Met My First Running Goal

8 07 2013

Early 2007, I graduated high school. I carried a 3.87 GPA, had won more speech and debate awards than I could count, earned the prestige of being the “Best German Student” in my class and absolutely hated myself. I weighed 260 pounds, had a 26 minute mile and for my freshman and sophomore years, was easily the most hated person in my P.E. class. See, I had this instructor who made us a simple deal at the beginning of the year: if everyone in the class could run a sub-12 minute mile, we wouldn’t have to run the mile in her class ever again. However, if anyone was still running, everyone had to run. Ergo, I listened to, “Come on, it’s not that hard.” “Just do it.” “If only you’d . . . .” “Nope. Keep running. We’re still waiting on her.” every week for two years. I never did manage a sub-12 minute mile in high school and I hated every minute of P.E. Come to think of it, I hated every minute of organized exercise up until about 4 months ago. I’ve fallen into the “running addiction,” somehow, and I not only like running, I look forward to it every day. 

Today, I did something I quite honestly believed I was incapable of doing. I did something more than 30 people I went to school with thought I would never do. I have finally, 9 years after my last P.E. class, met my P.E. Instructor’s challenge. I have successfully ran a sub-12 minute mile (10:54!!!!!). Not only that, I maintained the pace for an additional 2.5 miles. 

I am, quite simply, proud of myself. Take that, negative voices from my past. I’ve lost over 100 pounds, systematically built both strength and speed, and have finally bested a mental demon concerning my utter inability to complete a simple 4 laps around a track.

I’ve Started Running

1 07 2013

I started running in February of this year, but underwent surgery in February and fell victim to a “metabolic crisis” in March. It’s thought that I have a potential mitochondrial disease, for several reasons I won’t get into here. Regardless, it laid me out for almost two months, during which I lost all the progress I’d gained in February.

Starting over, I was 195 pounds, unable to walk further than about 2 miles and hating myself more than ever. Now, on July 1st, I’m 182 pounds, can maintain a 13″ a mile pace for 4-5 miles and have been sucked into an entirely different set of numbers. When I was in treatment, one of the doctors said to me, “The rules of an eating disorder are generally pretty simple. Regarding food, it’s always less, never more, and regarding exercise, it’s always more, never less.”

I’ve never understood that until now. I’ve never had an “exercise problem,” and I’ve always LOATHED running in any form. I’ve never understood the drive to continue moving, and honestly, it feels about like the very first time I purged: I wish I’d never discovered it.

I’m trying to remain healthy, trying to maintain my intake, but most days of the week, I end up with a net calorie intake of 250-500. A few times, I’ve even had a negative balance, and that felt better than anything.

I just want to be able to wear my favorite pair of jeans, enjoy it when someone touches me instead of the immediate firestorm that hits my brain (“DON’T TOUCH ME; I’M DISGUSTING!!!!!”), and be able to venture out in public without feeling every eye on me and my massiveness.

I know, logically, I’m not even really all that “huge,” but I feel as if . . . . . I occupy far too much space and that it’s just utterly foul. I can’t stand seeing myself, being touched, or having someone look at me. I’m really working to avoid falling off the restriction cliff, but it’s hard.

Time Marches On

8 02 2013

I just realized I’ve struggled with an eating disorder for nigh on 6 years. This fact stunned me and stopped my brain from spinning for an entire 30 seconds, a huge feat when you’re as ADHD as I am. That’s 6 years that I’ve hated myself, 6 years in which nothing I’ve done was good enough, 6 years I’ve continuously gained and lost weight, 6 years of feeling tired and drained, 6 years of strife and conflict, 6 years of constant struggle.

And yet, I sit here now, fighting the same fight I always seem to be fighting. Right now, though, it’s harder than ever because I am genuinely overweight and I hate every bloody second of it. There’s no one to blame but myself for the overeating that led me here, although I honestly think the severe episode of depression I survived late last year and the antidepressants strongly contributed, I’m the one who kept eating.

I can’t stand to see myself in the mirror, can’t stand to have anyone touch me or really even see me, try to shower as quickly as possible so I can get dressed again and struggle every minute of every day to just eat, and eat enough. If numbers bother you or trigger you, stop reading here.

