Free to be Free

I spent years with an eating disorder. It started around the age of 11. I can’t give you an exact day, but I can pin down the feeling, the day I gained control. It was fabulous. The control was addictive, dare I say intoxicating. No more the victim. They could do what they wanted to my body, even nature could do what it wanted too, but in the end I had victory.

I was in a place in my life where I had no control over what happened to me. I was at the mercy of circumstance, young, vulnerable, and hurting. Trying to cope with a bad situation with very few weapons, what I had was my own mind. People I trusted had some very deep problems that made them not trustworthy. Sometimes they took out their issues on me, or I was just a casualty of the storm that was whipping through their lives, collateral damage. I could tell you the stories, the darkness, the pain, the abuse, but I’m not going too. This isn’t about the damage, it’s about victory.

Years of anorexia and bulimia left its toll, mainly on my self-esteem. My solution for preserving my core self, turned out to be my greatest enemy. Sure it held me together in the beginning, but as I came to terms with the other pains, it remained as a thorn. It dug deep. Coming and going, controlling in the background, masking what it really was. A friend, who has recovered from almost near death from anorexia once called it a beast. I couldn't agree more, and the beast was always waiting to come out. A beast who always tore me to shreds, every time I healed. Those who have suffered with an eating disorder will understand, it is not always loud, not always alive, sometimes it dormant, when you think it is finally dead, a breath of life fills the hole, a rush of power, and it once again becomes a friend. My real battle to eradicate it started when I began to lose the weight that was a causality of binge eating, and the subsequent bouts of calorie restriction. I tried to not give in the cyclical behavior and pack on the pounds, confirming my perceptions of self-worth. More reasons to feed the beast, more reason to punish myself, more, more, more.

This time around I thought I had a knock out. I lost over a hundred pounds, and did it the ‘right way’, Diet and exercise, commitment and determination. In the midst of the fight I have come to love running, not only for the quick weight loss that came with it, but because I felt so good. My body was my friend now, not my enemy. I had finally won. I was all I wanted to be ...free.

I tried to ignore the guilt every time I didn’t run. The terrible feeling I had when I wanted to enjoy a piece of cake. The annoyance at the slight bulge I had on my stomach or the skin that still jiggled under my arms. The beast was still breathing down my neck. I wanted to be perfect, no chink in my armor. I still was picking at the scabs, never good enough. I put some weight back on; I tried to ignore the triggers, life that constantly challenged my perception, denying its power. I resisted a full blown relapse, but now that just isn’t good enough.

I want to be free. I want to run because I love being friends with my body and happy with what it is capable of doing, whatever that may be. I want to be able to eat a piece of my birthday cake because I like cake. I want to stop being my own greatest critic. Do what I tell everyone else to do, and stop looking for the bad, and open my eyes to the good. I want my daughter to love herself without restrictions; time to learn how to do that myself.

I decided I am running again. There is a glow race 5K in August that sounds fun. I didn’t pick it because I figured out it was a fast course, I picked it because I want to do it, that and it has a beer garden; and yes I want to drink a beer and not even calculate how many calories I burned while running to see if I would allow myself a drink.. I don’t want to care about what my run time is. I want to enjoy the experience, not the ending. I want to lose a few pounds, not because I care what the number is on the scale, but because I feel good at a certain weight. I don’t want satisfaction in a number. It is an empty feeling.

So my experiment begins. I’m running again, slowly. I have also committed to not getting on the scale two or three times a day, but once a month. It’s crazy how hard that is going to be. And I am going to talk about my journey, the hardest thing of all for me. A good start I hope. This is a plan without an ending, a plan that is a journey instead. I will let you know it goes.