The Hard Part - 1

I’ve done the hard part.

I’ve opened myself up to the great wide world of the internet…exposed myself and my deepest insecurities to practically everyone I know….

Now what?

I begin.

But where?

I guess “the beginning” is what any smart-ass would say. Then again, I don’t think you have to be a smart-ass to come up with that answer.

I guess some of you are wondering “how?” Actually, most of you are probably wondering “why?” but that’s a heavier question that I’m not even sure I can answer yet, so we’ll hold off on that one. How did such a smart, ambitious, energetic, beautiful girl (I’m not trying to inflate my own ego, although I think it’s apparent I could use it…these are more or less the words of family members and close friends) fall into such a dark and destructive place? Well how about we have a little exchange: I tell you what I know, and then you can tell me what you see. Sometimes an outside eye can deliver valuable perspective.

It is the summer before my junior year of high school. Freshly out of school, and still freshly in shape from lacrosse season, I decided I was in the perfect place to prepare for soccer in the fall. I already had a solid athletic foundation to build on, and the rest of the summer to whip myself into shape. I refused to be one of those girls lagging behind on team runs because I spent the summer getting tan and sipping lemonade on a beach. I decided to revamp my exercise routine and diet. I was going to get serious about running and commit myself to eating healthy.

 Sounds great, right? It was.

At first.

I began running almost every say – started out slow and worked my way up to 3 or 4 miles. I paid close attention to what I ate. Even started a food journal, counted calories, the whole shebang. The results were astonishing: I could run faster and longer without feeling out of breath, I had more energy, I was extremely productive with everything I attempted. And I was losing weight.

This hadn’t been part of the plan. The plan was “get in shape so you can dominate soccer preseason.” But who doesn’t like losing weight? Your clothes fit better, you see more muscle. I felt stronger, I looked stronger.

I had never considered myself a “skinny” person before, by any means. I never had a supermodel body and I didn’t really care. I had an athletic build; kinda like a pencil, broad shoulders, no hips really… I wasn’t fat, but I wasn’t skinny. Now, I was starting to see muscles that I had never noticed before. I wanted to see more.

So I cut my calories a little bit. Okay, a lot. But how was I supposed to know? They don’t teach you how to lose weight the “right way” in health class. I thought 500 was a nice number. Five hundred calories a day. For those of you who may not have a vast knowledge of how our body utilizes energy, I’ll break it down for you. The average human being burns about 1400 calories just existing. Yep, that means if you lay in bed ALL DAY, ate nothing, and moved not a muscle, you would lose almost half a pound (3500 calories = a pound). Add in an athlete’s metabolism, plus the extra couple hundred calories burned from a workout, plus everything else you do throughout the course of the day, and voila! You’re well over the recommended 2000 cal/day diet on which cereals base their percent daily values.

Not even a mouse can survive on 500 calories a day.

At the beginning of the summer, I weighed 145 pounds – within perfect range for my 5’8” height. By the time soccer season was in full-swing and classes had started back up again, I weighed 115 pounds. My body fat percentage was so low I hadn’t gone through “girly stuff” in 3 months (I chuckle at the thought of you men cringing a bit here). The sport of my passion, which had once come so fluidly and easily, quickly tired me. I bruised from carrying my gym bag to and from practice. My face was emaciated, all my clothes were too big, even my shoes didn’t fit right anymore (bet you never thought you could lose weight in your feet, eh?).  

People made comments: “You’re so skinny!” “You’ve lost so much weight.” I took them all as compliments. I was proud of what I had achieved. My will power was stronger than everyone else’s. After all, it takes an insane amount of will power to go against basic survival instincts and deprive yourself of your body’s most essential source of fuel. I was special. Ed made me special.

It wasn’t until Isaac, my boyfriend at the time, approached my parents with concern that I was actually confronted about my behaviors and my dangerously thin frame. I begrudgingly went to the doctor for an evaluation. After a routine physical, which I thought I passed with flying colors, I was sat down and told I fit the diagnostic criteria for anorexia nervosa. I was referred to a pediatrician, nutritionist, and psychologist, all located in Hanover, and all specializing in the treatment of eating disorders. I “went through the ringer.” Multiple sessions, weigh-ins, a specialized meal plan… by the time lacrosse season came around in the spring, I weighed a healthier 130lbs and was granted permission to play.

For the sake of your eyes, and whatever free time you may have left in this day, I’ll stop here for now. There’s still much to tell, but I can only recount so much at one time without feeling completely overwhelmed by the ghost of Ed. I promise future entries won’t be so long…or so boring…