sometimes, it also means recognizing that health isn’t always about doing more. Sometimes, it’s about doing less.
Dr. Tanner believed he had found a way to die. What he actually discovered was a different way to live. And maybe the real lesson here is that the body is far more capable, more adaptive, and more intelligent than we’ve been led to believe. The question is whether we’re willing to listen.
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