Lunch with Bailey Part II

Two months after that conversation, I was declared medically disqualified from athletic competition for the remainder of my college career. The pain in my foot was diagnosed as a stress fracture, my third stress fracture to be exact. I knew it was time to stop. I ran a couple races, all I had asked God for, and I was now at His mercy. He let me stray and enjoy myself. Now He is going to set me straight whether I like it or not. And I think I do. It’s easy to know God has a plan for me. He has one for everyone. It’s the hardest thing I will ever do to accept and follow where He is guiding me, especially if I don’t want to go. But He will continue to break me (and this may be literally) until I submit to His will. He is not punishing me by any means. Yes, my foot hurts, but the pain is not severe. If breaking my foot it what it takes to set me on the correct path, break away! It’s pretty hard to doubt the One who created the universe; I think God knows what He is doing.

            A couple of weeks after the diagnosis, Bailey invited me to lunch. I responded yes in a heartbeat. By the time we met up, I had admitted to my therapist that I had “eating issues.” The brief look of satisfaction swept over my therapists face before the sympathy and concern came out.  She knew all along. So did I. Who am I fooling? My therapist and I had briefly discussed my relationship with food before I had lunch with Bailey, so Bailey was the first, and still one of the only, to know the details of my eating disorder.

            We met at a soup/salad/sandwich restaurant on campus. It is pretty much the only place I will eat on campus since I can control what goes into my salad. (no gluten or nasty dressings) I was relieved when she suggested the place so I wouldn’t have to explain my reasons for wanting to eat there. (not fried, covered in cheese, or wrapped in bread) We both ordered salads and took our meals outside to enjoy the unseasonable warm November weather. It was kind of ironic; two anorexics speaking about overcoming their issues while picking at salads sans dressing or meat.  After breaking the ice with small talk we cut the crap and got right to what we were both dying to talk about: eating disorders, ours in particular. Bailey knew I was uncomfortable with speaking about it so she told me a bit about her past first. She had anorexia and has recovered. She asked me when I started having issues. My secrets started to seep out. Surprisingly, it didn’t hurt as much as I thought.

            “It started when I was in first grade.” I responded ashamedly, no louder than a whisper.

            “Oh wow. I thought I was bad at 14.”

            “Well I didn’t start restricting anything then. I just became aware that I was fat and I wanted to be thin. I started counting calories then, but never really doing anything about it. I didn’t have the self-control, so to speak, to do anything then.”

            “When did you start restricting?”

            “Oh, maybe fifth grade, but never for long. A week maybe, and then I would have to eat something. And then off and on in middle school. It wasn’t until my sophomore year that things got bad.”

            “Do you know what started it? I know for me it just happened. I just decided I wanted to be thin. I wanted control. I didn’t know it then, but it was definitely a control issue. I am the oldest of seven and a twin. I didn’t get much attention.”

            “I bet not! I am an only child. I can have all the attention I want with sugar on top, but my mom is sick. She has MS. (I went on to explain the illness) She spends most of the days on her bed and doesn’t really know what I am doing. I could run a meth lab upstairs and she’d be none the wiser. Half the time if I don’t make noise she thinks I’m gone and acts all surprised when I walk down the stairs. We never ate together as a family. And I was a real picky eater so I never ate what they ate. I made my own meals. She never even asked what I ate. My dad was at work the whole day and he wouldn’t ask anyway. I could get away with a lot.”

            “Yeah, I get ya. I was the same way. My parents didn’t really pay attention. I don’t know, it just came on so quickly. I lost weight fast and my hair started to get all wirey. It still is like that.”

            Bailey demonstrated how she could get her blonde bangs to stand straight up without any support. My hair is just thin. It’s shiny and smooth and straight but it hangs in strands, leaving gaps you can see through. I told her that’s why mine is always up in a ponytail. I don’t understand how she looked so normal. Even her hair, it just looked like it had been damaged from the straightener. She was barely taller than me, trim, but fit, and had a sparkle in her eyes. I watched that sparkle turn into concern as I revealed more of my past.

