Lucy W.
Photography by Ben Curry
If you’re reading this, grab a snack.
A childhood nickname of mine was “The Stomach” – I was always the smallest in my grade, and my family was routinely impressed with how much food I could eat at my size. High school rolled around, and I was still tiny. Too small for most contact sports, I joined the cross-country team in high school – my parents told me I was fast, and I decided to give it a try. I was quickly swept up by the team; our weekly mileage, perfecting the workouts and, most importantly, racing well, were at the forefront of my mind. My tiny body could barely handle it all, despite how much I ate and slept and recovered. In the middle of a workout, I felt a sharp pain in my foot. Several doctor’s visits later, I learned I had a stress fracture. After a 5-week hiatus from the sport and the addition of supplements to my diet, I returned to running. The stress fractures returned several times before I was diagnosed with celiac disease, which was the cause of my bone density and growth deficiencies. I was encouraged to eat as much as I could to replenish the nutrients I hadn’t been absorbing and I could never finish lunches or dinners because of how much food was packed or piled onto my plate. In two years, I grew six inches and gained twenty pounds, and started to (barely) look like a high schooler. The narrative of food in my personal life up to this point was to eat well and eat enough to make me strong. I wasn’t familiar with eating disorders until later in high school. The fastest girl on our team had anorexia and my sister was struggling with an eating disorder at home. In the running community, we were told that the skinnier you were the faster you ran, but I promised to treat my body with love.
I ended up at Colorado College committed to join the cross-country team and excited to be a collegiate athlete. At this point, I knew more about eating disorders and was terrified of having one myself. My freshman year, the team was a body-positive and supportive group willing to share resources about eating disorders. My eating habits were transitioning from needing to eat as much as I could while growing to suddenly being a healthy, regular weight and not needing as many calories as I did in the past. Despite these changes, I still had a healthy appetite. Our seniors graduated and left a leadership vacuum on our young team, and I began noticing unhealthy eating habits in some of my peers. At the time, I was the fastest on the team and some of my teammates placed a target on my back, hoping to beat me in every workout and race. Those girls were also starving themselves. I hated the competition, and the stress to perform well everyday sparked unhealthy thoughts about my body, my weight, and how fast I was. I skipped meals, ran high-mileage weeks, and lost almost 15 pounds in six weeks to run faster and prove I was “good enough” to myself, my teammates, and a toxic partner.
I swore to myself it couldn’t be an eating disorder and assured my friends that I was fine. In just a few months, I had completely reversed the attitude I held towards food to something incredibly destructive. I was confused because I had been told for years to eat as much as I could and was suddenly surrounded by people intentionally starving themselves. I fell victim to the competition, insecurities I held, and behaviors I observed in those close to me. An injury caused by this undiagnosed eating disorder ended my season abruptly and I slowly gained back the weight, but the unhealthy thoughts lingered.
The pandemic sent me home and away from a varsity team for eighteen months, where I spent time removed from competition to enjoy other sports and reflect on my relationship with food and exercise. With months and months of therapy and medication, I now appreciate the power my body holds and understand that my appearance has nothing to do with my performance. I quit the running team, returned to CC after a year off, and joined the bike team. While training, I realized the pressure to be lighter or faster had disappeared, but my transition to the “NARP” life left me with a separate, yet related challenge: I was left with little in terms of an organized workout schedule. Without the structure and intensity of my past sport, it has been difficult to feel like I am doing enough. I must remind myself daily that I don’t need to hold myself to the same unhealthy standards I did as a college athlete.
Being a college athlete temporarily ruined my relationship with food and gave me an eating disorder. The toxic thoughts I held towards meals and food have quieted down, and with the support of friends and therapists I am now able to eat well and nourish my body. I feel lucky to be healthy and surrounded by people who love and accept me regardless of how fast I am or the number I see on the scale. They remind me that food is fuel so I can continue to be badass and do what I love most: ride bikes, climb mountains and play outside.
Lucy W., Colorado College ‘23
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