On January 1st of this year, I weighed 205 pounds. That’s the most I’ve weighed since I was 16 years old. When I was 16, I had a BMI of 42. While I’m nowhere near that big now, I feel that big and larger.

Now, today, I weigh 182.5 pounds. I’ve been exercising a lot and eating VERY clean and minimally processed foods. I can’t tell I’ve lost weight. I’m the same bloody size, with the same bloody fat and the same bloody clothes fit the same bloody way. It’s irritating. I’m literally trying to work my butt off (mostly) the healthy way and I don’t see anything happening.

Some days I burn almost as many calories as I eat. Some days I only burn 300. There’s been this recent development that I’ve NEVER struggled with: for whatever reason, and I don’t know how or where my brain picked up this idea, I can only eat if I exercise. Exercise outside of a gym doesn’t count.

I hate exercising. I hate sweating. I hate running. I hate feeling tired. I can’t stand anything about it.

And yet, here I am, undertaking hour and hour-and-a-half long workouts and loathing pretty much every minute of it. I’ve been to the gym every day for the past 9 days.

I’ve been told to ease off a bit, so I have — I’ve only been exercising for 45 minutes to an hour, and at a lower intensity.

My anxiety has skyrocketed. I’m not doing the routine, the niche, I’d settled into, and having limitations put on my routine/exercises of choice is severely cramping my style. I NEVER thought I’d feel that way. I’ve always been the one to look for any reason not to exercise, period, even if that reason was, “No, sorry, I have to sit on my balcony and watch grass grow tonight.”

As much as I hate feeling the way I do, I can’t stop it — I truly am “fat” now. I NEED to exercise. It’s healthy.

And as I continue to battle myself and struggle to get healthy, time continues to march on . . . . .


7 01 2013

Here it is, another new year and I’m still fighting this beast. For most of 2012, I was ok. Not great, but ok. Sure, I dropped to my lowest weight in almost 6 years, but I felt good. Then I got deathly depressed and fought suicidal ideation and tendencies for several months. Along the way, I gained about 60 pounds.

I cannot even begin to describe how difficult that is for me. I have this “I don’t care” facade up because I don’t know what to do or think about it. If I pretend it isn’t so, then I don’t have to worry about the freak-out, brain-crazies that loom just around the corner. If I ignore my current weight, then I won’t (hopefully) fall into the sneaky-death spiral.

I’ve gotta say, though, my current weight is sapping me of my life. I don’t want to be seen in public, I don’t want anyone to touch me for any reason and I’m 10 times more anti-social than I usually am. I dress like a blob, look like a blob and feel like a blob. Blah blah blah, people can say I’m still pretty and that my weight doesn’t matter, but it matters to me. I can’t do anything without thinking of how fat I’ve gotten and now that I’m officially in the “obese” BMI zone, I feel as if I’m not allowed to have ED thoughts for any reason. Like I’m too fat to be struggling with it.

So I keep eating, try not to purge, do a bit of exercise every day and try to hold depression at bay. It’s not easy, and I can’t help but remember how easy it was the first time I started dropping weight. I could honestly care less about what the number is; I just don’t want to feel the way I do. Between coming off my ADHD medication and starting a merry-go-round of various anti-depressants, I don’t know that my weight will ever stabilize.

I feel like my body is a burning building and I’m trapped in it. I want so badly to jump, on so many levels, but I’m scared to death of the incapacitating anxiety and compulsion that awaits me on the ground.

10 Reasons Why ED Sucks (TW)

16 04 2011

Why am I making yet another list, you may ask? Because I need this right now. Everywhere I turn, everyone under the sun is losing weight, becoming summer ready, cutting calories here and exercising more here. Everyone in the entire universe is encouraged by everyone else in the entire universe to cut calories, choose the lower-fat option, shave 300 calories here, another 500 there and to do anything possible to lose weight — even when it sounds stupid.

That is, everyone but me. I’m not allowed to cut calories and shave nutrition and “lose weight fast.” And occasionally, some parts of me find this really unfair. Fast weight loss? I am the QUEEN. I am. I can manage well over a pound a day left to my own devices — and these are the thoughts that are crippling me right now.

