I find myself thinking in terms of being stuck a lot. I’d even go so far as to say that feeling stuck is the expression I use most often to describe my emotional state or the way I’m handling a certain situation or conflict. I’m always able to deal with things up to a certain point, and then it feels like I hit a wall. The minute I come to that dead end, I get stuck. And when I get stuck, I shut down. I noticed this pattern a lot over the course of the past few months while blogging for the Chix Journal. For a few weeks, I felt like I was repeatedly coming up against the same obstacle; my posts felt stale and formulaic—I was able to articulate a problem or situation and identify how to deal with it, but I was never able to move any further forward than that. Noticing this made me wonder if I’d always be stuck, or if I might, at some point, begin to break through the wall that’s been holding me back.

Hearing someone bring up the concept of getting unstuck was a revelation to me. Of course it makes sense that if you can be stuck, you can also be unstuck. But for some reason, it had never occurred to me to think of things in that way. All of a sudden things started to come together, and I was able to see a bunch of ways in which I’d been getting unstuck without even knowing it—I’ve decided to take a break from marathons and felt much more at ease with my running, I’ve changed my own eating habits and alleviated a ton of stomach pain I’d been experiencing, I’ve started meditating, I’ve been doing more yoga more regularly, and I’ve incorporated some strength training into my weekly exercise routine. These are things that I never would have thought myself capable of doing just a few months ago, and yet I incorporated them into my daily life in a way that was so seamless that their significance almost slipped by me entirely.

Taking the time to reflect and take stock of things on a weekly basis for this blog played a big role in this change. For a long time, I felt hung up on the idea of getting stronger or being able to record some kind of measurable change. I worried that if I didn’t end up growing as a result of writing for the Chix Journal, that my story might not interest anyone enough to keep them reading. As I’ve recognized this gradual process of getting unstuck, though, I’ve also come to understand that no journey is that predictable. Just because this is my last Chix Journal post doesn’t mean that my personal story will come to a tidy end. But I’m proud to be able to see that even in the short time I’ve spent sharing my story here, I’ve grown a lot and gotten to a position where I’m able to see that although the wall might not be ready to come down just yet, there are some pretty noticeable cracks in it. If I hadn’t been writing all this time, I’m not sure that I’d be where I am now. I certainly wouldn’t have changed in the same ways that I have, and considering the fact that I’m pretty satisfied with where I am right now, I think that’s significant.

In addition to giving me an opportunity to share my story and articulate some of the more difficult feelings I grapple with, writing for the Chix Journal has given me a renewed appreciation for the various communities I’m fortunate enough to be a part of: as a member of the LUNA Chix NYC running team, I get to interact with some amazing, fun women on a regular basis; as a writer on this site, I’ve met, learned more about, and been inspired by my fellow journalists, Kristine, Amanda, and Stephanie. I find community in my support network, the people with whom I practice yoga, and the people I run with outside the LUNA Chix team. The people I interact with as a part of these communities have helped me to see things in new and different ways, and change my perspective on things that were holding me back. I do consider myself emotionally and physically stronger than I was when I wrote my first post, and I’m grateful to have had the chance to document this process as part of the Chix Journal. This is an experience that I’ll value for the rest of my life.

When Nat and I met, I was in good health. Unfortunately, it didn’t take long for that to change: a few months after we met, my work situation changed and things went downhill quickly. My weight plummeted as I stopped eating in order to “cope” with the stress. I was depressed most of the time, and—as difficult as it is to say—thought frequently about ending my life. Oddly enough, though, while all this was happening, Nat and I started dating. Six weeks into our relationship, I was admitted first to the psych ER and then to the psychiatric ward of the hospital for a longer-term stay than the ER could give me. For most new couples, this would be the kiss of death, and I wouldn’t have been surprised if Nat had decided that this wasn’t what he’d bargained for when we started dating, and walked away. Instead, he stayed. While I was in the ER, he visited every time it was allowed, camping out in the waiting room during the hours that visitors weren’t permitted. Once I was moved to the unit (where I ended up staying for three weeks), he visited almost every night and every weekend; he only missed visiting hours when he had class, and when he couldn’t make it, he always called. He brought playing cards, UNO, word games, my favorite drinks from Starbucks, and even scoured every drug store in the city to find my favorite candy bar. He held my hand when I cried, encouraged me when I was feeling optimistic, and always made me feel like I was the most important person in the world.

Since that hospital stay, Nat has helped me through a second hospital visit, a 6-week intensive outpatient program, and (perhaps the hardest part of all) living through recovery. He helps me make decisions about food when I need it, deals with me on my worst days, and seems to have an infinite store of patience. Every time I see him I’m reminded how lucky I am to have him in my life. If it hadn’t been for him, I probably wouldn’t have gone to the hospital and started down the road to getting better. In fact, I’m not sure what might have happened if he hadn’t intervened and helped me through every minute of what was, ultimately, a really scary time in my life.

Nat has weathered a real storm with me, and his support has never once faltered. He’s amazing, and I couldn’t ask for a more solid foundation, or a more loving partner. I can only hope that when it comes to offering him my support, I can live up to the standard he’s set.

For a while, I’ve been toying with the idea of setting goals for myself in yoga. Whenever I see pictures of people in complicated arm balances, standing balances, or anything that requires more flexibility than I have, I can’t help but feel a pang of jealousy. I want those things for myself, too! I want to be that graceful figure with all of my body weight effortlessly balanced on the palms of my hands. But to be honest, when I sit down on my yoga mat and start practicing, achieving those goals is the last thing on my mind. Instead, I find myself thinking of the moment I’m in (and, admittedly, what might be coming up later in the class). While I might covet the strength and flexibility of other yogis when I’m off the mat, I usually end up feeling like my strength and flexibility are enough when I’m on it.

Even though my desire to advance becomes secondary when I’m practicing yoga, the practice itself feeds my desire and in practicing, I get closer to my goals whether I consciously intend to or not. I think that’s one of the things I like best about yoga: the fact that everything about it is so interconnected that you can achieve things simply by focusing on your breathing and working through a class. Goals become unimportant, but at the same time you’re inevitably barreling toward achieving them. When you delve deeper into one aspect of the practice, you delve deeper into other aspects of it as well. To me (and maybe it’s because my relationship with goals can be so problematic), there’s nothing better than working on a goal this way. Not only is it possible that you’ll get where you want to be without even being aware that you were working really hard, it’s also likely that you’ll end up in places you didn’t even know you wanted to be.

When I think about it this way, I can understand the concept of a yoga competition a little bit better. The physical ability reflects the mental ability and vice versa—strong muscles go hand in hand with a strong spirit. It also helps me to see the goals I have for yoga in a bit more context: my desire to do more advanced poses speaks to a desire I have to become more focused and centered in my yoga practice. My ability to do a headstand a couple years ago showed not only that I was in strong physical shape, but that I was in strong shape mentally, too. These days, I’m not quite able to do a headstand…but I know that if I keep doing yoga regularly, I’ll soon catch up to where I used to be and be in a good position to keep moving forward.

Sadly, I can also see how much of the idea comes from the messages we’re constantly receiving about what constitutes a healthy body or a healthy life. When I was at my lowest weight, I heard the same thing over and over again: “What have you been doing? You look GREAT! I wish I could lose weight like that!” Other women thought I was the epitome of discipline and expressed envy toward what I’d been able to accomplish…by not eating. No wonder eating disorders are so prevalent. When you’re overweight, no one congratulates you on how good you look, even though you might be running marathons and in better shape than most of the people you know. When you’re destroying yourself you rack up compliments like it’s your job, in spite of the fact that you’re essentially trying to slowly kill yourself. I guess that when it comes to what we consider healthy, there are lots of us who could stand to reevaluate our outlook.

These days, I find myself working much harder to accept that thin and healthy are not the same thing. In fact, they can be really, really different. Healthy means energized, vibrant, and robust. When I was at my thinnest (which would also have meant my healthiest, according to my old understanding of the word), I was none of those things. Instead, I was tired, depressed, and largely lifeless. If that’s what healthy really was, no one would want any part of it. I’m just starting to appreciate my body for the things I can do with it and recognize that I’m finally and genuinely healthy. My running has felt great recently, I’ve been making a lot of progress in yoga, and I’ve added regular resistance training to my routine.