            “I never really skipped meals. I ate about 5 times a day. The portions just got smaller and smaller. It was enough to keep me going. To keep me running 40 miles per week. I became picky about what I ate. And I ate slowly, terribly slowly, to savor every bite, to make it last. I ate food in certain ways, too. I would pick the crusts of sandwiches and eat it first, counting to at least five before taking my next bite. I would eat the fruit and veggies at meal first, then the sandwich or “main course.” Cereal was precisely measured, as was the light soymilk that accompanied it. I would do homework during breakfast, lunch, and dinner. It provided distraction from food for me and it distracted others from seeing what I didn’t eat.”

Lunch with Bailey part I

I honestly can’t believe I was sitting across from Bailey about to admit something I had never told anyone. The demon was about to breathe fresh air. If the air didn’t rekindle the fire maybe it would do the opposite and extinguish it. I don’t know what sparked my desire to expose what I have kept in the darkest corridors of my mind after nearly a decade of compulsive concealment. Or maybe I do know why. It may have just been Bailey herself coupled with the fracture in my foot that inspired me to speak out about my anorexia. About two months ago Bailey and I ran into each other on the concourse. We hadn’t seen each other since spring semester and even then we only saw each other in passing. She had wanted to walk on to the cross country team last fall, but we were told she couldn’t get something passed through NCAA clearing house for whatever reason. Most of the girls on the team agreed she didn’t belong on the team anyway. Bailey had never run cross country or track in high school. Her only running experience was through soccer and a few road races. Of course she wasn’t a real runner! But, my insecurities about my fractures and poor health back then prevented me from judging Bailey based on what she hadn’t done. To me, she and I were equal. So she never ran in high school and couldn’t meet the academic record requirements—big deal. At least she could physically run. I was still in the walking cast, unsure about my chances of being able to compete at all.

            Over a year had passed since we first met in the doctor’s office waiting for our physical examinations and we were still in the same position; she wasn’t running on the team and neither was I. We struck up a conversation in which Bailey asked how running was going.  Though she was probably just trying to find something to talk about, at that point in time, running was an open wound, bleeding emotion and regret through all facets of my life. Responding that I was doing great was not going to happen, especially with the fragile emotional state I was in. I didn’t need to speak; without muttering a word, my facial expression said it all. My foot had started bothering me about a week and a half before our conversation and I was absolutely certain I was done running competitively. Even if the damn thing healed the next day, collegiate running was over for me. I told Bailey running wasn’t going, that I was once again injured, (I didn’t know it was a fracture at this point in time) and that I didn’t want to run anymore. Judging by the look of utter surprise on her face, I don’t think she was expecting that answer. Bailey wanted to know more, as I assumed anyone would after I made such proclamations, so I told her my extensive injury history and how I had crap bone density and I was tired of beating myself up to the point where walking to class and driving my car were dreaded chores. Her look of surprise shifted to one of empathy.  She said she understood completely, and that for her, running on her own was all she wanted. She liked the freedom of choosing where, when, and how far she ran without having to adhere to anyone’s schedule. She also mentioned she had struggled with eating issues in the past and she didn’t want running on the team to trigger any unwanted behavior.  

            Shit! Eating issues? She mentioned eating issues and a dark cloud of stigma didn’t erupt over her? People didn’t stop and stare and point? Maybe I could do that, too…My eyes lit up as I nodded in agreement. I whispered a raspy, “me too.” We changed the subject after that, but I could tell something clicked between us, some familiar battle on familiar ground. I didn’t need to speak a syllable. She knew. I knew that she knew. I was relieved I didn’t have to say anything more. I wasn’t ready to. That was the closest I had ever come to admitting to anyone that I was anorexic. Hell, I didn’t even know I was anorexic until my therapist slapped it my plate. I read list after list of symptom on line to discover I was the spitting image of an anorexic. Fun stuff. Talking with Bailey sparked my curiosity once more. I couldn’t wait to get home and scour the Internet for more information; I wasn’t the only one with problems!  But now, as I devour articles and blogs online I am fully aware that I am sick, pretty darn sick. I might not be anywhere as thin now as I was at my worst, but my thinking hasn’t changed an ounce. I am fat and I despise who I see in the mirror and as a result I have fucked up any chance of running collegiately. Bailey and I ended the conversation agreeing to have lunch together soon. I was starving to hear what she had to say and I am pretty sure she was just as hungry.

