Quick intro about me. I am 23 years old and since I am writing this post to focus on trying to tackle issues surrounding body image and mental health in athletes, I suppose I better start by outlining my own sporting background, hey!
I got into competitive swimming at age 7, reaaaally got into it at aged 10, spent more time swimming than sleeping from age 12 to 18, quit for a year, swam again across the pond in Canada, before returning to the UK to swim for another year until fully quitting at aged 21. So that leaves me here, 18 months later, no longer a competitive swimmer but still somewhat a fitness freak.
Geez I hate to break it to you…. but I think this is going to be a long one.
My first experience surrounding my weight (from what I can remember) was when I was 13 years old. Not to brag, but I was a pretty quick little swimmer when I was this age and my heart was fully invested in the sport. I was multiple national age group champion. I was breaking records. I was getting selected to visit countries for training camps with my fellow competitors and friends (FOR FREE MAY I ADD). I truly was living the dream. Apart from the 5am wakeups. That was not the dream. Every Monday, my squad members and I lined up behind a set of scales and a notebook with our names listed on the left and the ‘week beginning date’ along the top. We would one by one step on the scales and record our weight. Simple, right? I should add that we also had our heights measured, but this to me didn’t did not matter nor did it play any role on my mental health in the future. The stress amongst our group began to build week by week. The pressure that surrounded “weigh In day” was internally extremely intense, especially at this age. Needless to say, I was struggling to cope. At 14, I was selected to represent Great Britain for the first time, and I was 65kg. I swam well. I was praised. I was rewarded. I was special. Feeling special, feeling different, feeling unique, feeling admired …. were overwhelmingly good feelings that were thrown in my face. And boy did I catch them tightly with both my hands.
European Juniors…. 14 years old.. I swam OOOKKK. I didn’t PB and I didn’t feel “special”. Back to the drawing board it was. Around this time, I became more invested in my strength and conditioning programme, to build strength and power. But, SHOCK, my weight increased. Duh, muscle weighs more than fat, silly! But, my race weight is 65kg, no? This year was tough for me. I had underperformed, I had lost my national title and I had ‘gained weight’. I was worthless. Quite quickly, the pressure I felt was projected onto my weight. The anxious feeling of ‘well if I’m 65kg this will all be fixed, and I will be fast and happy and loved and worthy again’ took over my life. March 2011. 71kg. European junior trials. Manchester. I haaaated myself. I had ruined it for me, for my parents, for my coach, for everyone who believed in me. Who would like me now if I didn’t have swimming to prove my worth??
I scraped the team. Thank. The. Lord. This bides me some time to ‘sort myself out’. The goal was 65kg. SIXTY- FIVE KILOGRAMS. The only goal in fact, was 65 kilograms. Weekly weigh ins became an isolating period of self-punishment. A moment to hate myself. A moment to verify I was a piece of shit every time I did not see those magic numbers on the scales. I never told anyone how I felt in this time, because I always felt so guilty. This was a common feeling I had become to normalize. I attended nutrition talks that told me “two treats a week max”. what, TWO CHOCOLATE BARS A WEEK? And not the sharing chocolate bars, no, don’t be silly. They meant those 35g chocolate bars that no one even buys because… why would they?
My parents (disclosure: I blame no one for any of this, except the system in place and lack of support for athletes in the sport. Let me get that straight!) but, my parents were obsessed with my diet. They attended these nutrition talks too. This is when I felt the most alone. My home became hell. My entire mindset was food and weight focussed. IM HUNGRY I WANT TO EAT. But Phoebe, you can’t? 65kg. 65kg. 65kg. I battled every day from the minute I woke up to the minute I fell asleep. I gave in. I ate the chocolate. I bought the custard creams. I hated myself. I cried. I had stern words. I repeated. The best way I can describe the feeling is this… I felt like I was holding onto a trapeze 20 metres high with no harness. holding as tightly as I could just trying not to let go. But there came a point where I couldn’t hold on anymore and I let go and fell. Hard. I felt this feeling every day, and every day, I fell. This is the feeling I felt when I couldn’t resist the cookies at school. The chocolate in my friends houses. The forbidden biscuit tin or the 4th slice of cake at my grandmas. I was OBSESSED.
In between this inner battle the weekly (harmless) weigh ins continued. And I was not 65kg. So, if I was letting go of the trapeze every day because I ‘just didn’t have very good willpower’ how the hell was I supposed to reach my weight goal? So I told myself, every time you do give in, just throw it up. Its like it neeeeeever even happened. Who’s going to know? I had figured out the perfect outcome. The golden solution. Finally.
• Abnormal bowel functioning
• Bloating
• Dehydration
• Fainting
• Seizure
• Fatigue
• Dry skin
• Irregular heartbeat
• Menstrual irregularities or loss of menstruation (amenorrhea)
• Tingling in the hands or feet
• Muscle cramps
There we go. A list of things I didn’t comprehend could happen if I ‘just threw it up’.
How was I supposed to perform now, with my insides screaming out for help. Later that year I was 65kg. WOW. I did it. I’m worthy again! Unhealthy, yes. But worthy. People will like me. I am enough. But I had a secret. I hated myself everyday for wanting to eat and that self-hate was slowly growing inside me like a cancer.
Post a successful competition that year, reality kicked in. Sigh. It was over. Those extreme highs I felt, that praise I received…. Was all gone. It was all temporary. The cycle starts again. I must must MUST swim fast again. Or else no one will ever like me. Dammit phoebe. STOP EATING CAKE. Like all obsessions, mine grew. It grew faster the more I held it inside me.