I’m no longer at my lowest weight, and there are days when that bothers me. To be honest, there are days when that bothers me a lot. But I’m healthy, and that counts for a lot more than a number on a scale. It enables me to keep up with my niece and nephew, run for miles, hold my favorite yoga poses, and enjoy life rather than trying to avoid it. The best part is that I’m also finally getting to a place where I can appreciate what my health does for me, and what it really means for my body and my life. I’m so glad that after all this time, I’m finally starting to understand.

Since beginning my recovery, I’ve felt like learning to enjoy food was an essential component of being “better” (of course what “better” actually means is anyone’s guess). For a few years now, I’ve spent way too much time and energy wondering why I don’t like food as much as the next person; why meals out at a restaurant are stressful rather than relaxing; and why so many people get so much enjoyment out of food when to me it just seems like a hassle. It’s frustrating when your feelings toward something so popular are largely negative—it basically means that you become hyper-aware of all the little moments in your life when food is the center of attention, and that all these little moments make you worry about how you’ll get through it all. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, it’s like leading a bit of a tortured existence (I warned you about the melodrama).

Last week, I mentioned that I’d been doing an elimination diet. I’ve now been on the diet for over a month, and ever since I started it food has become even more of a focus than it usually is. It’s been unnerving, to say the least. All of a sudden, I have to think about things like what I’ll eat for breakfast, lunch, or dinner a lot more than I used to. I was a vegetarian before starting the diet, so I was already used to having some restrictions on my choices, food-wise. But this has introduced a whole new level of limitation to my meals. It’s forced me to think about food much more often than I would like.

This is the point where I’d usually say, “Being forced to think about food has given me a new appreciation for it…” or something to that effect. But the truth is that I don’t appreciate food any more than I used to. I still don’t have any desire to spend time planning meals, or go hang out at a restaurant with a few friends, or center any of my activities around food. Instead, this entire experience has made me realize that maybe the best thing to do at this point would be to come to terms with the fact that I don’t like food. It’s just not something that brings me enjoyment. I like experiences I’ve had around food, like Thanksgiving or Christmas dinners, but the food itself is largely inconsequential to me. But I can’t help but wonder: is it okay to just say that’s okay and have done with it? Or would doing so be a concession to my eating disorder? I’m not sure there’s a clear answer to those questions.

I guess it’s good to be thinking about these things, and to be aware that they’re issues for me. Not dealing with the fact that food bothers me would be even worse than the fact that it bothers me in the first place. So for now, I’ll continue focusing on the experiences I have around food, and try not to worry so much about the food itself.

My comfort zone and I have had a rough few weeks. I’ve known for a while that it was time for me to move out, but instead of a gradual movement from the center of the circle outward, I feel like I was kicked out by someone wearing a steel-toed boot. First there was my birthday, then my decision not to run the Marine Corps marathon, something I’d been wanting to do for years. I’ve also spent the past month doing an elimination diet—I have a sensitive stomach, and it seemed like it might be a good idea to see if I was suffering from any food sensitivities. So far, the diet has revealed that I’m both dairy and gluten intolerant, and as a vegetarian, I’ve had a hard time adjusting to having these two major food sources cut out of my life. Yes, moving beyond your comfort zone can be necessary. But it can also be very destabilizing. Considering the circumstances, I think I’ve been handling things rather well, but I would be lying if I said I’ve been happy about everything that’s going on.

It’s made me realize that there is a big difference between forced change and willed change. The changes I’ve undergone have, for the most part, been forced—these are the changes that are harder, and that can also be bigger and a lot scarier because we don’t really have any control over them. But I think they also pave the way for willed change to be easier, and more appealing. Having to endure these changes has helped me to see that I have the ability to go beyond what is comfortable and explore different parts of who I am. This is pretty significant because for a long time, I have stayed pretty firmly ensconced inside my comfort zone (it’s not the best place to be, but it’s a place I’m familiar with). After all, depression, anxiety, and eating disorders are all illnesses that rely heavily on habit, and, I think, even thrive on it. You’re not living your happiest life, but you’re walking down the path of least resistance—what could be easier?

Now I see that I’m capable of breaking the patterns I’ve established, and the success I’ve had doing so has helped encourage me to consider what other changes I should work on. I’m older now, but I’m also wiser; I’m eating in a way that is better for my body; and I’m not running a marathon but I’m letting myself be a happier runner overall. What else am I capable of accomplishing, and how will it benefit me? I think that the things I’ve learned spending time outside my comfort zone will ultimately make me a stronger person, and help me to achieve some of the things I’ve been dreaming of doing for a long time. In fact, even if they just help me to push my dreams a little bit further, I’ll consider that progress.

I started training in June, and since that time I think I could count on one hand the number of successful long runs I did. The others weren’t just bad, they were total confidence-killers: one week I’d manage to run 11 miles, and the next week I’d struggle through 3 before giving up. Every week was an emotional roller coaster as I tried to determine whether or not I should be running a marathon at all. This was one thing my sports counselor and I came back to several times during our sessions: why run a marathon? At first, I told myself it was because I wanted to, because I love running, and because I loved the marathon. But after a certain point, that reason didn’t feel like enough. I started trying to justify my decision to run MCM by saying it was for the feeling of accomplishment, because I wanted to know I could do it. Deep down, though, there was a series of reasons I never articulated: because if I don’t run marathons I’m not a “real” runner, because if I don’t run a marathon I won’t stay thin, because if I don’t run a marathon everyone else will think less of me. It wasn’t about running the marathon as much as it was about what would happen if I didn’t. In my mind, I had already failed to run the race and had decided what the consequences would be. That’s hardly the mindset you want when you’re trying to prepare for a successful marathon, let me tell you.

Once I was able to come to terms with the real reasons why I wanted to run, it became easier for me to see how destructive the entire process had become. I’d put so much pressure on myself, and the stakes were so high that having one bad run was enough to impact weeks of training. Over the past few weeks, I’d drastically reduced my mileage because I just didn’t feel motivated to go running. Who would want to when one bad run could end up being so devastating?

That’s when I decided that I wouldn’t be running the marathon. And as scary as it is to say it, I don’t know when I’ll run another one. Maybe one day I’ll wake up and know that it’s time to pick it back up and get back in the saddle. But until I feel really passionate about it, I’m going to stick to shorter distances. I love running 10ks, half-marathons, and 5ks. I love doing speed work and feeling like it’s okay to miss a workout here and there. I don’t want my weekends to revolve around how many miles I have to run. I’m reevaluating my goals, and I feel good about it. Instead of 26.2 in October, I’m going to work toward a PR in a 10k in November, and hopefully another one in a 15k in December. And I’m going to be just as much a runner while running those races as I would have been while doing a marathon. I’ll probably be a happier runner, too.

Overall, this past year has been a fairly good one, but as I’ve been thinking about it over the past week, I feel like I’ve come across a lot of things that I want to be doing differently as I get older. I guess that’s a good feeling—I think it’s important to be able to identify the areas of your life in which you have room to grow (and it just so happens I have many of them)! The more I thought about things, the more I realized how many of the things I want to keep working on are connected to the themes I’ve been exploring in my Chix Journal entries. It makes sense—after all, from the time I began writing my posts here, I’ve been openly looking to become a stronger person both physically and emotionally. Isn’t that kind of the ultimate process of personal growth? For the past several months, I’ve been working on dealing with some of the harder issues that my eating disorder brings up for me, delve into the things I love (and sometimes hate) about running, and exploring what all this means to me as I move forward with my recovery and continue to deal with recurring depression and anxiety. So I thought this would also be the best place to write about what I hope to get out of the next year of my life.

I think it’s good to have goals, and it’s even better when your goals lead to some kind of positive outcome. It’s best when that positive outcome has a potential long-term impact on your life. That’s what I want to focus on during this next year. So here, in no particular order, are my goals. We’ll call them Things for Thirty-One (it’s also good to give things catchy names).

