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"Girls and women were hungry then, and are hungry now, for women role models who have courageously peered into the shadow within, brought it to the light and, like alchemists, transformed their suffering into a garden blooming with gifts of the spirit." When I was in college, I ran so much and so often that my feet broke. Not once, not twice, not even three times, but five separate times. At the end of my freshman year, the bones in my feet and ankles were so fragile I wasn’t even allowed to push off the walls in the pool. I had to water jog for the entire month of May, and I only escaped being in a wheelchair by telling my doctors I didn’t think my mental health could handle it. You’d think I would have learned my lesson after the first time, but that’s not how bulimia works. In high school, I learned that running helped keep my weight down. When I first started, it really helped my swimming career -- naturally, my cardiovascular endurance increased, and that carried over in the water. I also got a lot of positive feedback from people whose opinions I really cared about. In my addictive-prone and one-track mind, that improvement drove me -- if a little running was good for me, surely a lot of running would be great? Not-so-fun fact: At the end of my junior year, I got my first stress fracture, was laid up, gained weight, and had a terrible senior season. For some people, that experience would have served as a lesson in moderation. For me, it only served to show how much I *needed* running. Hence, all the miles I logged in college. I know now that I had suffered from disordered-eating symptoms for a long time, possibly since I was a small child. But running was the first time I ever really learned to “purge,” even though I didn’t think of it like that at the time. Even after I started the recovery process and stopped the more traditional forms of purging, I kept running, using it as a way to control my calories without having to confess anything to my therapist. It took a major relapse for me to admit I never truly recovered from my eating disorder. After I came to terms with that, I took a hard look at my daily habits and inner voice. I made a conscious effort to stop thinking about what I wanted my body to look like and start thinking about what I wanted it to do. I started seeing a nutritionist again. I stopped running and started lifting weights. I starting eating enough. Injuries still plagued me throughout my college swim career (and still do, to a degree), but I began to recover mentally. I started running again last year. My 2018 resolution was to do things I’m bad at, and distance running presented a three-fold challenge: 1) Despite how often I used to do it, I’ve never been fast. And, since I hadn’t run in years, I truly didn’t know if I’d be able to complete the half-marathon I signed up for. 2) I (and everyone who knows me) was worried about my injury history. Could I really complete a training program without any stress fractures? 3) The word “trigger” has become somewhat overused, but would this goal bring back any bad habits? I’d been healthy for years, but could I trust all the mental work I’d done? Despite these doubts, I signed up for the Run to the Pub half-marathon in Bozeman, Montana. And, long story short, I did it. I certainly wasn’t the fastest, but I kept my mile pace at 10-10:30 the entire 13.1 miles. I didn’t get hurt, and the pride I felt at knowing I was taking care of my body underscored how strong my mental health had become. I write all this to say that my 2019 goal is to run a full marathon (the Eau Claire Marathon on May 5, 2019, to be exact), and my training schedule starts today. And because every step I take feels like a prayer in gratitude, I feel like I am called to give back in some way. It’s hard to put into words how good it feels to use running as a celebration of what my body can do instead of for weight loss. So instead of putting it into words, I’m putting it into action. That’s why, for this race, I am raising money for the National Eating Disorders Association. NEDA is the leading non-profit supporting families affected by eating disorders. Even though most people struggling with these mental illnesses do so in secret and it is common to feel completely alone, there are an estimated 30 million people who will deal with something like this at some point in their lives. Perhaps more relatable to my experience and my friends and family reading this, a staggering one third of NCAA D1 athletes have reported eating disorder-related symptoms. NEDA shines a light on this issue by raising awareness, working on destigmatization, conducting an early intervention program, and offering support through its many initiatives. That’s something I want to be a part of.
I’m asking you to be a part of it, too (to give, please click here). Your donations -- along with, you know, my incredibly resilient, strong body -- will propel me all 26.2 miles and across the finish line. Please spread the word to your family and friends. Thank you in advance for your kindness and support.
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About the AuthorConfessions of a failed southern lady. I've got messy hair and a thirsty heart. Writer, photographer, career wanderer. Archives
May 2023
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