The first time I sought the help of a professional was about two years ago. My father had just passed away, I was depressed, confused, and my calories were at an all-time low while mileage was at an all-time high. I was running on empty (literally) and I knew something wasn’t right.

I presented my symptoms to my GP at the time and she referred me to a psychiatrist. I had never seen a therapist, counselor, shrink, etc. and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I decided it wouldn’t hurt to give it a try so I made an appointment.

Her office was big and filled with dark mahogany and leather furniture. It looked more like an attorney’s office than a doctor’s. She asked me a series of questions for less than 20 minutes and ended the appointment with her diagnosis. She told me I suffered from a mental illness, wrote me a prescription and walked me out the door. I got in my car, closed the door and ripped the Rx to pieces. I was suffering from heartbreak, and while I didn’t know how to cope, I knew the answer wouldn’t be found in an orange plastic bottle.

I continued with my typical ways for several more months. At this point, while I was still emotionally mourning my dad, I had started noticing physical changes. I got dizzy whenever I stood up, I was incessantly cold to the point I had a heater in my office in August, I had trouble concentrating and I hadn’t had my period in almost a year.

I made an appointment with my gynecologist and, while I wasn’t completely honest with her about my habits, she knew I had lost a great deal of weight and that I was training for a marathon. She told me I had nothing to worry about and applauded me for my dedication to health and we bonded over a love for running.

My husband was frustrated. He kept telling me that something was wrong and I needed to go back to my gynecologist to search for the answers. I went back 2 or 3 times all with the same feedback: It is not unusual for a runner to stop getting a period and I have nothing to be concerned about.

Eventually my husband convinced me to get a second opinion. I worked in the medical industry and it was fairly easy to get a referral to the highest rated GP in Austin. I made an appointment but was nervous she would tell me what I didn’t want to hear: That I needed to eat more and run less.

When I met this “Super Doctor” she asked me why I was there. I proceeded to tell her how my fainting episodes had increased, I was cold all of the time, had zero energy to do anything but run and I hadn’t had a period in a year and a half. She looked at her chart with my height and weight on it, then looked me up and down, and said she didn’t think I had anything to worry about. She echoed my gynecologist’s sentiments that, as a runner, it is not uncommon to experience these symptoms. Although she was telling me what I secretly wanted to hear, I couldn’t help but feel defeated. I KNEW something was wrong and I felt like I was trapped and had no chance for recovery.

Fast forward to today and I finally feel like I have a team of people who 1. Recognize the fact that I was undereating and overexercising and 2. Are committed to helping my body get back to functioning the way it was intended to.

It has been a really long road and I can’t help but think that if some MDs were better trained at recognizing the signs of chronic dieting, anorexia, and/or female athlete triad syndrome then I (and so many other women out there) could have spared our bodies a lot of abuse.

My message is this: If you think something is wrong, listen to your gut. You know your body better than anyone, even better than a doctor. Additionally, be honest with your doctor(s). I have to accept some of the blame for not being as forthright as I should have been about my habits.

PS If you have ANY questions about any of the topics I cover, if you think you might be suffering from some of the same issues or know someone who is, please don’t hesitate to send me an email at: thirtystarsblog@gmail.com. Like I’ve said before, I wouldn’t be where I am today without the help and support of other women who have been in these shoes.

XoXo

Katie

The single best thing I ever did for my health was delete an app.

Let me begin by saying that calorie counting apps can be a powerful tool. For some, it is a wake up call that they are consuming too many calories for their needs. Others might use them to help gain weight or even lower cholesterol.

That being said, tools like this should be a means to an end. You capture a clear picture of what changes you may want to make and you move on with your life. I’m sure you can guess that I didn’t use it as a “means to an end”. It was a big part of my life for way too long.

It started off as an innocent experiment. I figured surely I was eating AT LEAST 2,000 calories. After tracking a typical day it appeared to be more like 1,300. I took that as the number my body felt comfortable consuming and decided not to abuse it by “overfeeding” it.