I gained a significant amount of weight over the holidays and I’m trying to lose it healthily but I’m finding ED is snagging his grimy little claws into my brain more and more with every passing week (and pound or two). I’m scared of food I didn’t make. Heaven forbid I get full. More than two servings of anything but veggies or fruit? In your dreams. Full-fat WHAT? Ha. You’ve lost your cotton-picking mind. I don’t drink liquid calories. End of story. No, I’d rather feel like I’m actively dying than eat a cracker — do you know how many carbs are in that?

You get the idea. My eating disordered brain is running the show while my recovery-driven actions are powering it. So, it’s time to remind myself why ED sucks — and that’s why I’m here today. 😀

  1. ED takes away your social life. People might try to give you food. Why should I involve myself with that. Summer is coming — I want all of my friends around.
  2. ED leeches off your emotions. Can anyone say hello to never-ending anxiety, fear, paranoia and depression?
  3. ED steals your energy. Yeah, so I’m losing weight — I can’t do anything EXCEPT obsess over numbers and sit around and lose weight because I can’t stand.
  4. ED makes you dizzy. No one wants to hang out with the person who passes out every time they stand up.
  5. ED makes you socially worthless. Face it — food is everywhere. No one wants to hang out with the person who can’t eat a simple sandwich and then enjoy an afternoon at the mall.
  6. ED forces you further and further. It’s never a “little bit” of ED. It’s always more and more and more.
  7. ED makes you lie. Enough said — the lies come quickly and easily. Yes, they’re based out of panic and fear — but they’re lies nonetheless.
  8. ED makes your hair fall out. I like my hair on my head, not in my shower drain or all over my pillow.
  9. ED makes focus impossible. Your brain requires minimum amounts of fuel, period. I am not super woman — I can’t run on empty and expect to function.
  10. ED makes clothes impossible. Nothing fits, ever. Everything is always too big or too small.


3 04 2011

Happy super late New Year, everyone.

A year ago today, I was in residential treatment. 3 days from today, I was sent home from treatment.

It was too early.

The past year, I have had wildly swinging ups and downs concerning my ED. I have lapsed into restricting several times and I have had periods of massive overeating. I have minimally purged.

Through my periods of overeating, I gained 40 pounds.

I had noticed the weight coming on (and it didn’t creep — it was fast and sudden) but I didn’t care — then. The holidays were really hard on me; I lost both parents last year and ended up spending Christmas and New Years alone. That’s not an excuse by any stretch of the imagination, but there you have it — I roughly maintained through the holidays and then started rapidly gaining weight the first couple months of this year.

I was fine; I was fine; I was fine — until this switch flipped in my head. About 3 or 4 days after that, a really, really good friend sat down with me and voiced his concerns. More than anything, he wanted to help . . . . but my now ED-riddled brain latched on to only a few things that he said and that was all she wrote.

Since, I’ve been having a hard time eating correctly. I play at the edge of restriction and toy with the idea of purging. I’ve been on a medication that makes me retain water badly which makes it all the worse — no matter what I do, I gain weight. This really, really, really messes with my head and puts me in a panicked space where all that matters is “fixing” that.

Enter yesterday. Worst day of restriction I’ve had and a drawn out, super rare fight with my SO.

I’m not in a good place right now. Ultimatums were set, which as you guys know, don’t matter to ED — but they matter to me. The ante has been WAY upped, which increases my anxiety (now bordering on panic) which in turn increases my drive to restrict.

It upsets me that another year will be given to this fight.


2 11 2010

I hate ED with an undying, unyielding passion. Need I say more?

Actually, I do have more to say. I hate this parasite. I hate that he’s twisted my brain beyond the point of recognition. I hate that I think I’d be happy as long as I weren’t fighting him. I hate that he saps my joy. I hate that he prevents me from enjoying the pure, simple company of others. I hate that he makes me so self-conscious. I hate that he warps my thoughts. I hate that he’s latched onto me and won’t let go. I hate that he saps me of energy. I hate that depression follows ED wherever he goes. I hate that he saps me of motivation. I hate that he causes me to spend everything I have fighting to do what others not only do naturally, but enjoy. I hate that my life boils down to a number. I hate that overwhelming anxiety and panic can strike at any minute. I hate that I overanalyze every comment. I hate trying not to cry when I look in the mirror. I hate the fear and self-loathing. I hate the constant verbal abuse that ED dishes out. I hate everything ED has taken from me. I hate being unable to self-regulate.

Simply put, I hate ED.

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