Obsession

I was talking to my mom the other day about how I used to keep a meticulous food log in high school, in addition to running 5+ miles/day and weight lifting. I counted calories and grams consumed from each major macronutrient group (protein, carbs, fat) to make sure my ratios were in proportion. I even counted each stick of gum I chewed (5 calories per stick – still don’t know if that is for swallowed or discarded gum!). Can anyone say, “obsessed”? Here’s the best part – I’d never been overweight in my life, but the thought terrified me. I watched some of my friends enter puberty early and saw with horror their changing curves. I had an idea that everything should be flat, smooth, and without dimples. Funny, considering my mom was a competitive athlete with supple, beautiful muscles and a healthy attitude about eating and exercise. She did not practice fad diets or any kind of food deprivation. She didn’t denigrate her appearance in the mirror or even put much thought into hair and makeup. She was – and is – the picture of glowing health, inside and out. So what the heck was wrong with me? Perhaps an early body awareness, a judgmental attitude of others, a rebellious streak, and a need for control contributed? It certainly didn’t arise from unhealthy messages at home.

I remember having repetitive, pestering thoughts about food all day, reciting in my mind the calories and macronutrient content of different types of food I ate, calculating and recalculating my remaining calories I could permit myself that day. If I exceeded my self-imposed 2,300 calories (sounds like a lot, but for a growing kid exercising vigorously 2+ hours/day, it wasn’t enough), I’d punish myself with more exercise. I hated long excursions or vacations that took me away from my routine, and I would actually perspire with anxiety if a date took me to a burger place and made me eat something fatty. All I could think about was when I could get my running shoes on and purge the evil triglycerides from my system. I started reading “Oxygen” magazine and developed an appreciation for muscles, but was misguided by information about diet contained therein. The women featured in the magazine were fitness and figure models, who either cyclically or constantly dieted to remain extremely lean for competitions and photo shoots. I got little information about the food intake and exercise routines required to build muscle, and as a 96lb runner I was certainly barking up the wrong tree by taking what I read there to heart.

Shortly before all this began in real earnest, I started dating. My “over-protective” mother (by my peers’ standards) had made me wait until I was 16 before hitting this milestone, but in hindsight I wish my rules had been more restrictive. I allowed myself to get more and more intimately enmeshed with a guy until I didn’t recognize the “good, innocent, prudish” Catholic girl my friends all playfully teased. I realized that the quality of purity that had made me stand out was not a source of embarrassment after all, and suddenly I yearned to be like some of my strong, chaste friends. Virtue had taken on a new shine for me, but I didn’t realize what I had until I lost it. Since I figured there was no getting it back, I used exercise and food to control my body as much as possible.

Somewhere along the line, I confided in my best friend (now husband) about what was going on with my boyfriend, and he recommended that I receive the sacrament of Confession with a priest that had been a good spiritual guide for him. I didn’t think of it until recently, but this may have been my turning point. I was trying to fix my issues with chastity by punishing my body and torturing my mind, but Confession allowed me to give my fears to Jesus and receive an appropriate penance. I cut off communication with the young man I had been dating entirely (though I pray for him every day, as I know I skewed his views on relationships at a very young age and I am somewhat culpable for him forever), and sometime thereafter improved my bodily health. It happened very suddenly; I saw myself undressed in a mirror at home (I was always examining myself in mirrors for flaws, but this was different somehow), and finally saw how gaunt and boyish my appearance was. I so admired the well-muscled curves of women in the magazines I devoured, yet for all my efforts I looked painfully lean and not at all feminine. Not to mention I had lost my period for around a year, suffered elevated resting heart rate, insomnia, and increased synovial fluid in my knees. These symptoms, combined with chronic knee pain, off-and-on soft tissue injuries, and general anxiety made me finally question if the path I followed was actually healthy. So I started doing research in scientific journals and looked into getting certified as a personal trainer. The more I learned, the more I craved good information, and the more I wanted to help others. During my time as a swim coach, I saw young people suffer overuse injuries from poor training protocols or technique, and as a track athlete, I watched our coach run us 8-10 miles daily without cross training or any nutritional advice. The thought of others being as delusional or ignorant as myself made me crazy, and I vowed to wield evidence-based scientific protocol with each person I met.

I ended up studying exercise science in college, and each year brought me insight and helped me tweak my training in the “smarter, not harder” direction. The obsessions of high school still linger in the back of my mind, a type of fitness scrupulosity that I think I’ll always carry with me. Fortunately, I have a loving husband who gives me perspective and has directed my interest in food to the kitchen, where he has taught me recipes and techniques that empower and intrigue me, rather than enslave me. I think I’m still obsessed, but now it is about quality ingredients, precise measurements, and getting a hot dinner on the table for my family.

Being pregnant (now for the fourth time) has given me a new appreciation for my body and made me responsible to people other than myself. I can’t exercise until I’m vomiting or bleeding internally, because there is a little one inside who is sharing my resources! And I can’t ruin the cartilage in my knees much more or else I won’t be able to enjoy squatting down to play with my babies. I’ve also learned that my husband doesn’t much care for the prepubescent, shredded look I used to sport, so I can give myself permission to hold onto a few “baby” pounds.

So when my personal training clients would exclaim that I was eating chocolate (not during our sessions…I don’t think), not running marathons, or not engaging in some other excessive behavior, I could share a little of my insight into practicing balance.

If you’ve had a similar journey, or are in the middle of some craziness yourself, I hope this is of some benefit! Prayer, a sense of humor, love, and good information has been of infinite value to me.