Field Trip

The best place to start is the present, so I'll start with yesterday. (hey, it's more recent than say three years ago!) A couple of my new friends from a university club who's goal is to bring local food to campus and I drove out to a farm yesterday. A local Unitarian congregation had connections and invited us to tour a local farm. I knew one of the people I was driving out to the farm. The two others I had only met at club meetings. We piled in my little car and headed south with incorrect written directions and an iphone. After taking the scenic route for about 15 miles, we finally reached our destination. The tour lasted about two hours as the farmer showed us his crop, cows, and chickens. Man, cows have big eyes!

We had a bit of time before dinner was ready so I began speaking with a member of the church who standing next to me in the little kitchen the farmer's used to make granola. I don't remember how our conversation began, but she said something about gluten and my ears perked up. I tested positive for gluten intolerance test this past summer which confirmed my self-diagnosis. I also found out I was casein intolerant, too. Awesome. I immediately gave up gluten and dairy (after one last trip to to the local frozen yogurt stand) and have been gf/cs for about five months now. The first thing I noticed was my face; within weeks my acne had substantially decreased. My stomach felt much more settled after a meal and I rarely felt bloated like I used to. I could exercise sooner after eating as well. That was amazing. Before I had to wait at least 3 hours before I could do any sort of impact exercise or I would cramp up like no other. Now I could be out on the trail in an hour. I miss cheese a ton and frozen yogurt even more, but I feel better than I have in years after eating.

Back to the farm...So the woman I began speaking with told me she was a nutritionist for cancer patients at the hospital. Boy that woman had an opinion about gluten and Celiac's. Apparently the blood test I had for Celiac's a while back is not always accurate. I tested negative for the antibodies but I could still have the gene. We have met our insurance deductible for the year. I will see what I can do when I return home for winter break...

The focus of this post, though, comes from her comment, "I was looking at you. You look so healthy- Your hair, skin, your eyes. I can't see any obvious signs of a deficiency." I just about died when she said that. I did laugh, though. Me, healthy? That's debatable. My hair is shiny, sure, but it is thin. I can fit my entire pony tail in my fist. It goes down to my shoulders. I have have a fatigued look in my eyes, because, honestly, I am hardly ever mentally where I am physically. Nightmares leave me exhausted the following morning even though they hardly ever wake me up.  My hands are pale, purple at the tips, and alway cold. And I just got out of my walking cast for my fourth stress fracture three days before this trip. Maybe I am being a bit overly critical, but the physical signs don't lie; I am not the picture of health. I found sick humor in the dietician's observation. They again, she's not the only professional I have fooled.

Or have I fooled them? The sports psychologist and my family doctor bought the load of shit about training too hard to maintain my weight. Yeah, I just trained so hard for 6 months 12lbs just melted off my already slight frame. Uh huh. I didn't fool one of my coaches, but he could only say so much without crossing personal boundaries, I guess. I lied about my weight, too. To him, my doctors, and other concerned individuals. I mean once you're as small as I was can any adult tell the difference between 90lbs and 82? Oh, probably. Would say anything? Maybe. Would they do anything about it? No. After all, I was running fast, winning races, and getting colleges to recruit me. I was excelling at school and winning awards left and right. Life was good. I was on top of the world, my world at least. I had this game figured out. And this is how I dug myself into the biggest f-ing hole of my life. If only the woman on the farm could read my mind she wouldn't be puzzled as to why I have a bone density so low it is considered osteoporosis for a 70 year old woman. But, alas, she cannot, so she, like the rest of the world, will take pity on me and my situation oblivious to the truth that the sickness is myself.