Bend {don’t break}

I am moving to Bend Oregon.

Like – I’m writing this blog sitting in the middle of an empty living room, in a camp chair, surrounded by boxes.

Big changes.

Feels about as big as losing 200 pounds. Maybe not as big as reversing Type 2 diabetes.  Damn close. Seriously.

Actually, this change is because of and driven by those other changes.

It was time for a fresh start, a new beginning. A time to align all the parts of my life. Time to really listen to my heart and not let logic or fear or ‘adulting’ crowd out her voice.

Late last summer I went to Boulder for the Run Mindful retreat. I went to learn how to be mindful and use meditation and I thought it was an interesting idea to explore while running.  My mind is a freaking hamster wheel and often I just open my mouth and let whatever’s rolling around in my head flop right out of my mouth.  I’ve been working for years on changing that. Being more intentional and thoughtful and learning to quiet my brain.  This retreat included mountain running, time with the famous-ultrarunner/equally-phenomenal-dad/mom-humans; Timothy and Krista Olsen, I got to see my friend Matt, a chance to meet other runners wanting to focus on being mindful.  My kind of vacation!

It was incredible.

I didn’t realize at the time it was launching an awakening or a mid-life crisis.  Whatever. Same thing, different names. 🙂 I was standing on the edge of a change in a fog.

This retreat cleared the fog.

Those days in the mountains, at high altitude, spectacular food from Real Athlete Diets, no cell phone, running, restful sleep and meditation, intentional conversations…

I started to get my mind calm enough to really hear the small quiet voice in my heart that said ‘I {you} need something different than this life you’ve carefully created. I know you’re scared shitless.  Hear me out…  This could be amazing if you’re brave enough.’

I heard it in snippets at first, and was in just the right setting and moment and place that I finally heard her whisper. I listened. I didn’t get it at first. But I didn’t refuse it. I didn’t create noise to drown out the seemingly illogical thinking like I normally would.

I kept quieting my mind and listening…

I wanted to move to an endurance community where I could run and play and meet other people who cared deeply about the land we were choosing and using as our playgrounds.  I was ready for a new work challenge – with a leadership shift in my college at Oregon State, the timing was oddly perfect for me to slip away after 14 years.  I wanted to live in a place that wasn’t a social-desert; I want a boyfriend. I wanted to change my professional work and dig in/lean-in on work that mattered for our future.

I felt like my heart was going to explode.  She was off and running (pun intended) and instead of shutting her up, ignoring her for the logical ‘adult’ reasons like a job/mortgage and stability….

I followed.

This experience has been like the technical single-track with sharp drop-offs and switchbacks that scare me to death and that I have grown to adore.  The ‘how’ changed several times. The ‘true North’ never did. I was able to get clear with each twist and turn and rattlesnake in the path. From ‘I want to live in Boulder’ to ‘I want to be in a mountain town, with a strong endurance community.’ From ‘Whatever job I’m qualified for’ to ‘What work would matter deeply no matter how hard I have to work to learn how to do it?’

It’s been a wild, sloppy, ‘bonus miles’ kind of trail race. My endurance training has served me well. 🙂

There have been candid/scary moments of ‘WHAT THE FUCK AM I THINKING?’ I’d be lying to deny those moments. And a few folks would call me out for not acknowledging those human, normal, bravery-checks that were tears or frantic calls for reassurance.

Yet, deep down I knew I was doing the right thing even while the details or moments would have everyone around me convinced (uh — and me, I was semi-convinced a time or two..!) this was just crazy…

My house is for sale.  I’ve worked my last day at OSU.  I start a new job with the Deschutes Land Trust in early June.  I’ve down-sized my belonging to basics and a few tubs of sappy-sentimental-crappola that I simply couldn’t part with.  The moving truck is rented, a rental lease is signed…

This is finally happening.

This is so much more than a move ‘over the hill’.

This for me is more like a movement.  I’m going to Bend, not break.

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Nemo and Dory. {Just keep swimming…}

IMG_1435Nemo and especially Dory,  have become new role models for me.

I feel like I’m a lot like Dory.  Optimistic, helpful, and while she suffers from short-term memory loss; I’m simply easily distracted.

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But the real reason I love this pair?

I’m learning how to swim. Learning how to be in public in a swimsuit, learning a new skill, learning to love it.

Learning a ton of new stuff.