-Begin training for a marathon—and see it through to the end—while completely healthy. That means no restricting, a solid mileage base going into training, and consistently eating enough to sustain my training. I haven’t been able to do this since 2008.

-Commit to a more regular yoga practice. I love yoga, and I always feel more centered and calm when I’m doing it consistently. I’ve really let that lapse over the past year, and I intend to change that!

-Commit to a regular meditation practice. I hear all the time about what a positive impact meditation can have on pretty much every aspect of life. It’s something I’ve always wanted to do more regularly, so why not get started now?

-Expand my range of activities beyond running. This might be the most important thing on my list of goals. Obviously I love running, but lately I think I’ve suffered a bit because of my single-minded devotion to it. There’s more to life than just running, right? Whenever I read my fellow journalers’ entries about triathlons and the range of activities they do, I feel a bit like I’m missing out on something. Lately my running has hit a rough spot, and I wonder if taking some time to explore other sports might not work to my advantage in the long term. On top of that, I want to be a well-rounded athlete. I’m not sure that I’m ready for triathlons just yet, but I wouldn’t put a running/biking combo outside the realm of possibility.

Every year, I go into my birthday thinking that I want this year to be the best one yet, and every year I think I come away feeling a little bit disappointed because things didn’t end up being magical. This year, I’m going to work on making sure that it’s okay for things to be normal. The most important thing is to make small improvements, and take baby steps toward the things I want to accomplish. Hopefully around this time next year, I’ll be able to look back and admit that the year had its ups and downs, but also feel that I can appreciate what I learned and how much I grew as a result.

During my first year as a LUNA Chix team member, I considered myself a motivator and a friend to the women who joined our group. We were joined by runners of all levels, and I enjoyed getting to know all of them. This year our group has grown considerably, and although I still see myself as a friend and motivator, I also think of myself as a resource to the women who run with us. It’s a role I really value. In fact, I’d guess that the experiences I’ve had working in the group in a coaching capacity have been more valuable to me than any of our group members—I’ve had a chance to learn to work closely with individual runners who have a variety of different goals while also gaining experience working with coordinating and executing group workouts. Throughout the process, I’ve learned some valuable lessons. I’d like to share them here, in the hope that if any readers out there want to start coaching they can learn from my mistakes.

1. Be prepared: While scheduling our workouts, it never occurred to me that there might be a race going on in Central Park that could prevent us from running a certain route. I had to think on my feet a couple times when the area of the park I intended for us to use ended up being inaccessible.

2. Have a plan: I always take the time to plan out a speed workout, but for some reason never put the same attention into planning warm-ups. Oops. Just because you know what you would do in a given situation doesn’t mean you’d know what to tell a group to do.

3. Don’t make it personal: I might like a workout or a drill but that doesn’t mean that everyone else does. If they don’t, don’t take it personally. People have different tastes in running just as they do in everything else.

4. Keep it simple: Not only should you have a plan, it should be a simple plan. If you can’t remember it off the top of your head, or if you’re unable to explain it verbally, it might be too complicated.

5. Have fun: A rule so commonly used that it’s reached cliche status. But it applies in this case! We’re not a track team, we’re a social, fun group of women. If we can’t enjoy ourselves while running, when can we enjoy ourselves?

I’ll definitely be taking these lessons with me as I move forward into my future as a coach, and I’m sure that years from now I’ll still be learning!

Once my crisis passed, I started thinking about the reasons why I run. This, in turn, led to thinking about the reasons why anyone runs. Do any of us need an explanation as to why we run or exercise in whatever form? Isn’t it enough to be able to say, “because I love it”? Everyone’s reason, I realized, is deeply personal. Even two people who run for the sheer love of the run will have different feelings about it. I’ve talked a lot about my personal reasons for running on this blog—it helps me stay focused and present, gives me a connection to my body that I have a hard time holding on to otherwise, and allows me to manage stress. But one thing I haven’t spoken much about are the things that inspire me to keep running. To my mind, the things that inspire us are different from the reasons we run but just as important; like our reasons, inspiration is very personal, and comes from a variety of places, none of which need justification. But I think they do deserve credit and I don’t think I credit mine nearly as much as I should. What better time than now to do so?

-My family: I started out listing individual family members but then realized there are so many of them that I might as well put them in a single category. Otherwise, this list would just get silly. To be specific, though, I’m inspired by my niece and nephew because of their boundless energy and the obvious joy they exhibit whenever they do something they love; my sister and mom for taking up running and being committed to a healthy lifestyle; my granddad, whom I miss every day and whom I consider to be the first runner in our family.

Me and my niece

-My niece: I mentioned her along with the rest of my family, but I also wanted to set her apart. My niece is 6 and has been a supporter of me as a runner (and me, in general) since my first marathon in 2007. Out of the blue, she’ll tell me I’m the greatest runner, or the best runner ever. She also loves running, and did a kids’ fun run a couple years ago. She ran 1/4 mile and I ran alongside her (as well as I could from the sidelines) and cheered her on the entire time. At one point, she heard me cheering for her and looked over and smiled—she was just so happy to be running. Every time I think about that moment, I’m reminded of how much I love the way running makes me feel. I’m also reminded of all the things I want for her: to never feel about her body the way I’ve felt about mine, to feel confident in herself even when she’s scared or doubtful, to always have a connection to that happiness she experienced while running. She treats me like I’m a hero, when I’m the one who should be treating her that way.

-My goals: I don’t know, is it weird to be inspired by my own goals? There are things I want to achieve and I know that if I don’t feel passionate and committed to them, there’s no way they’re going to happen. When I think about running an ultramarathon or a specific race, I get excited and want to get out and work toward achieving those goals. To me, that’s the ultimate inspiration.

-My friends: I’ll be honest, I’m not inspired by all my friends. Is that mean? It’s not meant to be. But I am inspired by those who have struggled with depression, anxiety, and/or an eating disorder (or all three!) and come out the other side. It’s not an easy battle, and being able to look to the example of others when I’m at my lowest really does help me a lot. Feeling alone when you’re dealing with things of that nature can be one of the worst sentiments, and it’s an immense comfort to see that other people have been able to make it through.

What are you inspired by?

I don’t love food. I don’t even think I could honestly say I like it. Even when I’m feeling good about my body, I consider food a necessity rather than a source of pleasure. If I could find a nutritionally-balanced meal that had the perfect amount of calories and macronutrients, I would just eat that for the rest of my life—doing so would be such a relief given how much time and energy I spend thinking about what I’m going to have for breakfast, lunch, dinner, and various snacks. I’m not a huge fan of cooking because of my feelings toward food. Picking out recipes and planning meals is overwhelming to me. I’d just as soon avoid it entirely. Unfortunately, that’s not really an option. Regardless of how I feel about it, food is an essential part of everyday life, and not just because it fuels our bodies—it’s also at the center of some of the most significant events of our lives and frequently the focus of all kinds of social activities. People use food as comfort, as a source of bonding, and as a way of expressing all kinds of emotions. It’s part of some of our most cherished traditions, and defines populations and cultures across the world. It’s not going to get any less important anytime soon. If something is going to change, it’s probably going to have to be the way I feel toward it.

The thing is, it sometimes feels really hard to explain to people that I don’t share the same enthusiasm for food. More often than not, I end up in situations where I feel like I have to play along and express the same sort of joy or satisfaction toward food as everyone else around me, even though it’s completely disingenuous. I have a co-worker who sometimes goes on and on about something she’s recently eaten or one of her favorite treats—she doesn’t understand that it’s a topic of conversation that not only makes me uncomfortable, but almost disgusts me. I work pretty hard to keep the way I feel about food separate from the experiences other people have with it, and to understand that my feelings represent the minority. But that doesn’t stop me from wishing that for once, I could participate in a social event that didn’t involve food, or hear about something other than my co-worker’s last meal or how great a certain restaurant is, or not have to act like I also think a certain dish sounds incredibly delicious. I wish I could feel like there were more to life than food.