Soon after, I found a function that allows you to set your daily goals to either lose, maintain or gain weight. Naturally, I opted for the “lose weight” feature. I wasn’t yet educated on macro and micronutrients so I kept those on default and away I went on a very dark path.

The calorie and nutrient numbers generated on the app are meant to serve as goals. I perceived them as challenges. If the app told me my daily calorie goal was 1,500, I would “beat it” and hit 1,300 instead. If the app told me to keep my sugar under 40g, I would make it 30g. My competitive spirit kicked in and I was on a mission to “win” a game that was never meant to be played.

My world revolved around the calories I consumed and the calories I burned. I logged every single meal, snack, and drink. I often overestimated so I could have a little “cushion room” at the end of the day.

I started to avoid restaurants that didn’t publish their nutrition facts. If I didn’t have access to that information, I could only assume it was because they used tons of oils, fats and other hidden high caloric ingredients.

I also started measuring my foods. I measured everything from the almond butter I put on my toast to the lettuce I put in my salad. I would log my meals before I even made them so I could edit the amounts to better fit my micro and macros. This was all in an effort to avoid the feeling of eating more than I planned.

My logging got so obsessive that I would include grocery store samples and bites of my husband’s food. There was no way to know how many calories I consumed so I usually rounded my bites up to 100 calories. That would give me my “cushion room”.

Eating became a chore. I knew if I wanted to eat, I would need to pre-plan on the app, measure the ingredients and log it. Sometimes it was too much work and I would skip the snack or meal all together.

I no longer looked at food as something to be enjoyed. Instead I saw numbers and percentages. I felt like I was trapped and the only way out was to “get fat”. That would mean I failed. I couldn’t let that happen.

I put so much pressure on myself to meet these computer-generated numbers that I had become boring and miserable. The only room I had in my brain was for food, exercise and work. I was on autopilot merely surviving each day rather than living it.

Fast forward to today. I would be lying if I said I didn’t think about the numbers sometimes. I’ve burdened myself with the ability to recite calories in several different nut butters, breads, avocados by size and 4 oz servings of various meats. The difference is that I’m choosing to ignore it. I’m trying to making food choices each day based on what MY BODY needs and wants. Experts label this “intuitive eating”.

I’m not calling for a mass-deletion of the app (or others like it). I think they have value. However, for Type-A people like myself who are already prone to undereating and overexercising, it can be detrimental.

If you’re counting calories, fats, carbs, sugar etc. ask yourself “Why?”. Is it truly in an effort to improve your health? If not, do yourself a favor and try a week sans-counting. You’ll be surprised how empowering it feels and how much mental space it gives you to think and do things that really matter.

XoXo Katie

One phone call caused my world to fall apart.

About three years ago I found out my dad was sick. Me, a newly married 20-something, working hard to move up the corporate ladder, had never experienced real tough times.

I kept myself together during the call. I wanted my dad to know I was positive in his strength to beat it. However, when we hung up, all I wanted to do was throw everything I owned to the ground. I wanted to see it all break in a million tiny pieces. That’s how I felt. Broken.

With mascara running down my face, I grabbed my keys, got in my car, and headed south to see my Daddy. In the car memories of my perfect childhood flooded my head. I saw snippets of birthdays, vacations, graduations, and holidays. I was angry one minute, doubled over in sadness the next. The next thing I remember I had collided with another car on the interstate and the police were asking if I was alright. ALRIGHT?! NO, I’M NOT ALRIGHT!!!!! Instead I just nodded my head and called my husband to come get me.

The next several months were a blur. My heart sunk each time the phone rang. The uncertainty after each doctor visit, scan or treatment loomed above our heads like a dark cloud. I couldn’t help the most wonderful man in the entire world feel better and that was heartbreaking.

For months we made sure someone was by his side while he was in the hospital. My brother typically took overnight duty while my mom, sister and I were with him during the day. The time was mostly filled with marathons of Storage Wars and Pawn Stars and little moments with my dad that I’ll never forget.