I knew how to dog paddle and tread water.  I could swim to save my life. I can do a handstand and somersault in shallow water to show off for my nephews. That’s it.

But using swimming for exercise?  Uh… No.

I took lessons for a full year a few years back.  At the very beginning of this health journey I wanted to do a Ironman.  And then I realized — you have to be able to swim. And if I really wanted to do a triathlon, I better figure out the water part.

So I buckled down and got some ‘adult learner’ swim lesson with a very patient swim coach named Troy.  He worked hard to help me get over my fears and teach me the basics.  I’m asthmatic and claustrophobic.  Putting my face in the water and then trying to breathe — well…  It took some work.  A lot of work.  A lot of blowing bubbles and coating me off the side of the pool.  Secretly, my commitment to working with Troy was also my commitment to getting over my anxiety at being in public in a bathing suit. It was the first step to trying to get ready for a triathlon — which I wanted to do from the very beginning of my health journey.  But it was ALWAYS the swimming that stopped me.

So I found a coach to give up on the lame excuses and see if I could make it happen…  Troy was working into a whole lot of baggage some of which he didn’t even know about.  And he never batted an eye.   Just helped me learn and get comfortable with the water.

He had to stop coaching me when he went to PT school. I was mostly focused on ultra’s, so it was easy to abandon swimming.  The whole exercise/cardio/water-in-the-face/breathing thing was something I just couldn’t seem, to figure out on my own.   Resigned to the fact that triathlons were just not going to be my sport – I bailed out of the pool.

I can now — two years later — appreciate how well Troy set me up for the time when I would want to actively re-engage in learning on my own. (Thank you Troy.)

I want some cross-training in my world.  I really do want to do a triathlon. It was TIME to add something else in the activity mix.  I got back in the pool in March mostly because of an injured Achilles.  It swiftly became a ‘get to’ not a ‘have to’  And the ‘get to’ led to a HUGE attitude shift.  Instead of ‘pools are where injured runners skulk and recover’ to ‘can I get better, figure out the breathing and use swimming like I use running?’

Yes I can.

I’m loving being in the ‘newbie’ stage of a new sport.

I’ve learned a few things in the past few weeks that might be helpful for other newbies:

  • Chlorine makes everything smell. All the time. No escape. I’m about ready to shave my head.
  • When elastic gives out in your bathing suit…  It goes instantly. Poof.  I had a near miss with a boob almost flopping out of an armhole mid-stroke.
  • Goggles are blinders. They fog, they slip… Spit, baby shampoo — I can’t seem to battle the fog no matter the suggested hack.
  • A cold, damp swimsuit early in the morning is evil.
  • Swim caps don’t do a damn thing except rip hair out.
  • When someone in your lane accidentally physically connects with you during lap swim — even lightly – you instantly know you are being attacked by a shark.

I can swim a mile. 🙂  And deeply enjoy it.  I have to stop at the end of the pool on most lengths, but it’s getting better weekly.  I’m getting stronger.

I’m driven to get more competent with this skill. By the end of summer I want to be able to swim a meditative, mile, non-stop.

Thank goodness for patient friends who send you videos, teach you terminology, give you on-the-deck, goofy/funny, dry-land re-enactments of what you should be doing in the water.  Grateful for the friends who spend time in the water with me and are understanding of my new desire to learn this skill.

What new skill are you learning?!  Please share. 🙂  I want to hear the good, the bad, the funny. 🙂

 

ISO: Running mojo…

08_14_16_trrt_317-zf-7509-90007-1-001-012In search of mojo.

My running mojo specifically.

I’ve got other kinds of joy, inspiration, drive. In spades. Life is good. 🙂 But my running mojo seems to be on an extended hiatus…

I’m missing her.

Time to admit that I am {temporarily} burned out on running.


I’m kind of an all-or-nothing girl at times. My history would indicate a preferred path of eradication, not moderation. 🙂 And this time I wanted to do things different. I want to find some solid, middle ground around being active even if it doesn’t include running.

You know — maybe be ‘adult’ about it and find a non-running path for now and not over-react. 🙂

And since I want to be that sassy, feisty, fit 90-year-old who still runs and whoops your ass in the gym, this really does take a LONG-range view, not a knee-jerk reaction or sinking into apathy.

The thought of setting running to the side scares me shitless because at my core there is something I deeply love about it. The beautiful reality is that I truly do love it enough to NOT handle it carelessly like I might other things at other times in my life.