Being in recovery has helped me to see the connections between my emotional states and my feelings toward food. I’m able to understand that it’s somehow easier for me to experience hunger and deprivation than to deal directly with what’s upsetting me, and this is something that I am working on all the time. It’s also helped me to feel more comfortable with the idea that I don’t have to like food as much as everyone else does. If I never see it as anything other than a way to fuel my body, that’s okay. The important thing is that I get to a point where I’m able to find pleasure and joy in other things, and deal more effectively with sources of stress and pain. As in all things, I think I will get there eventually; I know I’m a lot closer now than I was even a year ago. I guess it’s somewhat ironic that I would have such a hard time with how food-focused the lives of other people tend to be when my life is also incredibly food-focused. I may never like it, but I can at least try to make peace with it.

Although I’ve been running for years, I’ve always had a hard time identifying myself as a runner. I sometimes worry that when people find out that I run marathons, they’ll comment on the fact that I don’t have a marathon runner’s body. In fact, when it comes to calling myself a runner, I always find that what holds me back the most is how I perceive my physical appearance, and how I feel I measure up to other runners. But I think I’m finally starting to turn a corner where that’s concerned—starting to understand that being a runner is about much more than what my body looks like, and that my feelings about my body are separate from the miles I run.

This past weekend I visited my parents. On Saturday morning (in blistering heat and humidity—hey, I never said I had the best judgment!), I put on my running clothes, packed up my gear, and headed out for my long run. While I was running, I passed all kinds of people—young, old, tall, short, big, small, fast, slow—all of them runners. As I plodded along the path I was on, my clothes grew heavier and heavier, absorbing all of my sweat but not wicking it away as quickly as I was producing it. Finally, I decided to take my shirt off, tuck it around my neck, and run that way. This was the first time I’d ever removed my shirt in public and run in nothing other than a sports bra and shorts. The feeling was amazing. It cooled my body down instantly, and made me feel so much lighter. My run became significantly more comfortable (well, about as comfortable as a long run can be, I guess), and rather than worrying about what other runners might think of me when they passed by, or what people in their cars were thinking while looking at me waiting to cross the road, I just ran and enjoyed the sense of physical and psychological freedom I’d gained from removing an article of clothing. I didn’t care what anyone thought of me or my appearance; what mattered to me was my run, and feeling happy and comfortable.

This might all sound really simple and obvious, but to me it was a revelation. That I could focus on my running rather than my hang-ups about my body made me incredibly happy and satisfied. I know better than to think that this means that from now on, every run will set me free from my appearance-related concerns. But it’s good to know that slowly and surely—just as I made it through my long run on Saturday—I’m getting to a point where I’m able to appreciate what’s truly important and what should really matter. I can call myself a runner, and I can proudly say I’d challenge anyone who’d try to take that distinction away from me.

After that first marathon, I started pursuing options to run with a partner or a group. I checked out a couple New York City-area running clubs (there are a ton of them!), and started running more frequently with a partner or two. But it wasn’t until 2011, when we started the LUNA Chix New York City running team that group and partner running became a regular part of my life. Obviously meeting once a week with a group of women runners made it easy to run with a group; I also made more of an effort to build some running-related friendships, though, and explore options outside our once-weekly LUNA run.

Running with a group or a partner can be anxiety producing, which is one of the reasons I held off on doing it for such a long time. I find I’m always worried that I won’t be able to keep up, or that I’ll slow my partner down. No one wants to be a hindrance, and no runner wants to come off as less speedy or fit than the next person—for me, it can be really easy to get hung up on how other people will judge me when I run with them. And to be honest, not all of my group running experiences have been entirely positive. On one group run, I found out what it was like to be at the back of the pack; on another I was told a couple times by faster runners that I should “set the pace” even though when I ran at a pace that was comfortable to me, they pretty quickly left me behind. But for the most part, I have gotten pretty good at reminding myself that when I’m running with a partner, chances are that person is more interested in my company than the speed at which we’re running, and I don’t have to apologize if I can’t keep up. That’s one of the things I like most about being a LUNA Chix runner: one of our priorities is to create an atmosphere in which women feel comfortable running with each other. It’s not about competition or how we measure up against each other, it’s just about running and enjoying ourselves.

My running now is a mix of solo running and social running, and I’m happy that my life has a place for both. I have days where a solo run is the only thing that will help me out of a funk; where I don’t want to be “on”, or social, or talkative; where I need time to myself and I know that a run is going to be the most satisfying way to get it. On other days, I know I’m only going to get my mileage in with a little help from my friends. In fact, as I’ve been training for my upcoming fourth marathon, I’ve found myself worrying that I’ve become too reliant on having company during a long run. This weekend I was unable to get through the 12 miles I had planned, and I can’t help but wonder if things would have been different if I’d been with someone. Did I give up because my body couldn’t do it, or because my brain wasn’t up to it? If I’d had a cheerleader running alongside me, would I have fared better? In the grand scheme of things, running with people is still relatively new to me so it’s possible I’m not taking advantage of it the way I should. As I keep running, though, I’ll have more chances to experiment, and figure out what the perfect balance of solo and group running is. As for my next long run, I’m really hoping to find some company!

Now that we’ve taken care of that, we can move on to the running. It was good and bad; by the time I was able to go out for a run on Thursday I was desperate to do something and, consequently, even more overjoyed than usual to run. My run was good, but I had a hard time hitting my stride and falling into a comfortable rhythm. I ran a little over three miles, and the entire time I felt like I was learning to run on two legs after spending my entire life on four—things just felt unnatural and weird. While I was really happy to be running, deep down inside there was a part of me that felt angry. With every step I took, I could feel my inner thighs rubbing together. I couldn’t stop thinking about it, how disgusted it made me, and how even though I was out doing something to take care of myself and treat myself well, all I could think about was my thighs, the part of my body that I’m most self-conscious about. I felt angry toward my body for what felt like a betrayal, and angry at myself for not being able to move beyond something so superficial. The following day I wore capri-length tights and had a great run—almost the opposite of the one I’d had on Thursday. But on Sunday when I went out for my long run, I was back to shorts and although I didn’t feel as awkward I couldn’t help but notice my thighs rubbing again.

Summertime always drives me crazy because I’ve never found a pair of running shorts that didn’t make me feel self-conscious about my legs and get all my body image anxieties going at full speed. I like the idea of running skirts, but I’ve yet to wear one that wasn’t so short that the boy shorts didn’t ride up my thighs and make me feel even worse that I would have if I’d just worn regular shorts. Objectively, I can look at myself and see that my thighs are not the over-inflated, humongous appendages that I feel they are when they’re rubbing against each other; I wish it were easier to hold on to that feeling—the positive one, the one that’s reasonable and rational and isn’t trying to bring me down—than the negative one that seems to take over whenever I have to face the reality of pulling on some running shorts. If I’m not careful, the negative body image stuff can make running less and less appealing and as I mentioned before, the less running I do, the worse I tend to feel—it becomes a vicious cycle in which I’m stuck in a pattern of feeling bad about myself.

In cases like this, there’s a fine line between being a friend to yourself and being an enemy. Running with the wrong perspective can have the opposite effect of the one I’m hoping for. I wish I could say that I had some quick solution or a way around this problem, but I don’t. For better or for worse, this is just something I struggle with. But ultimately, I guess that’s reality. You can’t always wrap something up in a pretty package and have it disappear, or find a clean solution to the messiest situations—sometimes you have to just accept the struggle and the fact that it sucks. But I think that admitting that the difficulty is there may be the best way to deal with it. That is, at least, what I’m hoping.

There are all sorts of opinions and rules when it comes to running while sick. Commonly held wisdom states that if your ailment affects you in the throat and above, you’re okay to run; if you’re sick from the throat down, you’d be better off staying in and getting rest. Personally, though, I find the decision to run or not run to be extremely personal. There are times when I’ve had a cough and running has been the best thing that ever happened. And when I have a head cold and can barely breathe through my nose (and constantly breathing through my mouth just leaves me feeling dry and thirsty), I feel like my best bet is to stay in and forget running. Add the aches and pains and the fatigue that accompany the worst colds on top of all that, and one of the last things I feel like doing is putting on my running shoes and heading out the door. Of course, that doesn’t mean I don’t want to, deep down. Wanting to run but knowing that you’re not healthy enough to do so is an incredibly frustrating feeling

This past week was my third week (our of 18) of training for the Marine Corps Marathon in October. This will be my fourth marathon, and I’m really excited about it. So obviously I wasn’t too pleased when I woke up on Saturday morning and realized I wouldn’t be doing any of the mileage I’d planned for the weekend. Let me tell you, there is no greater bummer. Instead of running, I spent most of Saturday either in bed or lying on the couch, and Sunday curled up next to a box of tissues, various medicines, plenty of fluids and my Kindle.

