Daily Fight with ED

There is nothing worse than having the most important thing taken away from you, time after time. This has been the case for me over the past couple of years. My name is Kara and I have been struggling with an eating disorder for a few years. In high school, I was a competitive lightweight rower, traveling to State and National competitions as one of the smallest athletes there. I raced a lightweight double, where myself and my double’s partner were required to weigh less than 130lbs on day of competition. Most of my high school career, I was always within five pounds of that maximum — roughly 127lbs on average. My sophomore year of high school, we hired a new coach who did not particularly enjoy the idea that my double was far more competitive than the rest of the team and used that against us frequently. Approaching big races, she would ask us to carbo-load, which for lightweights is a scary idea in fear of exceeding the 130lb max. Coming to our State regatta, both of us weighed in, but I was roughly 1lb over. We couldn’t race that event but were able to enter the Junior double event instead However, that wasn’t enough humiliation, the girls who ended up racing in the lightweight double event were asked by our coach to parade around their “registered lightweight” bracelets around us. And to top it all off, after my doubles partner and I won our event, we returned to our parents at our food tent, only to hear our coach mocking my weigh-in to other parents, exclaiming that I weighed 160lbs. This was the earliest point in my life where I vividly recall never wanting anyone to perceive me as to being heavy. Never did I feel I was becoming restrictive or watching everything I ate, but I was certainly aware of caloric intake and how much I’d be exercising and what my body looked like.

However, it wasn’t really until freshman year of college at Fairfield Unviersity where it really became evident to me that I had an unhealthy relationship with food. Since my high school career my weight had fluctuated from 110lbs to my highest at 144lbs. But as a recruit to be a varsity coxswain on the men’s varsity team at Fairfield, where ideally you are to be as close to the required 120lb minimum weight, I had to get my (for lack of better word) shit together and maintain a healthy lifestyle with food and exercise. And I was doing well! I ate whenever my body needed food, I ate healthy food, and exercised regularly. Soon enough, I noticed a change in how my body began to look and I liked it. So I had thought — “how good would my body look if I ate less and exercised more?” So I did. Cut back calories and exercised more frequent than not. I continued to see numbers on my scale drop and my body look differently. This fed the horrible being in my mind and somehow encouraged me to starting throwing up my food. Nothing about this sounded appealing to me, and I had known prior to acting upon my thoughts of all the dangers of purging. However, I was easily persuaded and began to throw up my food. By March, I had an incident where blood had come up along with what I’m sure could’ve been yogurt and granola. Teammates had brought me to on campus counseling where I was then sent to our health department to be evaluated. There, I was deemed to be medically and mentally unstable and I was not allowed to participate until I was checked by our medical staff and be cleared. After a few weeks of maintaining good health, I was cleared and able to come back to the team. It was certainly difficult, because urges were still there, I was cutting calories to be as light as I could and still would purge anything I put in my mouth. I just had to make sure my teammates never found out. I went the whole season without any problems and ended on a high note, plenty fun and great memories.

Summer into sophomore year, I worked on campus as part of our orientation team, in which I had another incident where blood had appeared as I purged. I was brought to the hospital and briefly evaluated, given IV’s, bloodwork taken, EKGs, etc. Soon enough I was discharged and went back to campus. I still wasn’t phased by the whole idea that I was ruining my body. At this point I was 120lbs and felt the need to continue dropping. Likewise to the previous spring season, I began the fall season not cleared to participate but easily lied my way through health center check-ups and meetings with our campus counseling center. I went on for maybe a month before yet again getting “in trouble” with the school. However, this time was my strike out. I was sent home for three weeks and had to go through intensive outpatient care with a therapist, MD specialist, dietician and a psychiatrist. At this point, I had weighed myself roughly six times throughout the day, limited water intake because I was afraid of water weight and had purged anything that entered my body. But I saw nothing wrong. All I wanted was to be back at school with friends and my “family”. Once again, lied through those three weeks, and once I returned to school, lied my way through every appointment to return to my team as fast as I could. Unfortunately, by the time I was officially cleared to participate with rowing again, it had been early December, two practices before our winter break. I was reunited with my family for a short two practices before leaving them again for a month. These two days had been the biggest shock to me as to realizing what I missed because I decided to feed my eating disorder. This was when I mentally decided that I wanted my team of brothers more than I wanted to keep losing weight.