If you have ever experienced the illness or death of someone very close to you, you probably went through a period of time where nothing mattered. Your job doesn’t matter. Your house doesn’t matter. Books don’t matter. Food definitely doesn’t matter. And sometimes your relationships don’t matter. All that matters is getting your loved one better and life back to normal.

When my dad died I was left with a huge gaping hole. A hole so big I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The world didn’t look the same. I didn’t care about the things I used to, and frankly, I just wanted it all to go away. I pushed away my family, my friends and my husband. No one could possibly understand the ache I felt without my dad, and for that reason, they didn’t understand me.

I dealt with the loss the only way I knew how: I ran longer, harder and withheld food. Why should I get to enjoy ice cream or peanut butter when my dad can’t? Why should I go out to a restaurant and order a glass of wine when my dad can’t? I would make myself suffer. It was only fair.

You may read this and think I’m crazy, but if you’ve never experienced loss or grief it’s hard to understand.

I don’t want this post to sound like I’m searching for sympathy. God knows my disordered eating and exercise obsession is laughable compared to the pain my dad experienced. My point is that there is so much uncertainty in this world that it’s easy to get off track when life throws you a curveball. For women like myself, the natural thing to do is control what you can. For me it was food and exercise.

My dad’s illness was just one of many events/circumstances that propelled my disorders. If you’re going through hard times, whatever you do, don’t push the people that love you away. Had I leaned more on friends, my husband and family, I may have found the strength to grieve properly.

Today, I can only assume that some of the courage I found to fight this thing is from my dad. More than anything, I hope I make him proud.

XoXo

Katie

One of the best compliments I’ve ever received was from a teacher in high school. She told me she thought I had a “gift for reading people”. More than a decade later that comment still resonates with me.

Think about the last compliment you gave. Chances are it was something like “You look great!”or “That dress makes you look so skinny!”.

It’s easy to believe all you have to offer the world is your beauty or fat or muscles when that’s all anyone points out. It’s unfortunate because we are so much MORE than that.

The next time you catch yourself giving a friend or family member a compliment, I challenge you to use an adjective unrelated to appearance. It might feel strange initially, but I guarantee it can end up meaning so much more.

Here are 10 of my favorites:

1. Smart

2. Driven

3. Funny

4. Spontaneous

5. Empathetic

6. Creative

7. Resilient

8. Caring

9. Dependable

10. STRONG

XoXo

Katie

I was always one of THOSE girls. The kind of girl that dreamed of being a bride before she was even interested in finding a groom. I dreamed of my dress, the flowers, the music, and the toasts. I also dreamed about the girl in the dress, holding the flowers, dancing to the music and tearing up at the toasts. She was blonde, tan, and skinny. She was who I cut out of magazines, glued to my collage and pinned on my bulletin board (yes, a real one, pre-Pinterest).

When my husband (I’ll always refer to him as “E”) popped the question, I knew the girl he asked could not, would not be the girl he stood next to on his wedding day. I needed to transform into a beautiful princess and I had less than a year to make it happen. Without a Fairy Godmother, I had my work cut out for me.

Had I gone missing during this time and law enforcement checked my internet browsing history I would have been in t-r-o-u-b-l-e. They would have found all sorts of searches ranging from “What is the least amount of calories a person can survive on?” to “Does chewing gum make you fat?“. I can see the headlines now: “Mentally Ill Starving Women Vanishes“.

My new “diet” looked something like this:

1. Eliminate ALL fats. Fats make you fat.

2. Avoid eating out at all costs. Restaurants will make you fat.

3. No more alcohol. You will get fat.

4. Only eat Cheerios. Cheerios won’t make you fat.

I laugh while I type this, and I hope you pick up on my sarcasm, but I truly convinced myself that this plan would solve all of my problems. This plan was my one-way ticket to Perfectville.