Every time I catch a cold I feel like it’s somehow unfair. But honestly, I should have seen this one coming a mile away. The past few weeks I’ve been overloaded with activity, trying to get everything done on time and still fit in the rest and self-care I need. Clearly I skimped somewhere; in fact, I knew I was skimping as I was doing it. The fact that I’m sick now is testament to the importance of rest and recovery—see what happens when you don’t take time to slow down and smell the roses? Before you know it, you’re blowing your nose so frequently you lose your ability to smell anything.

In a way, though, catching a cold or being forced to slow down in some way is useful. It’s the times like these, when I can’t run, that remind me not only of how much I love running, but also of how important it is for me to take care of myself. Maybe if I’d begged out of one or two commitments in the past few weeks and been a bit more careful to get the rest I needed, I wouldn’t be in this position right now. On a similar note, I can justify taking some time off of running now in order to get healthy and make sure that I can run further on down the line.

Now the trick is to just keep reminding myself that all this rest is an investment that will pay off in the end…sometimes it’s hard to patient and take the time you need!

I’ve been working with a sports counselor for the past couple months, and it’s been a huge help. I feel like my outlook toward my running has really improved, and I’m getting more and more used to seeing myself as an athlete instead of someone who’s just barely accomplishing anything. It’s funny how much a shift in the way you perceive yourself with regard to your sport can help things fall into place. Previously, if I’d had a difficult training week due to some outside factor like the heat or humidity, I would have been quick to blame it on my own deficiency. Now, though, I can look at the situation more objectively and realize not only that exercising in high temperatures can be incredibly taxing on any body, but also that my body deserves to be taken care of and valued. On certain days, that might mean that a run is out of the question. That’s where building strength comes in.

I’ve already written a lot about developing emotional strength, what it means to me, and why I’ve chosen to work on it this year. But emotional strength goes hand in hand with physical strength, and in order to get through the next sixteen weeks of training, I’m going to need both. Being emotionally strong will give me the mental push I’ll need to get through the toughest workouts, and being physically strong will ensure that my body is ready for them, too. I feel like I’m in good shape when it comes to emotional strength, but my physical strength needs work!

Over the next few weeks, I want to start focusing on building my non-running muscles and becoming a well-rounded athlete. Ideally, this will also help me make up for any running I have to miss because it’s so hot outside. I’m excited about trying new things, or revisiting old activities (the last time I was on a bike was two years ago). I want to do some strength training, biking, hiking, maybe some rowing…I’ve been a runner for such a long time that I’ve forgotten how many other ways there are to get moving and get strong! I like the idea of having a new project—which is what I consider this to be—and I can’t wait to see how building this strength affects (hopefully improves!) my marathon results.

Yoga means something different to every person who does it; one person might consider it a workout while another person might not. In my opinion, neither position is more valid than the other. When I started practicing yoga several years ago, I considered it a workout. Sometimes I still do. More and more often, though, I tend to look at it as a spiritual practice that also works my muscles and makes me sweat (either a lot or a little, depending on what sort of yoga I’m doing).

I’ve already written about what I love about yoga, and why I consider it such an important complement to the running I do. Like running, it’s also played an important role in my ED recovery, and helps me do a better job of managing stress, anxiety, and depression. And maybe it’s because of those things (or maybe it’s in spite of those things) that yoga has a spiritual side to me. I wasn’t brought up in a religious family and for a long time I wasn’t particularly drawn to any sort of spiritual practice. But as I’ve continued to do yoga over the years, I’ve been able to appreciate the ways in which it helps me to develop a sense of myself in the greater context of the world and serve as a reminder of the fact that there is more to life than my own personal experiences. Being in a yoga class is an especially good way to tap into this feeling—sharing the experience of a yoga practice with a roomful of people just underscores the idea of a collective existence to me. You can’t help but feel how connected everyone is when you’re breathing and moving in sync with a bunch of strangers; for me, the feeling gets even stronger in classes that begin and end with the chanting of “om.”

   

In addition to all that, though, yoga connects me to the idea that my decisions affect the outcome of my life, but that I also only have so much control over things—today I might use a prop in a pose and tomorrow I might not; today I might be able to hold my headstand and tomorrow I might fall out of it. I can influence things to a degree, but I can’t predict the future. Along those same lines, I can’t hold it against myself when things don’t work out the way I’d intended them to. In some situations, you just have to let go and allow the chips to fall where they may.

Of course, just because yoga has this spiritual dimension to me doesn’t mean that it’s not also a workout. I don’t think those two things have to be entirely separate from each other. That’s not to say, of course, that I’ve found my god in downward dog or at the finish line of a marathon, it’s just that physical activity (and yoga in particular) has put me in touch with what I think of as being more than just my body. It’s also not to say that everyone feels this way. I think all of yoga’s meanings are valid, and I’m happy that mine is what it is.

It’s during weeks like the one I just had that I’m really grateful to be a runner. Although when I initially began running, I was going after a certain “look,” I’ve long since abandoned the idea of actively thinking of my running as a way to control or maintain my weight. I’m sure that deep down, there’s a part of me that knows that running does help me stay in shape and fit into the same clothes I’ve worn for the past several years. But I don’t run to lose weight and I especially don’t run to eat. Instead, running helps me to maintain a sense of how to treat my body well and find balance and strength. If I’m not healthy, my running is going to suffer and running means enough to me that at times when things with food are really hard, I can usually work toward resetting by reminding myself that very little food also inevitably means very little running. If I manage to boil things down into the simple “food=fuel” equation, I can usually look beyond the emotional difficulties I’m having and give my body what it needs.

I never really know how to respond when people say things like, “I run to eat!” or “Well, I had a cupcake today so I’d better run an additional three miles.” It makes me sad that we so easily fall into the trap of thinking of our healthy endeavors in terms of what we can and can’t eat. We spend so much time labeling foods as “bad” or “good,” and then labeling ourselves the same way depending on what we’ve eaten over the course of any given day. I wish it were easier for us to tell ourselves that there are no inherently good or bad foods, and that our self-worth can’t be measured by our diets. Running to eat has negative implications all around: running is some sort of penitent activity that we do in order to make it possible for us to eat, something that we should be doing without justification or excuses. When someone is running to eat, are either of those two activities enjoyable?

Instead of trying to think in terms of how many calories I need to burn in advance of eating or after eating something, I try to focus on eating to run. To me, this takes the emphasis off of running as an obligation and makes it sound more like a treat or reward. When I eat properly, my running feels great. When my running feels great, I feel great. It’s a no-brainer. But because of the way we’re conditioned to think about food and exercise, it’s a really hard mentality to summon and maintain. I guess it ultimately goes onto that ever-growing list of things I’m working on. At least this is one task that has huge benefits to offer! Going into this week, I’m planning on trying to stick to the eat to run mindset, and not let myself get bogged down in the anxieties and hang-ups that make food more complicated than it should be.

Given my attitude toward my athletic performance, it would probably be pretty unusual if I were enthusiastic about races. I have to admit that there’s something I really do love about them—I think it’s the potential, anticipation, and excitement—but more often than not I get hung up on how I’ll do in comparison to how I did in the past, or how I think I should do and I’ll end up sabotaging myself somehow. I can’t tell you how many races I’ve blown or just given up on entirely because I set my goals unrealistically high and then ended up in a position where I knew I wouldn’t be able to achieve them. It’s frustrating, to say the least.