I needed a plan.

My current ‘healthy path’ plan…? Get fit and re-energized around being active. Period.  I do not have a single race booked for the year and I do not plan to run an ultra this year. I do plan to swim and bike and lift weights and go to social/cardio classes with friends and run some shorter/fun races/adventures. Oh – maybe do some snowshoeing or rock climbing or hiking or skiing.

ALL THE THINGS. 🙂

I want to be in good enough shape to just go and do ALL the things at any time.

Those are my goals this year.

They feel damn good and exciting.


I know exactly when and where my mojo went missing. Fall of 2016 I ran Mountain Lakes 100. 18 months ago. Training for a 100 miler is intense to say the least. I finished the race fueled by solid training and a dose of stark {and appropriate} terror. I now know I am strong and brave and capable of some pretty fantastic and amazing things.

Eighteen months later I FINALLY realize that Mountain Lakes 100 gave me this incredible gift of believing in myself.

But the event that gave me incredible confidence, also kind of broke my running mojo.

Fair trade off if you ask me.

MONTHS of hindsight needed to arrive at this conclusion. But honestly? Temporarily busted mojo VS. BELIEVE, and know in your heart, you can do unimaginable things?

Fair trade off.

A trade off I will make again, again and again.img_4329-jpg


I spent the last year attempting two 100 mile races. (Zion and Rio Del Lago) Was not able to finish either. Dropped out at 75 and 76 miles. We can talk about training, weather, fueling, terrain, mental state, race conditions – even the reasons I was facing when I made those decisions such as blistered feet/asthma/cramping… These are huge beasts of a race. A ton of things can go wrong. Correction. A ton of things will go wrong. Your training is about learning what to do and how to adapt when those things go wrong.

All things considered I believe that the main reason I did not finish either race in 2017 came down to one simple fact: My heart was not in it.  My mojo was gone.

People who run these huge distances will tell you that there is a whole bunch of training, some luck and a slew of other factors that account for being able to accomplish these races. Some of the more mature and experienced ultrarunners will also tell you, when you dig deeper in conversation with them, that the magic ingredient they have witnessed time and again is; heart.  Not legs, not training, not shoes or gear. All important.  But often the magic is heart, desire, deep longing to get out there and test themselves at any cost.

My heart just wasn’t in it this past year.

I spent all of last year pretending REALLY HARD and trying to blindly convince myself that if I simply hung in/put in the training/went through the motions – my mojo would return. My heart would be in it.  I never gave up on trying to chase these suckers down. I stayed in the routine of activity. I ran my workouts. I worked on fitness and mental toughness. I set and chased goals. I learned a ton. Even though my heart wasn’t entirely in it I stayed with the habit.

I never gave up.

I just never gave it my whole heart.

I own and understand that distinction.


Basically since last November I finally realized my running mojo had taken a hike. Not sad. Not scared. Just curious when it might come back. Can I do something to get it back? What to do until it comes back.

I remember early in this fitness journey. I was talking to Spencer and he was brand-new as my running coach. I remember him asking me what I was so afraid of. I didn’t realize I was telegraphing fear, was a little taken aback at being directly called out. I eventually told him I was afraid I would wake-up one morning and my love and desire for running would be gone. That would be DISASTER.  It would mean I would instantly, certainly, gain all of the weight back and become type 2 diabetic again. Over night. Catastrophically. Of everything that could happen that’s what I was most afraid of.

I was so busy all these years to keep it in a careful, tight choke-hold so it couldn’t wander away, I didn’t realize I was killing it…

One morning last Fall I woke up and realized she really was good and gone. Until last week, I kept going through the motions of lacing up my shoes and going for a run, hoping she would re-appear. No luck so far. But I slowly realized my desire to stay firmly planted in my new healthy life was alive and kicking and didn’t care that running was out of the mix for the moment.  I wanted to move, stay connected and keep getting fit and strong; even if I wasn’t running.  So that very thing I feared deeply happened.  But the story I told myself about how that fear would result in total disaster did NOT happen.

Fascinating.  Liberating.  A lesson to remember about the stories we tell ourselves. About the stories we choose to believe.

So I’m not going to chase my mojo down right now. I’ll let my running mojo return when she’s good and ready. I’ll wait patiently, filling my time with a ton of other activities, learning some new skills (swimming!) and testing new boundaries.

