The Moment Before You Start

Before every race I can vividly recall the pounding in my chest. My heart would start to race as I anxiously watched the heat before mine come across the line.

That prompted the start of my routine:

- rip off my sweats

- jog to my lane and set up my blocks as quickly as possible

- take my practice start over the first hurdle

- then swiftly return to stand behind my blocks

I would take deep breathes to try and slow my heart rate, relax and conserve energy. I would tell myself: “you’ve got this, leave it all out there”. Despite my best efforts to project confidence and stay calm, I always had a vein of panic running through me. When the official called us to our marks, I would jog in front of my blocks, take two big leaps in the air, shake out each leg, do a little shimmy and then crawl back placing my feet securely on each foot pedal. Positioning my hands just before the white line, I would swing my pony tail to hang in front of my face as I dropped my head and waited for the cue. In that moment I would think, “it’s happening, there is no turning back now, and I can’t wait for this to be over”. I was scared. But I knew as soon as that gun went off I was going to start running as fast as I could and I wasn’t going to stop until I made it all the way around the track.

Unfortunately, I lacked that level of commitment to the start of my ED recovery. Unlike in my races, when I became nervous or uncomfortable in recovery I pulled out. When my dietician suggested situtions that made me feel anxious, I simply wouldn’t do them. When I started to notice any weight gain I would panic and lose it just as fast as I had put it on. When my family was desperately trying to intervene and express their concern, I convinced myself that they were over reacting and my problem was not nearly as severe as they were making it out to be. Because the only thing I cared about was running well and while I knew that gaining weight might make me bigger, stronger, and faster no one could tell me that definitively. The gamble of putting on weight and not knowing how that would impact my performance, despite the potential it had to make me better not worse, was just too risky for me to wrap my head around. And so I stayed the same, I didn’t commit to recovery, and I ended my career successfully but also with a burden of regret for what could have been.

If I could do it again, I would choose recovery. I would make the same commitment I made in my races. When that gun went off I was set on my path with no way out but to cross the finish. Through the pain and discomfort I persevered because there was no alternative, I wouldn't allow one. There is only one direction to go around that track and it is forward. The scariest part is the start, but once you cross the finish line the relief and excitement make everything worth it. It took me a long time to step up to the line for my own recovery but over the past two years I have never looked back. This has been the longest, most challenging race I have endured but I am so close to the finish line and I can’t wait to experience the joy and relief that is soon to come.