September 2012. Everything was changing. I was moving away from home to do my A levels in a boarding school in Plymouth. How. Exciting. Well, so I thought. The next two years were the hardest years of my life, but also the most significant. If I couldn’t handle the pressure of food in my own home, how the hell was I going to cope in a boarding house, WITH A BUFFET FOR EVERY MEAL. Ohhhhhh jeez. Good luck friend, you’re going to need it.
The worst part is, I could barely control my mind when I was on my own. My mind when I was around people was like an anxious person on STERIODS. Everything rushed around my body 5 times as fast. “what are they eating?” “I want that” “should I get more” “they eat more, maybe I can” “they are skinny surely I can have more” “I want to finish their plate” “why the HELL WOULD THEY LEAVE AN ENTIRE SAUSAGE” “AHH fuck It I’ll get more”. But on the surface, I smiled. I joked. I was complimented for my appetite even. I was holding it together.
Weigh in day became worse. I was back up to 71kg very very rapidly. Ohhhhh shit. Even though I was ‘getting rid’ of most of my food I was still “fat”. WTF. Going home in the holidays was stressful. The financial pressure on my parents for sending me to Plymouth was taking a toll. After all, I was there to become an Olympian. I was there to fulfil MY DREAMS. They didn’t want to see me waste it. They COULDN’T see me waste it. “you’ve gained weight” they said, harmless? Maybe. Factual? perhaps. Destroying? definitely. The pressure, negativity and anxiety within myself and among my family grew like the plague. 65 KILOGRAMS. Don’t forget. At this point I was out of control. Binging, purging, crying, self-hate, looking at my stomach, analysing my body, training 24 hours a week, up to 5 hours a day, studying A levels, not sleeping. RUINED. Mentally and physically, just ruined. Weigh ins continued as normal. My height was not monitored.
A pinnacle point was world trials 2013. 71kg. completely off the rails with my food obsession and mentally not coping, yet physically being present. My coach grabbed me one day. On poolside. “You’ve gained weight! HERE points at thighs and HERE points at stomach and you need to sort it out.” Let me add this was one week before the biggest competition of my life to date and I was on taper. Taper, is a no weight loss zone. Fact. So WHAT THE HELL AM I SUPPOSED TO DO NOW, HUN. That’s alright, I’ll just hate myself, worry myself sick and lose any ounce of confidence I miraculously had left in my body. I don’t think I slept that week. I threw up most of my food, I stared long and hard in the mirror at what a disgrace to myself and my family I had become, and I cried. I showed up on poolside and I avoided stripping down to my swimming costume. I warmed up for longer so I could burn more calories. Praying those 6kgs would fall off. I swam SHIT. What a shocker there. I put 7 seconds on my 200 backstroke best time and thought I had legitimately ruined my life. I sobbed and sobbed and hysterically sobbed. In the swim down pool I stopped every length to empty my water filled goggles until I was stopped by a seemingly sympathetic coach. “don’t worry phoebe, we know why it is that you swam bad, we can address it next season” OH THANK YOU VERY MUCH. MY WEIGHT. Aahhhhhhh THAT’S why?????? Thank you for telling meeeee, hadn’t even bloody thought about it. So, just to confirm? I’m a fat waste of space who has wasted my parent’s money, let myself down and doesn’t have the ‘correct mindset and dedication to make it in the sport’ brilliant. Glad we cleared that one up.
There I am. Rock bottom. Returning to my boarding school. My parents stressed to death about their daughter wasting their money and ruining her opportunity, returning to Newcastle, completely in the dark about what on earth they can do to rectify this situation.
A PRIVATE email was sent. I emphasise very very strongly the word private. An email from my parents to my coach. Outlining their parental concerns. Why is phoebe slow and fat? What the hell is going on down there at this school? That was basically the pretences of their email. I will clarify that as a parent in their position, I can fully understand why they would have questions, and can I also clarify that that email was absolutely never EVER supposed to be see by me.
Next day. Coach pulls me over. “come here. Look at this email I have received by your parents. Attacking me for your performances”. Well that moment was powerfully soul destroying to say the very least. I already hated myself, the way I looked, the speed I swam, the weight I was. But now my parents think the same thing?
I’m worthless. I’m disgusting. I don’t deserve to be here. I don’t deserve to eat.
I quit swimming during my time at Plymouth college and carried some heavy duty baggage with me. I never saw a councillor, a doctor, a psychologist and I never admitted to my ‘eating disorder’. I carried on with a smile on my face and an internal battle to face everyday when it came to my body image. This isn’t the end of the story and there is so much more to tell, but over 2000 words for my first blog post seems to be slightly excessive already.
I opened up a year ago on a video on youtube about my personal struggles when it came to body image and eating disorders in sport. I was overwhelmed and shocked by the response I received from so many people I knew. SO MANY PEOPLE struggled inside like I did, and it breaks my heart to see the sport still doing nothing to help support eating disorders and body image in athletes. There is no safe place to talk without feeling judged or weak, there is no help available during your time as an athlete let alone once you have quit! There needs to be some change. The ‘harmless’ weekly weigh ins must stop. They are NOT harmless, especially to children. And instead of the words “race weight” being thrown around the poolside, the emphasis should shift and focus on an individual’s overall health. Their ability to function, being properly fuelled for the level of activity they do and the allowance of some bloody treats! It’s a lonely sport as it is, what’s the point in adding pressure and isolation for a few measly kilograms.
Phoebe's Health 