And I’ll welcome her back with open arms.

And this time around I won’t put her in a stranglehold.

It’ll be a partnership and a friendship and the weight of my world won’t be solely on her shoulders.

What do you do when your mojo takes a hike?

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Crying when I see an ambulance…

I’m driving south on Interstate 5 and an ambulance, with lights flashing, in the fast lane, is headed north on Interstate 5.

I watch it come closer and then start to cry. Fighting the tears. Biting my lip. Willing the tears to just.go.away.

Then I cry.

Ugly cry.

It happens the exact same way EVERY SINGLE TIME.

My mom’s been gone 8 years and I still have this gut-grief reaction to seeing an ambulance. It always startles me for a moment.  Then…. bear with me… it oddly comforts me.

Maybe it’s more accurate to say that I continue to get more comfortable with the fact that grief never leaves me.  And I finally understand that deep grief comes with deep love…

I’ll try to explain what I mean…

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We live in a small(ish) valley. The major hospitals are North of us, in Portland. An ambulance driving north with lights on means someone from a smaller hospital in an outlying community in our valley is critically ill (not lifeflight-ill, but small-hospital-can’t-handle-the-complexity-ill) and headed for help.

My mom was in one of those ambulances in January about 8 years ago.

And it was the last time she was ever on Interstate 5.  It was a one-way ride. None of us ever entertained the thought that she would never see home again.

I remember when our Corvallis hospital made the decision to transfer her to Oregon Health Sciences University (OHSU) and there was a scurry to get her moved.

My mom had a MRSA infection in her blood. She needed infectious disease management for a really complicated health-profile. She was super sick and needed more help than our local hospital could give her.

They loaded her in an ambulance, paramedics reassuring us they would take the very best care of her, closed the doors and took off with lights flashing headed for OHSU about 90 minutes away.

I remember my dad driving behind the ambulance, upset because he couldn’t ride with her, trying to stay close to the ambulance. I was following in another car. I could see glimpses of the paramedic in the back with her and, true to his promise, you could see him holding her hand and talking with her the entire trip. Comforting her. I was driving and trying to fill in details via the phone with my sister, asking the neighbors to take care of the farm, calling to let work know I’d be out.  I was hoping my dad was paying better attention to the road/rules/drivers than I feared he was…

I followed that ambulance terrified for my mom, heartbroken for my dad and HOPEFUL we were headed to the help that would figure out how to save my mom.

It never occurred to me how the story would end. I was clinging blindly to hope.

OHSU was incredible. They tried everything, experimented with brand new drugs, never gave false-hope, FOUGHT as hard and smart as they could.

MRSA won.

My mom died 3-10-10.

Driving back down Interstate 5 that day was as traumatic as it had been going up behind that ambulance. This time my sister and I were driving away mom-less daughters, with a dad so grief stricken he was compliant and numb and totally lost.

Our world was totally, inexplicably, irrevocably changed.

Forever changed.

And I would begin to understand grief.

And over the next few years I would come to view grieving in a whole different light. Not shameful, with a time limit or mandatory sadness that would disappear.  I began to view grief as a permanent part of who I was, expanding my empathy and teaching me critical lessons about the honor of being able to lean-in and embrace someone else with a breaking/broken heart.

Where at first my grief was raw and dangerous and soul-deep hurt…  Like…  steal your breathe and literally throw you to your knees. Now, years later, grief is this ever-present reminder that while something good is gone and life is different; I can remember that it’s only because I had something so good, that this sadness actually has grown, for me, into an odd form of comfort and reassurance that I was blessed with a deep love.

Kind of like ‘Hello. Yes, grief, I see you; you’re kind of hard to miss. Yes, grief, of course I remember my mom is dead and gone.  I don’t forget. Not for a single moment, except sometimes when I first wake-up; but I always remember within seconds… I promise. But yeah, thank you for reminding me how special she was and how lucky I was to have had her in my life…’

‘Grief is just love with no place to go.’ 

Someone who has just lost someone — will not understand any of this. They’ll be bewildered and possibly offended. I sure as hell would NOT have understood that I would come to a place where I could accept that my mom was gone and not be a puddle of incoherent tears. But if you’re a few years out from a loss, you might accept that grief is actually a permanent part of who you are now and you can begin to embrace it as proof of love…

You might understand why I cry when I see an ambulance.