That wasn’t enough though. It had become so embedded in my mind that when food goes into my mouth, it immediately has to come out. That winter month away from my team was a struggle. I worked everyday in my family’s restaurant where I was surrounded by food and my regular customers had commented on my weight loss. It was scary having people recognize a change in my body. Yet, that didn’t stop the purging. I lied to everyone; food went in — food went immediately out. Nevertheless, that month concluded and I met back with my teammates in January. It became a little easier to hold food down because I had the support of so many of them who had known of how much I’d struggled. Little did they know, but it had only gotten worse. But at this point, I had become so malnutritioned where I couldn’t work out anymore. Running became a chore, core was impossible, lifting weights would’ve been tormenting. Though I knew, deep down I knew, that I couldn’t cut back anymore, my eating disorder took over my life entirely. If I couldn’t work out, I shouldn’t eat breakfast or lunch anymore. And that’s what would happen. Minimizing calories and still purging became the regular daily routine. “Kara, why aren’t you coming to breakfast?” “Wanna catch lunch later?” “How about dinner?” Questions I received almost regularly. But, sorry, had to pass up because my eating disorder said so. It became so out of my control that anytime I’d go grocery shopping or smell food or walk past food, I wasn’t me. I could mentally tell the difference between when truly I was talking or when my eating disorder had taken over.

Nothing got scarier until when the men’s rowing team returned back to the water for our competitive spring season. First weeks were totally fine. Hell struck when I would arrive to practice and physically couldn’t see anymore. There is nothing safe about having a coxswain who is supposed to steer, direct and ensure the safety of eight other people when she can’t even see past the boat. For a straight week and a half, I was zigzagging across the Norwalk river and slurring my words as if I was steering drunk. After one of those practices, I had enough. I broke down. No longer did I want to be controlled by my eating disorder. I fought, day in and day out to hold literally ANYTHING down. A handful of almonds, two crackers, an apple slice, spoon of peanut butter, cup of juice — anything. But as all else did, I failed every time. It had become so psychologically habitual that I wouldn’t even have to think about it. It wouldn’t be until I picked my head up out of the toilet to realize what had just happened, to which I’d sit on the ground and cry. I had to stay strong and keep fighting. At this point, mid April, I was weighing in at 110lbs. I’d walk around shaking, my legs would tremble, I couldn’t stand for too long, I’d get very cold and then switch to burning hot and sweating, I was sleeping for a majority of my days. Blood was coming up in copious amounts every time I purged, my voice was shot every day for practice. At this point, I had realized, if I continue I really am not going to have long to continue living — I was going to officially lose to the disorder.

Though, rowing was the only thing keeping me going. My boat had been picking up speed and we were railing competition. I felt comfortable and I was very happy . Training with these guys made me realize that I can do it. If they can fight through 2000m of pure burning hell, than I can go 24 hours without purging, and then 48 hours, and so on. In roughly a month, I gained 5 pounds and am now weighing in at 115lbs. This past Sunday, May 15, 2016, took away my comfort. Our boat won our competition and everything was sensational, until later that night, an intense anxiety attack brought it all back and there was no way I was able to calm down. I was transported to the hospital where I stayed overnight in the crisis unit.

At this point, I realized all was done. I was supposed to continue training with four of the greatest athletes for the next three weeks to compete at IRA National Championships in the first week of June. But now it has all been taken away from me, yet again. But this time means more to me than anything. Why am I wasting my life away during the happiest years of my life? Tell me what is cute about scars on my hands, or a ripped stomach lining, or ulcers, or torn esophagus, or rotting teeth, or having clumps of hair falling out at a time? Nothing is chic about this lifestyle. Nothing is admiral about what is happening to me. I am tired of losing everything that means the world to me, I’m tired of fighting everyday to live, I’m tired of living this way. I want nothing more than to have my normal life back where I can be comfortable with food and enjoy every day I have rather than worrying about the next time I can eat something.

So to that, this is my public statement to promise myself, promise my teammates, and promise anyone who has been supportive of me through my struggle, that I will not continue life like this. I want to get better and I will get better. I will fight to no longer be controlled by the disorder. I will have control of my life once again.