TW: This article mentions eating disorders.
When I first met you, Running, I truly hated you.
I’ll never forget sixth grade track tryouts. The only reason I went was because my best friend was, and she convinced me to join her. The warmup was only two laps around the track, so I bolted as fast as I could in the peak heat of spring in south Florida. Needless to say, the rest of the workout didn’t go so well for me. I was the only girl who was cut from the team.
So, I grew to despise you.
But then high school rolled around. My favorite teacher reintroduced you and I, and I reluctantly decided to form a relationship with you.
I was always told that I had the perfect runner’s build. I’ve always been quite thin and on the tall side, so everyone assumed that we were a match made in heaven. Trying to keep myself looking like the perfect runner eventually became something that broke me.
But I’m getting ahead of myself.
The summer between my freshman and sophomore years of high school was when I decided to become a cross-country runner. My coach was my favorite teacher, my good friend was going to join me and my dad wanted me to participate in a school sport. Plus, you were in my blood. My uncle won the New York City Marathon multiple times, and many of my cousins were long-distance runners. You seemed like the most natural fit.
I was an amateur when I started. I was so terrible that my coach told me that I couldn’t run in the first race of the season.
If I’m being completely honest, I wasn’t exactly taking you seriously at the time. I would cut corners and laps in practice. I would eat whatever I wanted without regard for how I would feel while running. I loved the social aspect of being on a team. I still hadn’t found my love for you yet.
The miles were long, and the heat was strong, but I eventually put in the work. In my first season, I went from not even being able to run a 5K from start to finish without stopping (or throwing up) to running a 5K under 30 minutes. It was then that I began to fall for you.
Then came the summer between sophomore and junior year. I decided that I was going to be a serious runner by committing my life to you. I went to almost every summer workout, even when I was the only girl and had no one to run with. I even went away to running camp to grow my skills in order to become the best I could possibly be.
It was there where you became my obsession.
Surrounded by other passionate runners who were some of the best athletes that I would ever meet, I decided that this would be my main goal: I want to be like them. You would become my life. After returning from camp, I went to stride analyses, diet classes and breathing lessons. I completed anything I could to become better.
But I lacked the natural talent. You might have been in my family’s blood, but I realized your talents only stretched so far. That, combined with my asthma and environmental allergies, did me in. It didn’t matter how hard I worked. Without my own edge, I thought I would never make it to the next level.
But I didn’t care. I would keep pushing on and prove everyone wrong. I wanted it just as bad as the rest, so why couldn’t I do it, too?
Up until that point, my junior season was by far my best. My 5K time decreased from 27:58 minutes to 23:15 within two months. With almost five minutes shaved off, I was by far the most improved out of anyone on my team, among both the boys or girls.
“How did you do it?” people always asked me.
“I worked my ass off and completely changed my lifestyle,” I would tell them.
It was true. I even ran during a hurricane to maintain my training. I earned far more sleep than I had in years prior. The amount of water I drank was obscene. But my unfortunate secret? Not eating. The less you weigh, the less you have to carry while you run. Lighter meant faster.
When most people envision a runner in their head, they picture the body I had mentioned before: tall, long legs and skinny.
I had to be the perfect runner.
I would throw out my lunches. I skillfully moved around the food on my plate at dinner to make it look like I had eaten a good amount so my parents wouldn’t notice. The only meal that I really ate was breakfast.
And, hey, say what you want, but it worked. My times dropped every single race that I ran that season. But it wasn’t sustainable. I was constantly sick because I had no fat on my body, and I was always on the verge of passing out because I was so exhausted. I was 5’6” and under 105 pounds. I stopped getting my period. The innocent love and fun obsession for the sport became dangerous.
I never told anyone about this, but I think my coach could tell. I remember her pulling me to the side one day and telling me that she noticed my shorts were too big, saying that I had to take better care of myself. I hadn’t been delivering at that practice; I couldn’t meet the mile repeats goal. But I always delivered on race day.
That year, my team was six points short of qualifying for the state championship. I was devastated, especially taking it to heart because, as the final runner, I was basically the deciding vote. That was the only race that season in which I didn’t run a personal record.
After that failed season, my parents and I decided that it would be best for me to take a little break from you. So, I did, and it greatly helped. I gained back some weight and was eating more than one meal a day. The obsession seemed to fade, and I was back to being myself.
Then came time for senior year. The summer before this season, I had committed myself to you the right way, through eating healthy food and making sure to take care of my body. Unfortunately, I still hit some snags along the way. I twisted my ankle at running camp, forcing me to take a week off. Sometimes, my asthma was really agitated. But I kept at it, and I had a solid season. I ran my personal best ever in my last race ever — the state championship.
But my love for you was fading. I wasn’t all in like I used to be. I had other things to worry about, like going to college and figuring out what I wanted to do with my life.
I ended up signing onto a university’s Division I Cross Country team. It was a dream come true, right? I was finally being rewarded for the culmination of all my hard work throughout high school. Junior Year Me would have been ecstatic. Sure, it wasn’t my number one university, but I was on a team! They wanted me! It was of my doing, and I had an amazing support system through it all.
But at the end of the day, I was the one who had to do the actual running. For some reason, something felt off. I wasn’t happy with my choice, and I started to question if I actually loved running — if I loved you. So, when I got into UF, I felt like it was a sign to leave that part of my life behind.
Running, I don’t know if I actually ever loved you, or if I was just obsessed with you. The anxiety that you caused me before races, wishing on the starting line that I would get hurt so I wouldn’t have to finish the race, was something that I never want to feel again. The pressure you put on me to stay thin and underweight did major damage to my mental health.
But you also gave me things I could never imagine. The high I would feel after running 10 miles was indescribable. The family that you gave me in high school when I didn’t have many friends changed my life. Being in the top physical shape I had ever been in was one of the best feelings I could experience. For this, I thank you from the bottom of my heart.
I miss you. I really do. But I know that if I went back to you, then the cycle of obsession would start all over. I know that I’m really out of shape, and that if I started running again, I would be frustrated with how slow I am now.
Once I figure out a way to maintain a healthy relationship with you, I’ll be back. I could never leave you forever. But for now, so long, Running.