As I’m driving this weekend watching the ambulance approach on the other side of the interstate, I’m automatically scanning the other cars behind the ambulance wondering if there are loved ones frantically following the ambulance.

I send up a quick thought of healing and peace and prayers for the person, their family and most importantly for the ambulance crew trying to transport, comfort and save this person… I always wonder if this ambulance contains one of the lucky ones and they will get to drive their loved one back home.

And then I cry. I cry because my mom is dead. And I miss her every day. And I’m a better women for having had her, her abundant and persistent lessons in grace and love and kindness at the center of my life.  I cry because she shouldn’t have died so young.  I cry because she would be so proud of me and what I’m trying to do with my life and I want her to be here and be in the middle of it all and know my friends.

I cry.

I don’t rationalize or hold back or even get embarrassed when other drivers passing by notice the streaming tears.  I don’t give a shit what anyone else thinks about my grief.  Hell.  If they had known my mom — they’d be crying too. I sob and choke and cry my grief almost as rawly as the day she died…

Eventually the tears slow and dry.

Gratefulness emerges and fights for my attention.

I am flooded with reminders of how lucky I am to have been given someone I would miss so much. How lucky I am to have had this woman as my mom.  Of ALL the women in the world — I had her for 42 years.

And grief just kind of crawls back in the passenger seat, waiting for the next ambulance.

I keep driving.

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Binge Eating Disorder. (Getting things in order…)

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Thirteen weeks since I last grappled with a binge. There’s been many subsequent days of battling the compulsion and feeling ‘frantic’ about food.  But it’s been a solid three months since I actively binged.

I am now working to face emotions instead of feeding them.

Turns out that’s a 24/7 project.

Bottom line? It’s messy and not linear and kinda scary and yet it’s going well.  Honest.

Now that I know what I’m facing, it’s easier to fight back.

I will openly admit that there have been days of ‘white knuckling it’. Days of constant annoying/low-level struggle around food and more intense binge-compulsion feeling from sun-up/sun-down. Moments of laughter, realization, grief, melt-downs and giddy successes.

And *whew* an increasing number of recent days that I really do feel sane and balanced.

Some really wonderful people have reached out offering support, encouragement and telling me their stories as a result of my blog about Binge Eating Disorder (BED).

I quickly figured out I was not alone, not a whole lot of people talk openly about BED and not everyone knows how to help someone in their life struggling with BED.


I wanted to figure out what caused or triggered this episode, so that I can avoid a repeat.

I reached the conclusion that it was no single thing; it was the perfect storm of a whole bunch of stuff that unleashed this specific binge.  I had BED hidden, pretending fervently that it did NOT exist anymore and tightly controlled with rules/habits/’should’s’.

And then it was loose. And running wild.

It was there all along, no matter what I thought.  I just hit the right set of conditions and it roared to life.

I’d had an off year running (4 races, 3 DNF’s), was burned out on running/routine/journaling food/watching the scale, work stresses and successes.  I have some big, exciting life changes I’m working to make happen. Lots of good and some not so good.  Not all of it in my immediate control.

Uh… Life.

You know.

Just life.

Stuff I’d been dealing with for a long time and convinced I was balancing quite well. Suddenly ‘it’ was the straw that simply broke this camel’s back…

After a four day binge on trail mix, I found myself sad and panicked and needing help to battle this really big, pissed-off demon.

So I have been working on getting the help I need.  This is roughly what my recovery plan looks like at this point…

 

  • Found a new therapist. We meet weekly.
  • Reached out to friends in recovery from eating disorders and asked for their support and accountability.
  • Took things out of my eating/living environment that were just not helping.
  • Changed some of my shopping/eating/snacking habits.
  • Avoided high risk situations until I’m feeling more ‘in control’.
  • Food journaling before I choose to eat anything (MyFitnessPal) and food/emotion journaling if I stumble or struggle (Moodnotes).
  • Meditation in the mornings.
  • Mindful running.
  • ‘Feeling my feelings’ and not hiding my tears or joy or fears.

All to keep from cramming fistfuls of trail mix in my face.

Learning to identify and face my emotions, appropriately.  Learning to feed my body, lifestyle and running, appropriately.


I mistake or mask pretty much any emotion a human can possibly experience as ‘hunger’ and then eat my emotions.

