I feel strongly about bringing more awareness to the struggles of binge eating. The “Stuffed With Emptiness” series delves into details and thoughts of significant moments of my past journey. If this topic could be triggering to your own thoughts and experience in any way, please read with caution or wait to visit FFF later.

Catch Up With Previous Stuffed With Emptiness Posts:

• My First Binge
• Pizza In The Car

“I’ve Tried To Love You But I Just Can’t”

It had now been a couple of months since my first and second binges. Over that time I had acquainted myself more with the practice. Funny word, but that is what it felt like. I paid close attention to my habits and perfected my ways to hide my new habit.

I knew the hours to sneak out to the store so I could easily bring my bags of candy and cookies up to my room without anyone knowing. I knew how to quickly and quietly hide the bags in the back of my closet, then lock my door as I devoured them. First over the course of a week, then merely over the course of a day or two.

Binging had clawed its way through to me, wrapped it’s cold, unyielding arms around me, and whispered sweet nothings in my ear – “You are nothing. You need me. Let me soothe you. And then show you just how nothing you truly are to not resist me”. My relationship with binging felt familiar. It felt like the relationship I had with my dad.

Ever since I was twelve, I had felt my father slipping through my fingers. One day, I was playing “tickle monster” with him on the floor, and the next I sat wondering why he hated our family so much to never want to see us.

Why the only communication he shared immediately showed harbored resentment – not keeping the house clean enough or costing him money or not wanting to follow in his footsteps in his business.

Living together again brought our clashing personalities and each of our own issues into a power struggle that only hurt the two of us. The food consoled me. It kept me company. In the momentary surge that came from eating, I no longer felt the surge of hatred pulsing through the house. An underlying energy that others may not have noticed, but that completely controlled both of us.

Then, we got stuck in one room together over the course of a weekend for a wedding. I didn’t sleep well. I was tired. I was irritable. I mentioned my fatigue. My dad made some snide remark, so I pushed buttons back. I let him know that his snoring had kept me up most of the night.

I can’t remember how or what particular arguments ensued, but it quickly escalated. Yet, he kept his voice low…solely because family resided just outside our doors and on the other side of our walls. We couldn’t possibly break the perfect image of himself down. I pointed that out.

He looked at me smugly. Then uttered the words that to this day, despite my forgiveness of him, make me ache with an empty hole:

I grabbed my bags. My sister ran after me. We waited for the ferry to take us off the island of the wedding. It probably would have been safer for my 14 year old sister to drive us the six hours home, as I could not see for the tears shielding my eyes.

I don’t remember what I binged on that night. I simply remember it was one of the only two times I ever ate enough to have my body physically reject the amount of food I put in it. I could never make myself throw up, though I tried, so the fact I got sick without trying makes me know I ate. And I ate a lot.

Perhaps I was trying to heave the bile of those words into the toilet, not the food. Perhaps I hoped to flush them down and away, so they couldn’t stay with me and define me for the years that followed. The words won. For a long time.

Pease note that I have forgiven and mended my relationship with my father. This is simply a reflection on my past, so please show respect. We are both changed people today. Don’t send hate out into the world.

I keep forgetting something. I have a 15K race planned for this weekend.

In the summer, Lee brought up a great 15K race that she loves running called the Peachtree City Classic. She has run it a few years and says the course is really nice and it’s a well put together race.

It sounded perfect to me! Nice race and a perfect distance to fit into half marathon training. Just a few weeks out from my half, I knew having something fun thrown into the mix for a long run would help a lot. Plus, I love doing races with Lee! She even accompanied me on my very first race ever.

And seeing your shirt, Lee, reminds me that next year I am so game to do that Pub Crawl 5K with you.

Anyways…

I am really, really excited for the race – even if I haven’t exactly checked out information crazily about it yet. I just have one wee little problem.

I’m going to have to learn to race easy.

In both my 5K race and my 10K race, I wanted to see just what my body could do. So, I pushed myself. You may notice, I like pushing myself. I like competing against myself. I must remember, though, that I have a half marathon three weeks away.

Also, it just so happens that this week calls for a recovery week on my plan. The mileage for the race fits well enough (just a mile higher than a recovery long run), but I for sure know racing a race might not be the smartest idea. I want to save my A game for Savannah!

I get so caught up in the race environment and the adrenaline makes me push my pace. Believe me…it is too easy to run fast for a race. You may regret it halfway into it or later that day, but during it the speed feels so natural.

I’ve been doing good sticking to recovery runs for the week. On Tuesday, I didn’t want to risk getting sick running in the drizzle. I also wanted to keep my pace steady and run flat. So, I locked myself on the treadmill for six miles at a steady pace.

I plan on cranking out 4 miles on it today in the same fashion. And then I just have to save my energy on Saturday – focus on having fun and remember Savannah coming up just around the corner.

• Do you have an inner competitive nature? I am so competitive against myself on fitness things. I love the challenge!
• Thoughts/experiences to share on racing during training? Help me reign it in, friends! Or let me know if I don’t really have to!