Me and my friend Sonia before our first marathon

This year, I’ve had a pretty good track record with racing. My first race of 2012 was the Cherry Tree 10-Miler, which I followed up with the Brooklyn Half-Marathon a few months later. I wasn’t particularly well-trained for either, and given the circumstances I did really well (in fact, I’d say the half was possibly my best race ever). But on Sunday, I ran a 5-miler (I decided to run it last Wednesday and figured it would be a good way to make up for missing the Mini 10k) and although I didn’t crash and burn, I know it wasn’t my best performance and I know the reason why: Friday night and during most of the day Saturday, I barely ate. As a result, I missed out on my opportunity to do a long run for the week and I went into the race under fueled and probably dehydrated. This is not something I recommend that you try at home. In fact, don’t try it anywhere.

During the Brooklyn Half-Marathon in 2011

I don’t know why I wasn’t able to take care of myself and get the food I needed. I’m not sure if it was a response to stress and emotional pressure from all sorts of things going on or if it was my way of sabotaging myself for this particular race. Either way, it was unpleasant to have ED symptoms rear their ugly head again. I know recovery is difficult and may be a lifelong process, but it sucks to be reminded of those facts. I try to be really strict with myself when it comes to restricting and running; I love running and I don’t want it to get wrapped up in my eating disorder and ruined. So if I’ve been restricting, I don’t run. Sunday, though, I made an exception knowing that the race would help me to get back on track and would do more good than harm (fortunately, I was right). But I don’t want to have any more experiences like this one. It’s hard enough to be scared of racing. Having that fear and anxiety get mixed in with all my messy feelings about food is something I really don’t need.

In spite of the way things went over the weekend, I feel optimistic about my racing season this year. I’m going to be running the Marine Corps Marathon in October, and I’ve been working with an awesome sports counselor who is helping me deal with a lot of the anxiety that racing causes me. When I have a great race, I feel incredible and powerful. Getting a taste of how well I can do when I’m mentally and physically in good shape makes me excited for what I could be capable of accomplishing. I can’t wait to see how things go and continue working on all the little ways in which I try to make racing go poorly for me. I know it might sound a little bit silly, but I feel like deep down, underneath all the fear, there’s a powerful runner waiting to be let loose on the race course. Doing the work needed to let her out is just as frightening to me as racing itself, but if it weren’t scary, it wouldn’t really be worth doing, right?

From reading New York Road Runners website about the race, I learned that today, 53 percent of all road race finishers are female. Women compete at the world-class level at distances from 100 meters to the ultramarathon. And every year, thousands of them finish the Mini, which continues to attract world-class competitors, first-timers, and everyone in between. This year’s Mini had 6,122 finishers, the most since 1997. The race was started by two women who had a fantasy of two women going for a run together, and 40 years later, we have taken over the sport. 

When it was first started, the Mini 10k was a 6-mile race around Central Park and was actually called the “Crazy Legs Mini Marathon”, partially in honor of the mini skirt (Fred Lebow, who was a key figure in the city’s running community as president of the NYRR and founder of the New York City Marathon, had been an apparel buyer in women’s fashion for a long time), and partially to give women their own “marathon.” In 1972, the race had 78 runners. Obviously it’s grown a little bit since then!

Since I live my life surrounded by women runners, it’s sometimes strange to think that a mere 40 years ago, women were mostly unwelcome in road races. Running in general was thought to be a man’s sport. We’ve come so far from the days when women had to fight to officially compete in the Boston Marathon, and thank goodness these days people have stopped trying to argue that women can’t run long distances because their uteruses will fall out (I mean seriously).

I’m really sad to say I didn’t make it to the race this year. On Saturday morning I woke up with a pounding headache and felt like I could barely open my eyes. Running a 10k seemed out of the question. I stayed in bed and got up a few hours later with the same headache and ended up spending the better part of the day trying to get rid of it. Deep down I know I probably made the better decision as far as taking care of myself is concerned, but it sucks that I wasn’t able to be part of something so important for my team. Plus, this is one of the only races for which NYRR makes a women’s cut shirt and even though I have a shirt I can’t very well wear it since I didn’t run the race. I know there will be other races, and we’ll be doing a second LUNA race later this season. Still, I always have a hard time dealing with missing out on something. I guess it’s because there have been so many times that I’ve intentionally skipped events because of performance anxiety. Now, when I have to miss an event for valid reasons, I still feel the same sort of guilt.

Fortunately (and this might sound cheesy, but it’s true!), I don’t have to wait for a once-yearly race to roll around in order to have a chance to run with a group of great women. As a NYC LUNA, I get to do it every week. Women’s rights are important to me, and there’s something really gratifying about the fact that while running—and especially while running with other women—I’m getting a chance to exercise a freedom that a lot of women didn’t have at my age. Exercise is such a commonplace in our lives today that it gets really easy to overlook the fact that it wasn’t always something we were encouraged to do. 40 years ago, women didn’t have the same sort of control over their bodies that they have today. And in a lot of cases, that control is still really limited (and in the US we experience far more freedom than the women in countless other countries across the world). But at least we can run where and when we want. And hopefully in another 40 years we’ll be celebrating the fact that we have even more freedom than we have today.

One of the best things about this move is that we have more than twice the amount of space we had before. We’d been living in a tiny studio apartment and everything was so cramped. There was no room to spread out and enjoy anything. If the room was slightly messy, there was nowhere I could do yoga or any sort of exercise.

As someone who enjoys being able to work out at home, I was constantly bummed out by how crowded our space was. As soon as we realized we’d be moving into a bigger space, I started fantasizing about how cool it would be to have my own little yoga corner.

Our new place is still loaded with boxes and other moving-related detritus. But I’m also still thinking about where I’ll be putting down my mat and getting my yoga groove on. Doing so involves a lot of careful contemplation about what sort of things a yoga sanctuary requires. Ideally, I would want:
• candles
• incense
• space for more than just my yoga mat
• somewhere to keep props (like a block, strap, or bolster) that’s makes them easily accessible, even if I’m in rotated triangle or some other crazy pose
• possibly the option of playing some music, depending on the kind of practice I’m doing
• access to my laptop, since that’s where all my at-home practices come from

Even if I don’t end up with a yoga corner in my new place, I am hoping that having a little bit of extra room will make it easier for me to get back into a regular yoga practice. I’ve wanted to get back into doing yoga consistently for a long time now, and a lot of other things (my running, my eating for the most part) are in a pretty good place. It feels like now would be a good time to start focusing on moving forward with another activity that I consider central to my mental and physical health. Besides, I have goals in yoga that I want to achieve sooner rather than later and I’m not going to do that by sitting idly by and just hoping that I’m still able to bring my heels to the ground while I’m in downward facing dog.

Often when I’m trying to get back into the habit of something—or just trying to establish some sort of habit—I get it into my head that I should do some kind of challenge and set some sort of lofty goal. I always end up convincing myself that achieving that goal (which would be something like “do yoga five times a week for six weeks!”) is absolutely essential to everything—my happiness, my health, keeping my weight where I want it to be. But even when I manage to meet those goals, which is rare, I never feel very good about it. The challenges always end up being more of a catch-22 than anything else: if I’m not doing what I set out to do, I don’t feel good. On the other hand, if I am doing it, it’s not the miracle cure I wanted, and, consequently, I’m not feeling good. It’s either 100% ironic or it makes perfect sense that the mentality I end up with as a result of doing a challenge is completely antithetical to what yoga really is for me.

So really, this new space is an opportunity to clear the slate with yoga and let myself go with the flow. It’s sort of exactly what yoga should be. Moving has been hard, it’s certainly not without its bright spots.

LUNAChix NYC! From top to bottom: Alicia, Jacqui, April, Mina, Sara, me, Grace, Emma, and Tina

Before noticing a LUNA Chix ad on Facebook early last year, I wasn’t aware that the teams existed. I’d always been a fan of LUNA bars, but I had no idea that the company also had a history of supporting teams of female athletes across the country, and making it possible for them to encourage other women to get out and be active.

Once I started learning about LUNA Chix, though, I knew I wanted to be involved. Initially, I applied to be a team leader. I didn’t get chosen, but when LUNA told me they’d picked someone named Alicia, they asked me if I wanted them to pass on my contact information. I said yes, but deep down I felt crushed. I had visions of the team leader being someone who’d already recruited all her teammates and wouldn’t have room for a stranger.