Have for as far back as I can remember. Decades of experience acknowledging/denying/ignoring an emotion. Happy or sad — doesn’t seem to matter. Then deciding eating is the best possible solution to dealing with fear, happiness, anger, sadness, joy, lack of belonging…

Food is comfort, problem and ‘answer’ all in one.

I’m rudely breaking them the hell up.

Figuring out what emotions are, how they feel, how to feel them, how not to feed them.  That’s what I’m learning.

I was standing in front of the frig the other day.  Opening, closing, opening, closing, opening the doors….  Trying really hard to figure out if I was TRULY hungry.  I looked like I was fanning myself with the door.

“Am I hungry (open), or am I feeling sad (close)?  Am I hungry or am I feeling anxious?  Am I hungry or did I get my feelings hurt?”  I couldn’t figure out the answer.  I grabbed some water and walked away from the frig. Sat myself in a time out. Did a really quick scan from head to toe to see if I was feeling the emotions ANYWHERE else besides my belly…  I’d had a pretty big run and was increasing mileage for the week.  Thought carefully about the stresses of the day/week. Scanning my food journal…  Decided that I really was truly, belly-hungry.  HAHAHA! ALL of that thinking and pondering and wondering — I really, truly was hungry for some calories.

So I ate. One portion of something healthy and filling. 🙂

While this is funny and I highlighted it in detail, on purpose — this decision making about hunger/feelings is something I’m suddenly very aware of. And I’m going through the exercise of thinking about hunger a WHOLE lot these days.  A whole lot in a single day.

A study by Cornell University estimates that ‘normal’ humans (most of you!) make over 200 food related decisions a day.

200 decision. A DAY.

Go to bed, wake up, start making another 200 decisions…

WHEW.

No wonder fighting an eating disorder is EXHAUSTING work.


To those who have BED… Don’t suffer alone and don’t hide. BED loves it/thrives/GROWS when we hide and suffer.  Do NOT give it that edge, do not give it that power over your life… Do NOT feed it. (Get the pun?!)

Spencer: Author

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Photogrpaher: Patrick Means

Spencer is in the very final stages of writing a book.

‘Appetite for Addiction’

It will be out and for sale in a matter of weeks.

It’s about his life as an alcoholic and addict.  It leads us up to the edge of sobriety.

I remember when Spencer told me he was starting his book.  I knew something was up.  He’d been writing feverishly and been singularly focused on writing. I figured he was writing a really intense blog.  Or journaling about something.

Then he told me he’d started writing the book and had something like 100 pages already written. So that’s what he’d been working on.  A book.

He offered to let me read an early draft of a few pages. This is the story he let me read (OSU Football).

I finished it and was not entirely sure how to react.  (Did you read it?!)

I mean the writing was stunningly vivid.  I finished the chapter and could tell you details and the picture of the story he had painted so perfectly well…  Felt like I’d been there and seen it all play out with my own two eyes.

And I was left wondering one thing…

I was a little shocked and didn’t really bother to filter what I was thinking.  So I just asked him…

‘HOW the hell are you even still alive?’

Really.

Holy shit.

Reading the stories of my friend, a man who I know in such contrast to these stories I am sitting here reading, when he was what I’ll call an ‘active alcoholic’…

The shit he did, the even bigger shit he survived, the situations he got himself into…

Whoa.

I remember looking up from the laptop…  Jaw agape. Asking him ‘Spencer, how did you not die? How are you still alive?’ and he gave a startled laugh at the bluntness of my question, paused and thought for a few seconds and then shrugged and said ‘I really don’t know…’

His book is a labor of love.  Honesty.  Intention.  Transparency.

Hours and hours spent writing on his trusty laptop.

His soul and memories and difficulties are all now in black and white for the world to read.

He uploaded the final manuscript to the editors this past week.  This is the last step before the rest of us can buy our very own copy of his story on Amazon.

His hope is that others may find themselves in the pages of his book.  Depression, alcohol, addiction…  The over-arching hope that others may find parts of themselves in the pages.  And get help.  Or know that the future can look different then the day they’re standing in.

Spencer wrote so others could and would know that they are not alone.

{We’re building up to launch the book. You can follow him on FB and Insta for more details.}

I am so proud of him for taking this from a dream to Kindle.

Congratulations Spence!

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Binge Eating Disorder

I still make myself laugh sometimes.  I really thought when I started this healthy lifestyle journey that I would reach an ‘end.’  That some of the ‘bad’ things would disappear and no longer be an issue.