Guess what? It worked. I lost a lot of weight and ended up being a thin, tan, blonde bride. I got what I wanted, but at what price? Although not in the traditional sense, I really became a Bridezilla. I was so hungry that all I could think about was food. I couldn’t spare the energy to create the dream day I desired from childhood, much less be a good fiance, friend, sister, daughter…

You might wonder what my husband was thinking during the months leading up to the wedding. Was he worried? Mad? Delusional? He was none of these things. The best I can describe E during this time (and many other times) is patient. I convinced him that this radical lifestyle change/scary Bridezilla phase was only temporary. I just wanted to be pretty for the wedding.

As with many things, it’s hard to shake off a habit. The extreme dieting and exercising lingered long after the “I Do’s” and honeymoon. I’m just beyond thankful that E and I can sit here, after all the crap I put us through, and begin to laugh about this crazy journey.

For all of you bride-to-bes out there: It’s not worth it. I traded pool days, happy hours and BBQs for long runs and early bedtimes. As I look back at our wedding photos, I see a girl who was literally too hungry to enjoy what was supposed to be one of the most magical times of her life.

Losing weight is hard. There is no magic pill. It requires strong-will, determination and a hard work ethic.

Losing weight changes you. For most, the inside remains the same which makes the outside changes hard to see or accept.

Over the years, the more I got into running, the more I focused on diet and the more weight I lost, the more anxious I became. Anxious that I would revert back to the way that I once was: The unhealthy girl who didn’t workout or pay attention to diet. That once fun-loving and spontaneous girl was now the enemy.

I convinced myself  that if I dare skipped a workout I would like it. If I liked it, I would keep skipping workouts. Eventually I would never workout and all of my hard work would be in vain!

Food made me even more anxious. I convinced myself that if I ate foods I used to enjoy, even just bites, I would gain back all the weight. Pizza, french fries, tacos, and queso were replaced with kale, quinoa and fish.

My life could, in no shape or form, resemble my old life. If so, my diet and exercise regime would spiral out of control. I would have failed.

Obviously these thoughts are nonsensical. I see that now. However, for some women, weight loss is about taking control over your body. After weight loss it’s very hard to relinquish that control. Losing some of that rigidity in a workout or diet regimen can leave you feeling vulnerable to “mistakes”.

If you’ve ever lost (or gained) a significant amount of weight, or just put too much importance on the number on the scale or tag on the jeans, you will love Andie Mitchell’s book: It Was Me All Along. This was the first book I read that was not only relatable (aside from her childhood), but gave me hope for a life sans food and exercise obsessions.

With the diet and exercise industry bigger than ever, I can only assume that more and more people will start experiencing these feelings without knowing how to work through them. My hope is that more women will bring attention to this issue and ultimately prevent the unwarranted anxieties that can accompany weight loss and lifestyle changes.

XoXo

Katie

I vividly remember a conversation from a couple of years ago. I was talking to someone about success and work ethic. This person compared successful people and average people by using this analogy:

“Some people wake up and run three miles every morning. Nothing more and nothing less. They run just enough to keep their weight at bay and stay relatively healthy. Other people wake up before dawn to put in the extra hours of training to go harder and faster. They run marathons and ultras.“

This conversation would act as one of many catalysts to my “addiction” to exercise.

I joined a running group, followed a training plan, put in my miles six days a week and finished races with pretty decent times. I was applauded for my discipline. My 10Ks turned into half marathons and half into the full.

From then on I always seemed to be on a “plan”. I wrote on my calendar how many miles I needed to run each day and, upon completion, used my pink Sharpie to cross it off. Another run completed. I felt accomplished.

I went to bed before dark and woke up well before dawn. I had my coffee, a half of an English Muffin (I hadn’t “earned” a full one yet), went for my run, took a shower and went to work. I never missed a day. Even if I was traveling on business, vacationing with my husband, sick in bed or had prior plans: Running came first.

On my rare rest days I was irritable. I felt bloated and ugly. Nothing fit right. I didn’t feel “normal”.

I became obsessed with my “racing weight”. In the running world, this is a person’s ideal weight for optimum performance. I wasn’t an elite athlete, not even close, but I wanted to look like my idols: Kara Goucher, Lauren Fleshman and Shalane Flanagan.

