(Based on the
book “Breaking Through My Limits: An
Olympian Uncovered”,
copyright 2012, by Alexandra Orlando)
As related by Ms. Orlando (prior to the
2004 Olympic Qualifiers):
No matter what I did, nothing seemed to
work. It got to a point where I became so depressed
I would lie awake in bed at night, numb, praying that I would wake up and
miraculously everything would be like it used to be, that I would be one of the
skinny girls. Food became a hot topic in
my house, with my mother having to make different meals for all of us. I put my family through so much, I would come
home from training and one little thing in the kitchen would set me off: Italian bread cut up for my dad and sister,
pasta being served, or anything that I couldn’t eat. My temper was so short that my mood swings
became unbearable in the house. I took
all my anger, all of my hurt out on my mother, and she took it graciously and
lovingly knowing that she couldn’t help me, when that’s all she wanted to
do. She was always there with open arms.
The problem is that I never wanted them. It was weak in my mind, and I couldn’t
believe that I had let all the pressure get to me. I was stronger than that, I was tougher than
that, and I hated who I had become and couldn’t face myself, so I could never
let anyone in to help me. There were
days when I would rifle through the fridge screaming that there was no food,
being a selfish, inconsiderate brat, throwing a temper tantrum and storming out
of the kitchen, leaving my mother to break down – only to come back hours later
when she wasn’t around, and eat as much as I could.
It made no sense, but I took everything
out on my mother. Some days I would find her at the kitchen
table silently crying, and I knew it was me.
Her tears slowly ran down her face, hitting the countertop
effortlessly. Just being in the kitchen
was emotionally draining for me as everything became a forbidden enemy. I would avoid the room as much as I could,
hoping to trick my stomach into thinking it didn’t need food. When my parents didn’t know what else to do
with me, they took me to see a nutritionist.
This backfired miserably. Not
only did she tell me to eat more –
but, to eat foods I was strictly not allowed:
bread, potatoes - carbs.
Everything I put in my body was
scrutinized and watched by everyone: my teammates, my
parents, my coaches, our judges, anyone in the gymnastics world. It was as if it was disapproving to even eat,
and I became paranoid. I could see
people watching my portion sizes or what I drank. “How many calories were in that Gatorade?” I turned to Splenda and aspartame to get any
flavor in anything, and would load it into my plain yogurt, coffee, tea, and
cereal. Anything to give me flavour and
cut calories. Let’s see how few calorie
Alex could eat in one day without passing out.
And, when I could see what I could do
and survive, it only fuelled me to keep going. I was burning a hole in my stomach with my
habits, turning to coffee to keep me going through the day. I would wake up and hold out on eating for as
long as possible, sometimes drinking eight cups of coffee a day to keep my head
up in class and my body moving in training.
When I caved, I would try and eat as healthy as possible, finding that I
could lose 5 pounds in a week this way.
I was never happier than when I was losing weight.
But then, I would get to day ten and
crash, my stomach twisting, my body completely giving out and holding on to fat
for dear life;
and I would binge eat on anything I could find.
It was disgusting, stuffing my face with literally anything, including
whole boxes of cereal or crackers. I
would feel so awful afterwards that I could barely contain myself, so
disappointed that I could do that to myself.
I put my body on this roller coaster for years, yo-yoing up and down,
being able to gain or lose 10 pounds week to week. The worst part was that my performance
suffered, and I was never truly comfortable competing again.
In my sport, you have to do the World
Cup circuit with the other countries’ national champions. You had to be out there in front of the
judges, consistently putting in solid performances to keep up with everyone
else. It was a political nightmare, but
it had to be done. The more you
competed, the better you got and the more chances you had to be seen as one of
them, the best in the world. At a competition
with only twenty or twenty-five of the best rhythmic gymnasts in the world, I
was always the biggest. Even if I lost a
few pounds, I was still the fattest. I
couldn’t compare to the 5’10” 100 pound girls who topped the podium. They would look at me as if I was an outcast,
and would snicker and laugh when they saw me.
I knew what they were thinking:
“Is this fat cow actually any good? What is she doing here?” It ate
slowly away at my confidence, and I would warm up and stay in the corner of the
practice gym not wanting to be noticed.
(to be continued in Part D)
copyright 2014, Anne Shier. All rights reserved.
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