Joke’s on me.

A weight on the scale? Permanently changed/banished behaviors? Some sort of finish line?

I really had no idea what I thought would be the ‘end’, but I was so sure there was one. I thought that once I got healthy, got to a normal weight that some of these problems would simply just disappear.

They don’t.

Who knew?


An old friend came to visit two weeks ago.

And that’s totally a euphemism for ‘something shitty that I was really, fervently hoping I had killed/abolished/changed/was going to stay the HELL GONE FOREVER just knocked me on my ass… ‘

My old friend showed up again.

I was am a binge eater.

I always dressed that up, when I had to say anything at all, and said I was a compulsive overeater. Which is true — that’s a component of the problem I battle.

Overeating can be sporadic, no guilt/shame, just a bad habit.  An overly full belly from time to time

Binge eating is a whole different animal.

Binge eating disorder (BED). “BED is a medical condition, and it’s the most common eating disorder in the United States. People with BED regularly eat large amounts of food while experiencing a sense of loss of control over the eating episode. They often feel guilt or shame after eating. Characterized by eating when not physically hungry.’

Hunger has NOTHING to do with it. Nothing.

Binge eating sucks.  Big time.

There I said it.

For me a binge gets started when I’m sad, not being active and things feel increasingly out of control.  The more of that toxic combination there is in my life, the more I lean toward food for gaining that control, that ‘love’, that comfort…

I know binge eating is an issue for people — one we do NOT talk about.  Yet BED is the most common eating disorder in the US. ( Healthline). I know from conversations, texts, emails, FB messages that this is not something I’m suffering with alone. There’s a bunch of you out there suffering quietly. Miserably.


Last big binge for me was before my mom died.  Over 8 years ago.  2009.  I’ve done some overeating in that time since, for sure.  But not a planned, purposeful binge.

I thought I’d ‘cured’ binge eating.  Or had it buried deep and totally under control.

Until 2 weeks ago.

This binge caught me totally by surprise and none of my new, healthy, hard-fought habits were worthy of stopping it.

It scared the shit out of me. And I couldn’t stop it.

The binge lasted 4 days.

No one knew I was doing it.  When I finally reached out for help the friend I told said ‘I didn’t know you were binging’…  To which my reply was ‘Because I didn’t want you to know.  I’m damn good at this shit.  Damn good.  If I didn’t want you to know, you would never know. But I need you to know now and I need help.’

I can tell you that as far as binging goes — I had not lost any of my skills…  This episode was methodical, anticipated, carefully planned, enjoyed, deeply hidden, devastatingly successful.  I was thrilled to be doing it.  Mortified when I was in the midst of it. Sad and broken and totally beaten down after the first bite.

I reached out for help at day 4.

I quickly got appropriate help. I got support.  I was reminded that I am loved.

I was also harshly reminded that this is a cunning foe that I have to keep working to learn and understand.

So what was the binge?

Trail mix.  Freaking Costco trail mix.  I bought 4 bags. They each weigh 4 pounds.   I paid cash.  I ate a bag a day for 4 days. I ate it all day long.  Quietly, a serving at a time. Hidden away and portioned out so no one would suspect or question or figure out what was going on.

Your mind is trying to do the math. I’ll save you the effort…  Each bag was 36 servings with 9,600 calories per bag.  38,400 calories, 3,360 grams of carbs over 4 days. (In my healthy eating ‘norm’ I eat about 1,500 cals, and limit carbs to 90 grams per day…)

Yeah.  The scope of this binge is even more horrifying when you put all the numbers on paper.

And I was also eating ‘regular’ meals so that no one would catch on to my binge eating.

And entire bag a day, for four days. 

I was somehow able to stop the binge, even though I still felt totally out of control and sad and frantic.  I reached out, which goes totally against ALL instincts in a binge eating haze. And then I began to battle the shame and guilt and failure that comes on the heels of losing total control over food.  The shame and guilt of hiding my binge. Feeling isolated and alone and terrified I would be found out. Or that it wouldn’t stop.  Or that all of my hard work to learn to run and reverse T2 diabetes and lose weight would be GONE because I could not/WOULD NOT stop eating.

This is an old friend I would be happy to never, ever see again.

I simply have to understand that s/he may show up again at any time for the rest of my life.