I reached the body I believed was “ideal” more than once.
In college, stress caused rapid weight loss, and I slipped into bulimia to stay slim. The weight stayed off—but so did my energy, focus, and joy. I felt tired, obsessive, anxious, and worried more often than I felt alive.
Decades later, in my 50s, strict eating and endless workouts made me small again. I even pushed through a 13.1-mile race, smiling for the camera while cramping and exhausted. On the outside, I looked strong. But inside, I was drained, fragile, and running on empty—more focused on performance than true well-being.
Both times, I thought I had arrived. Both times, my body was whispering the truth: this wasn’t health.
It took a fall, a pause, and one powerful question to change everything:
What does health and fitness really mean for me now?