Obviously, that’s not what happened! In fact, just a few days after hearing from LUNA, I got an email from Alicia. We’d done a season of Team in Training together in 2008, and when LUNA gave her the contact information of the other women who’d applied as leaders, she recognized mine and reached out immediately. Not only was I thrilled to have the chance to be a team member, but I was also touched by Alicia’s gesture. She’d already gotten several friends together and was kind enough to bring me into the fold as well. I always feel really lucky when I think about how I came to be part of this team, but as cheesy as it may be, I also always think of how well that story encompasses what LUNA Chix is about: creating and strengthening bonds and connections through a really powerful medium (yay, sports!).

For a long time, I’ve wanted to find a way to work toward goals that are in line with LUNA’s mission with the Chix program: empowering women through athletic activity, encouraging them to achieve their fitness goals, and emphasizing health and happiness—rather than weight or physical appearance—throughout the work we do together. One day, I hope to have my own individual coaching practice based on these principles. One of the things I love most about being part of the LUNA Chix NYC running team is the fact that it gives me a chance to do those things. It’s helped me to connect to something I really love and enjoy, and has helped me to get a better and clearer idea of what sort of running coach I want to be and the kind of work I want to do with runners. It’s also given me the confidence (although it can be shaky at times) to start pursuing coaching opportunities, and see myself as a person who can help other women to accomplish meaningful goals.

Our team has grown rapidly and we have a great, diverse group of women who run different distances at different speeds. New York City is full of runners and before our season started last year, we were a bit worried about how we would make a name for ourselves as small fish in such a big pond. I think one of the key reasons why we attract so many women is because we offer a unique, supportive environment (and of course who could turn down free post-run LUNA bars?).

There’s no competition or pressure, there’s just encouragement and an inviting outlet for runners of all levels. It makes me really happy to know that every woman who comes to one of our group runs feels welcome, and that they know there aren’t any expectations and no one is judging them.

On top of all that, we’re working to raise money for a great charity, the Breast Cancer Fund. In the past year, I’ve made strong friendships and helped many women incorporate running into their lives. Doing so has made running even more meaningful to me than it was, and I’m proud to be part of this team.

This past Saturday, I ran the New York Road Runners Brooklyn Half-Marathon. Leading up to it, my training had been less-than-stellar; lately I seem to be alternating a good week of running with a bad one. The bad ones aren’t bad because of quality, but because it’s so hard to get myself up and moving. The fact that I’d had so many on-and-off weeks really made me question how the race would go. In the weeks leading up to it, I had moments where I wasn’t sure I’d be able to finish.

Even though I didn’t feel like my training had been great, my race went really well! In fact, I think it was one of the strongest races I’ve had in a long time. Maybe even the strongest ever. I might not have felt motivated while preparing for it, but the level of success I experienced while running and after crossing the finish line has got me itching to get out and run again and really pumped for my next race. As quickly as my motivation disappeared, it returned. And what’s more, getting it back was a rewarding experience, and one that I can’t wait to have again. It’s like a cycle: motivation begets motivation. The key is to keep the momentum going.

With my friends Caitlin (on the left) and Louisa (in the middle) after the Brooklyn Half

At some point, everyone suffers from a lack of motivation in one area of their life or another. One of the things that I like about having so many friends who are also runners is that it helps me to realize that I’m not the only one who goes through phases where I’m just not in the mood to run. And as much as it sucks to feel that way, it’s a natural part of life and training. It’s taken me a long time to understand that (and, as in all things, it’s easier to accept on some days than it is on others), but now that I do, I’m also able to understand that a lack of motivation is something that I can deal with and overcome. It doesn’t have to control me or my running.

Coming to realizations like this may seem a little bit silly—establishing that I don’t have to hold on to not feeling motivated, and that I get to choose how it affects me and my running instead of letting it control things is, admittedly, pretty banal. But it’s banalities like this that help me to continue focusing on healthy behaviors and recovering. To me, getting to points like this is a sign of the fact that I can now think more reasonably, and not in the same black-and-white way that tends to provoke my ED, depression, and anxiety. And that’s motivation enough to keep moving forward!

During that time, running always felt a bit like a chore. I enjoyed it, but I was never able to stop thinking about how many calories I needed to burn, why I didn’t look the way I wanted to, and how I could get fitter and closer to being perfect. In my mind, if I didn’t lose any weight, it was because I wasn’t running or working out enough, and I was always pressuring myself to meet unrealistic goals. Fortunately, after a while I started to love running, and even though I still did it to control my weight, that became a secondary concern to me. I was able to get more enjoyment out of a run, and not get so wrapped up in how I did or didn’t look. What is most interesting to me, though, is that since beginning recovery from my eating disorder, running has become completely separate from my weight and how I feel about my body. I mean, I certainly feel better about myself when I’m running consistently, but sticking to a consistent routine makes me feel better about everything, and not just my appearance.

Having to deal with an eating disorder has made it possible for me to recognize that exercising isn’t just about looking a certain way, getting to a certain weight, or wearing a certain size of clothing. It’s made me realize how important it is to focus on health rather than appearance, and that emotional strength is just as important as physical strength. When I was at my lowest weight, I got compliments from people all the time. But if I could have, I would have traded those compliments in for the ability to run again in a heartbeat. My body was so weak and unhealthy that whenever I had the chance, I would sleep. I didn’t have the energy to do anything else; I couldn’t run or do yoga. It’s ironic—I was closer to the ideal I’d been chasing over the years, but I was no longer able to engage in the activities that I once looked to achieve the goal. As I’ve recovered, I’ve gained weight but I’ve also regained the energy to run and do the other activities that I love. I’ve gotten to a point where I no longer need to know what I weigh, and how my running affects that.

At the same time, running while being in recovery has served as a reminder of how important it is for me to take care of myself. If I’m not being careful and I start to slide back into restrictive eating habits, all it takes is a couple runs for me to realize that what I’m doing is not sustainable. I’ve been really stressed out lately and this past weekend, I let myself get away with eating a pretty small amount—nowhere close to the amount I should have been eating, especially considering I wanted to go for a long run on Sunday. When I went out for my run Sunday afternoon, it wasn’t long before I realized that the 10 miles I was hoping to do was not going to be possible. I made it through 7.5, and to be honest I probably shouldn’t even have run that far. I had a few moments where I felt like my muscles were just entirely depleted. It’s not a good feeling, and it’s especially bad if you dream (like I do) of improving your performance, running some personal records, or trying some races at new distances. Starving yourself is not going to get you there! Luckily, I’ve gotten to a point in my recovery where I can recognize that restricting is not going to put me in a position where I can achieve any of my goals, and running is much more important to me than any kind of perfect body.

It makes me sad to think that it’s taken dealing with a full-blown eating disorder to make me aware of how much running matters to me, and how much I value my health and strength. I wish I could have learned those things without experiencing the pain that comes with an ED. But it doesn’t do me any good to dwell on what I regret; I’m glad that even on the days when things are difficult, I can catch myself before I backslide completely. I’m especially glad that running has played such a key role in my recovery, and that it has taught me how much more there is to life than the circumference of your waist or thighs.

It’s been a while since I’ve done yoga on a regular basis. When I’m practicing consistently (which for me generally means about twice a week), I feel amazing. My mood is better, my running is better, and everything feels more balanced. There are so many things about yoga that take me out of the somewhat competitive patterns I fall into when all I’m doing is running—while running is about pushing yourself, yoga emphasizes recognizing your limits and being comfortable with them; running is so results-oriented while yoga makes me focus on the process; and running always has me thinking about moving forward while yoga allows me to focus on the present and nothing else. And yet while they oppose each other in some ways, running and yoga are also a perfect pair because they both put so much emphasis on efficiency and being in touch with what’s going on in your body. For me, this is super important. I’ve put a lot of time and energy into ignoring what my body wants and how it feels because being in touch with those things can be so uncomfortable. But when I’m running or doing yoga, I have to tune into what’s going on in every part of my body because being able to respond to what’s happening is ultimately what determines how I’ll perform. If I tried to ignore how I was feeling during a yoga practice or a run, I can’t imagine I’d get very far. In fact, I know I wouldn’t—I’ve tried it before, and it doesn’t work.