At some point I learned that I was burning about 80 calories a mile. While much of the running community uses this perk to enjoy “après-run” beer, hamburgers and queso, I did not.

Even when I was running 20+ miles a day I rarely ate more than 1,500 calories. I certainly never ate 2,000 calories because that was “average”. I was better than average. I told myself I could run farther on less.

I kept on making broken promises that if I squeezed in one more run I would eat some pizza or a bowl of spaghetti. Instead I “awarded” myself with Cheerios, egg whites and low calorie bread.

As you can imagine, my body was under a great deal of stress. Eventually it made itself pretty clear that it could no longer take the abuse.

I’m now having to rewire my brain to view running as a gift. I took for granted what many people only dream of. I’m healthy and strong enough to walk out my front door and run for an hour. That’s pretty damn amazing.

I’m also learning to use food as fuel for my body, rather than a reward after a hard workout. If I give it lots of nutrient dense food, it takes me where I want to go. It’s not the other way around.

I plan to return to the world of early morning runs, cold fall races and PRs. It will be gradual and only after I take it easy for a while, but I’ll return. Running has helped me gain confidence, shake off a bad day at work, cope with my dad’s death and reach goals I thought were once unattainable. Is running a slippery slope? Absolutely. It is possible to pull it off the “right way” by fueling properly, supplementing with strength training and taking REST days? You bet. I’m going to do it.

Isn’t it amazing how the most seemingly innocent conversations/articles/movies etc… can make such a profound impact?

Unlike most love affairs, it started off slow. It took several years to grow into something very passionate. However, like many affairs, one party took the other for granted and became abusive. The love affair had to come to an end.

The love affair I’m referring to is my relationship with running. I will talk about it a lot in both the past and future tenses, as I plan to get it back. That is, after I prove myself worthy.

I was not always a runner. My oldest friends will tell you that the closest I ever got to being a runner was “fake running” past a cute neighbor’s house to see if he was outside. In fact, I was never really an athlete. Kickball, dance, 7th grade basketball B Team, a few weeks of high school softball and drill team were the extent of my childhood athletic endeavors. I just figured it wasn’t my “thing”.

Shortly after I graduated college and got my first “big girl job” I decided it was time I get healthy. However, I had never stepped foot in a gym before. Seriously. Never. I imagined a world full of size 00’s and testostoerone-fueled meat heads lifting heavy and drinking protein. Everyone would look at me and laugh.

I decided to try my apartment gym instead. It was perfect. It looked like no one had used it in years. The machines were dusty and unplugged. I thought surely no one would find me and laugh at me there. It was safe. I decided the treadmill looked the simplest to operate. With my first generation iPod in hand and Judge Judy playing in the background, my love affair began.

I started off slow. Looking back, I’m sure I was doing 10 minute miles, but it didn’t matter. I started running for one song and slowly built up to two, then three, etc. For a couple of years I ran a few times a week for a few songs. I looked forward to my time in that dingy gym. While I don’t think I was losing much weight, it was an effective stress-reliever and I felt good. I was starting to understand what this “workout craze” was all about.

Eventually I felt confident enough to join a “real gym”. I chose one of the “big-box” gyms and stuck to my trusty treadmill. Again, a few times a week my after-work happy hours turned into a 30 minute run. The gym proved to be better people-watching than the airport. I not only felt like I belonged, but I enjoyed it.

You will soon understand how this love affair came to an end. However, it began in a very healthy way. If you’re thinking of adding running to your workout repertoire, easing into it is key to avoiding injury. Because running is such a natural form of exercise, people assume they can start off strong. I’ve learned that it’s harder on your body than most other forms of exercise and you should treat it as such (including supplementing with strength training and EATING ENOUGH).

I also want to note that you should never be ashamed to join a gym. There are so many positive and encouraging places to get healthy (the right way). It doesn’t have to be about transforming into a certain size or burning calories after a night of overindulgence. Just do your research.

XoXo

Katie