bulimia

I will not be posting any victory selfies after races until I'm willing to tell the full story about my running and how I use it to aid and abet my disordered eating.

Users exchange tips about restricting food intake, and there’s a lot of “thinspiration,” a phrase for photographs of women with thigh gaps and angular bodies. So many bones.

It was time to embrace my nightmare. So I stripped and for the hell of it hung about bare-assed in a room full of clothed people. Although I’d already left self-consciousness behind me, I wanted to be able to tell this story.

One day I was “healthy” and the next day I was sick — slowly and then all at once.

A bipolar, body-positive bread enthusiast with a fucked-up ankle and a history of disordered eating chronicles health, weight-loss,

If you wake up and you’re thinking about dinner, and it’s not because you forgot to thaw out the pot roast, you have a problem.

The thing about exercise is, it doesn't present like an illness. Neither does dramatic weight loss. Suffering is revered. Pain is praised. The more I endured, the more I was. Marathon training, riding my bike 10 miles a day, lifting weights for 45 minutes, running the stairs at work: I was "dedicated."

I told her in graphic detail about my binges, about the amount and type of food that I forced into my mouth long after I was full, about the lengths I went to to make sure that what I was eating was as unhealthy as possible, maximizing the damage I could do to myself.