Posts filed under ‘Health and Beauty’
Hostel Environment
written Fall 2005
I hate small talk, but it was the only thing to really do in the Prague youth hostel lounges. Same questions. Different (yet all too similar) people. Same answers. But when someone asked me about my interests at one point, I mentioned running for the team. And defining (or even just describing) myself as a runner suddenly felt like a lie. The “I am ____” statements have always been so loaded and limiting, but I felt all too aware of such limitations that day. After identifying as an athlete and, specifically, as a distance runner for so long, I was rather stunned at how distant I felt from the sport and my team.
And then I looked down at my running shirt and realized it said Y-A-L-E, and I felt like describing myself as a Yale student was, in some respects, an outright falsehood. Sure, we all have that sense of “the assumptions people make about me only because I go to an Ivy League school are so annoying and inaccurate” or “do I even meet up to people’s preconceptions (read: misconceptions) concerning colleges like Yale?” But this was deeper. I felt as though I was lying to myself. Like certain aspects of the past three years have been an absolute prevarication. I have always thought climbing a steep uphill was the only way to reach the “top.” My legs hurt literally and figuratively. Indeed, I have begun to lose my endurance to climb up the ambiguous ladder of success.
For the past few months, I have really thought about whether or not I want to run for the team this year, and that weekend in the Sir Toby’s youth hostel prompted extensive contemplation. The team served as an amazing support network for quite some time, and the shift in dynamics and atmosphere prevents me from fully benefiting from that positive reinforcement. It would be unfair of me to propagate negative energy, and I am definitely taking fond memories and true friendships with me as I “leave” this close-knit community. I have always been known for my honesty, yet I have felt untrue to myself for too long. I am looking forward to eventually reacquainting myself with a sincere love for the sport. For lack of time and, more importantly, a sense of discretion, I will not further expound upon these issues in email format. However, feel free to get in touch with me if you have any questions, exciting news, or even gentle gossip :-). Thank you for sharing a significant portion of my time and passion over the past three years. Good luck with the season and all your future endeavors.
Love Always,
LD
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The (Out of) Shape of Things
For the first time in my life, I have tits.
Don’t get too excited: I’m not filling up shirts with a set of 36Ds, but I think I can safely throw away my training bra. That’s what happens when a person stops working out obsessively. So, unlike the loons on tv, I’m telling all my friends to throw away their running shoes, quit the South Beach Diet, and park it for a while.
We are constantly hearing that obesity is a HUGE problem in America (which I don’t deny), but I think it’s more accurate to identify the discordance between body images and body realities as the bigger epidemic. As a collegiate athlete at a prestigious university, I was once surrounded by a population with a higher risk of eating disorders than the general public: I wasn’t out of place with my obsessive compulsive tendencies or relentless drive toward “perfection.”
A look at my training log would have suggested I was in the best shape of my life when I ran cross country and track in college. I averaged about 60 miles per week, supplemented with pool workouts on Monday and Wednesday mornings and weight training on Tuesdays and Thursdays. During each of the three seasons (cross country in the fall, indoor track in the winter, and outdoor track in the spring), races occurred on Fridays or Saturdays. A lot of endurance coaches use an athlete’s resting heart rate as a barometer for aerobic fitness. The average adult female has a resting heart rate of 75 beats per minute. Mine dipped as low as 44.
The epitome of cardiovascular fitness, I still couldn’t honestly call myself “healthy.” My muscles were constantly sore and my joints achy. I began seeing a psychiatrist for bulimia during my sophomore year, and he required me to take weekly blood tests to make sure my iron and electrolyte levels did not drop too low. I tricked him by chugging Powerade the night before each test and by taking over-the-counter iron pills with my meals. He always seemed confounded that my levels appeared normal, and I found his naïvety discouraging.
One of the events that precipitated my resignation from the team occurred at the end of my junior year. My assistant coach pulled me aside after a track workout and asked me “if [my] bulimia had improved.” Apparently, one of my teammates had told her about my eating disorder. Why she let over a year pass before approaching me about it seems baffling and irresponsible, especially considering her similar past. Her expression of concern came too late, and it reinforced my belief that many members of the running community tacitly accept (even promote) the prevalence of eating disorders among female endurance athletes.
After I quit competing, I slowly weaned myself from pounding the pavement. Now I rarely run more than two days a week, and I am proud to say that that’s OK with me. If I run more than a few miles, the burning sensation in my chest feels unfamiliar and surprisingly delightful. I have come a long way since the time when I ran over 1,000 days in a row or did at least 800 daily sit-ups. It’s taken me months of being low-key to begin to refuel the passion I had when I started running over a decade ago. I’ll train seriously (but not compulsively!!) again when I’m ready, and I think that day is quickly approaching.
I just hope I don’t lose my nice rack.
The Lollygabber 
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