How Bismack Biyombo's faith factored into fainting in OKC Thunder game
It took seconds before Bismack Biyombo’s inadvertent stumble became a frightening collapse. Midway through an early March game in Portland, Oregon, all 6 feet and 8 inches of his frame laid out near the Thunder bench, surrounded by concern and a few staffers paralyzed by shock.
It all happened so quickly.
After tests, only Biyombo could’ve guessed why he suddenly fainted. He kept it hidden for 13 NBA seasons.
He was dehydrated. Leading up to that night in Portland, while the sun remained visible, he hadn’t consumed any food or water. A devout Catholic, Biyombo was fasting. And until that night, he’d been able to keep his lifestyle a secret from almost every team he’d ever played for.
Once he knew of his condition, drained but available to play in the coming days, his mind shifted. Anyone who watched his fall was suddenly invited into a space he hadn't allowed anyone.
“I think people choose sometimes not to talk about it,” Biyombo recently told The Oklahoman. “Like me, I never want to talk about it because I think it’s a personal relationship with God. You shouldn’t be fasting and telling people so they feel sorry for you. … You put your chin up and nobody should know that you’re doing it.”
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Coaching staffs, trainers, teammates; Biyombo wouldn’t tell a soul of his endeavors. Not even his family or friends know each time he decides to initiate his fast.
Biyombo said he’s fasted for more than 15 years, since he was a kid. He isn’t necessarily bound to a seasonal period or set of days. He’s clutched his religion close, keeping anyone from altering his decisions. Namely when he should fast, which can span as long as he feels necessary. When he knows, he knows.
“There's times where you feel like the world is out of place and things are not moving in the right direction,” Biyombo said. “When you lose your way, things are moving fast, you don't have control of (the) situation. You got to find the starting point, you got to go back to the beginning and you got to go back to that deeper connection.
“I think when you're fast for a certain amount of time, when you do come out of it, you come out of it a different person.”
That could mean weeks, maybe months, where Biyombo abandons the daily regimen that most professional athletes adhere to. Afternoon games wouldn’t alter that. He’d play those games, even if it meant being unable to eat before tipoff.
“You just gotta go do it,” Biyombo said.
Of the six organizations he’s played with, only the Raptors were ever able to discover his religious commitment.
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He’d already nearly ended his fast then, but so long as it coincided with game days during the 2015-16 season, Toronto’s trainers obsessed over Biyombo’s time management. They rushed him the second the pregame clock reached the 60-minute mark. Urging him to break his fast, adamant about him getting the electrolytes he’d been missing, probably a minute away from sticking an IV in his arm.
“Our trainer was panicking every time,” Biyombo said. "And I'm like, 'Relax. I've been doing this for a long time.'”
Biyombo has a personal chef, which has mostly absolved him from questions about his diet. More than the sacrilege with each person being let in on his secret, he knows what they’ll think. Their reaction. They don’t know his body, his will, like he does.
“It's not a burden that you want to put upon your staff,” Biyombo said. “They have one job, obviously to help us perform at a peak level. … What worked for me might not work for the next player. It took me time to actually get to understand who I am and how I can go about it so people around me don't have to suffer as much.”
His sudden drop backward made it that much harder to conceal his fast. Teammates and staff were no longer Biyombo’s concern. The world watched him collapse.
“Whatever happens out there, it’s obviously out of my control, but (God) can remind you that he gives life and he takes life,” Biyombo said.
He smirked.
“He just happened to remind me that I’m human in front of the world," Biyombo said.
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Days later, he posted on social media to ease the minds of those who watched, having received a flood of messages in the preceding days. Biyombo told anyone who watched the clip as much as he was willing to.
He was fasting. For the first time ever, it made him feel weak midgame to the point he fainted. He was healthy, smiling. He was vulnerable, transparent. Appreciative of words and love. One minute and 32 seconds.
It was a step for Biyombo, who went years without the thought of speaking publicly on his situation. Even after his fall, he had a choice. But he read through the words in his texts and direct messages. He never would’ve guessed how many resonated with his path.
“Now that we have to talk about it, I received a lot of messages from people that started fasting, people that’s going into fasting, people that have been fasting,” Biyombo said. “Everybody has their own way of relating to messages. … He put me in this position for a reason. I’m here for a reason. Whichever reason, God will know.”
Even while speaking so as to keep the intricate details of his fast tucked away, his eyes glow as he speaks. About the reception to his announcement, about the journey there. Like a weight has been lifted from his sternum after all this time.
He’s asked about the gold chain that dangles from his neck, attached even in pregame warmups. It’s a rope that bears a medallion, a gift from his sister, and a gold cross. It’s with him so often, it’s become him. He looks down upon mention to ensure it’s there, grasping it with a couple fingers. It’s a reminder.
He drops it, continuing to let it hang above his chest.
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This article originally appeared on Oklahoman: How Bismack Biyombo's faith factored into fainting in OKC Thunder game