On Sunday, I unrolled my mat for the first time in a few weeks, and fired up an online class taught by Sage Rountree, one of my favorite teachers. I love having a chance to take a class at a studio, but most of the time I practice at home with classes like these. I started out feeling a little bit tense and unsure about how the practice would feel since it had been such a long time. Before long, though, I’d settled in to a comfortable breathing pattern and felt right at home. It was like no time had passed since my last practice and while I was tighter then I used to be in some areas, none of that bothered me. The practice reminded me how much I love the immediacy of yoga, and the fact that what you’ve done in the past and what you might do in the future have no bearing on what is going on in the present moment. There’s an almost enforced radical acceptance about it—your heels don’t touch the ground in downward dog? you can’t touch the floor in a forward bend? you didn’t hold a bridge pose as long as you thought you could? None of that matters, and if you get wrapped up in thinking that it does, then you’re missing the point of yoga altogether. If you’re serious about yoga, you have to realize that you can’t be that serious about it. For me, there’s nothing better. I spend so much time worrying about perfection and unrealistic standards that any opportunity to intentionally throw any idea of what should be is more than welcome.

The hour-long practice that I did helped put me back in touch with everything I love about yoga, and how much I need it in my life. My feelings about running that day were trying to tell me that you can’t just run all the time, that there’s more to life than running. My yoga practice made that message clear, and now I feel ready to take on my next run. It had been such a long time since I’d done yoga that I’d forgotten how much balance and equilibrium it brought to my life—now that I have a sense of it again, I can’t imagine how things felt without it. Hopefully, I won’t end up back in a place where I need a reminder!

I’m generally a pretty shy person. When I’m in a group of people, I compare myself to everyone there and always identify some way in which I come up short. Social situations can be more stressful than they are fun. Add travel, food, and a lot of unknowns to the mix, and you end up with a retiring, anxious Emilie. As the date of the Summit drew closer, I started wondering if I might make a bad impression. New anxieties arose: Will people think I’m snooty if I’m quiet? Will the other Chix Journal bloggers like me? As you might have already guessed, I tend to get preoccupied with two things: what other people think of me (or to be more specific, what I think they think of me), and how I see myself in relation to other people. It’s hard to be completely engaged in any situation when you can’t stop wondering what other people are thinking about you.

Once I arrived in California for the Summit weekend, it didn’t take me long to realize that I wasn’t in the sort of environment where the judgment I’d been worrying so much about would be an issue. Sure, there were women there who were much better athletes than I am or will ever be (um, hello, you’ve done an Ironman? That makes a marathon look like a walk in the park. And did I mention the Pro Team?), there were women who looked fitter and were thinner than I am. But more importantly, there were women of all different shapes and sizes and ages and abilities, and really, none of that stuff mattered. The Pro athletes participated in the activities alongside everyone else, no one kept track of who ran farthest or fastest. After all, we weren’t all brought together for a competition. What brought us all together was the fact that we all share a passion for our sports, and a desire to share that passion with other women. Being at the Summit reminded me that you can’t spend all your time in your head. When you do, you miss out on the things that really matter. Opening up and trying to take it all in allowed me to understand how inspiring all these women were—not only for their athletic accomplishments, but also for their generosity, their senses of humor, and their ability to let go, have a good time, and not always be so worried about what other people think.

Some of the LUNAChix NYC running team at the reception- Tina, April, Me, Alicia, and Jacqui

When it comes to judgment and support, women can be each others’ best friends or worst enemies, and sometimes both at the same time. But just because relationships between women can sometimes be difficult doesn’t mean that they have to be, and I need to keep in mind that women are not each others’ natural enemies. In fact, women have valuable things to teach each other, both intentionally and unintentionally. There were times at the Summit where I struggled (with shyness, with food, with running in a torrential downpour and wind so heavy that the rain fell sideways), but being there with so many other women, I was reminded of how much more there is to all of us, and how much more there is to me. I’m not just my body, or how I feel about it on any given day; I’m not just my depression or my eating disorder; I’m not my last meal; and I’m not my last run. I’m all those things, but I’m also more. And even though I still get hung up on those narrow definitions of who I am, I also still have the experience of being around and interacting with other strong, athletic women. And as long as I can still hold on to that, I know I’m headed in the right direction. 

I’m looking forward to going to the Summit next year knowing that I have nothing to be nervous about. I’ll worry and judge myself less, and I’ll engage more, relax more, and appreciate the amazing desserts and coconut beer at our welcome reception on Friday night more! 

I set myself a goal for this season: get stronger. Thinking about it scares me. I’m used to operating on the SMART goal model, where you’re working toward something concrete and you can outline the steps you’ll take to get where you need to be. The vague idea of getting stronger makes me feel a little bit like Alice, wandering around a dark forest somewhere in Wonderland, trying to figure out which path I’m meant to take. Will all my choices take me where I want to go? Once I’ve chosen one, can I change my mind and turn back? And where, exactly, am I going in the first place? I don’t know the answers to these questions, but maybe they’re irrelevant. Looking over the questions has me wondering if I should just respond by forging my own path. After all, it’s my forest and my darkness. The way out and the light beyond are mine, too.

Strength has a multitude of meanings, and in order to develop mine, I first have to decide what it means to me. For me, strength means the courage to keep easing on down the road of recovery, understanding that there will be some bumps here and there, but that I’m in good shape as long as I keep moving forward. It means the power to make the right choices, actively decide to take care of myself every day, and understand the difficulties and struggles without dwelling on them. It’s the ability to give myself credit and recognition for the hard work I’ve done and continue to do. There’s a physical component to it in that I want to become a stronger runner, and treat my body well enough that I’m able to add additional exercises, like strength training (coincidentally!), to my routine. But for the most part, the strength I’m after is emotional. I get the feeling that once the emotional foundation has been put down, the rest of the building blocks will begin to fall into place the way they should.

Between now and October, I’ll be sharing my experience working toward this goal. I’m sure there will be moments of ups and downs, triumph and failure, and pain and pleasure. Ultimately, I hope there will be an overall net gain when it comes to my progress down this road, and I’m looking forward to hearing your input and your stories of building or regaining your own strength, in whatever form it takes.

I was lucky in that I was able to get help for my disorder before things got any further out of control. I’ve been working hard on my recovery since 2010, but it’s a long and difficult process; my ED has cost me a lot, both physically and emotionally. Although it’s been a couple years since I started getting healthy again, I still struggle on a daily basis and I haven’t gotten my running back to where it was when things fell apart. The difference is that now, even when it feels like things are at their worst, I’m able to choose running over starving—I have gotten to a place where I can put my health first.

As women, we’re constantly bombarded with messages about what our bodies should or shouldn’t look like, what we should and shouldn’t be eating, and how much we should be exercising. According to some sources, up to two thirds of women struggle with disordered eating, and yet it’s rare that we discuss eating disorders and how both women and men experience them. Everyone hears stories about the extreme cases, but the more commonplace stories often go unnoticed; sometimes they’re even recognized as examples of being “disciplined” or “good” instead of “naughty” when it comes to eating and indulging. That’s why it’s important to me that we start to talk more openly about the difficulties we have, and the ways in which we wrestle with our bodies as a result of the pressures we put on ourselves, or that we feel from others.

In addition to running, there have been a few things in my life that have played a key role in my recovery. Yoga has helped me to find a greater balance in my day-to-day routine, and has, on many occasions, helped me get outside my head when I’ve needed a break. Blogging has helped me to find my voice as an advocate for positive body image and eating disorder prevention. Being honest and open with my readers about my ups and downs has also forced me to be honest with myself and put myself in a position where I can recognize when things are starting to slide. My friends, family, and especially my fiancé, Nat, have carried me through some of the toughest times—the times when I didn’t feel like I had the strength to carry myself. And finally, connecting with the other women through Team Luna Chix NYC Run has given me an athletic and emotional outlet and allowed me to divert my focus away from myself and on to others by making running a social and supportive activity.

I still have a long way to go, and a lot of strength to build back up, but I’m in a much better place than I was just two years ago and I know that if I continue working on finding balance and being honest with myself, I’ll eventually end up where I need to be.