(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):
After the meet, we had a two-day camp in
Montreal with the team that would be going to Australia. I didn’t even participate. We were all warming up that cold February
morning when I got pulled into a “meeting”.
I walked into a room full of people with no one on my side. If I didn’t lose weight, I would not be able
to compete at the Commonwealth Games. It
was unacceptable to look the way I did and represent the country. I now take in that sentence, slowly this
time, letting the words sink in. At the time,
as an eighteen-year-old girl, I was hysterical, and couldn’t even talk. It was one of those full body cries that turn
you into a blubbering mess. It was
awful. The last year had built up inside
of me, and I just let it out.
They directed me to Jenny Craig: an elite athlete, a national champion,
having to call Jenny Craig to tell them I was fat and needed help. I couldn’t train, I couldn’t think. I got out of there so fast that my teammates
knew exactly what had happened. To see
them feel for me so strongly gave me hope that I could get through this, maybe.
No one would actually have stopped me
from competing in Australia, but they poked and prodded me at every opportunity
they could get. I went down there and won six gold medals,
breaking a world record for my sport…at my size. That moment meant more to me than anything. What I looked like didn’t have to matter, and
I wanted to show all those young girls out there that they don’t have to fit a
mould to be accepted. Never let anyone
tell you that you can’t do something.
I had accepted that I would never look
like those girls I envied, but I would do whatever I could to get into the best
shape I possibly could. This
newfound plan seemed to work well for me mentally, but not physically. I would train for four hours, then hit the
elliptical and treadmill each day for at least an hour and a half, and then go
back to the gym to train again. I
started working out with the greatest trainer I know, and without him, I never
would have stayed sane. He was careful
to let me do my thing, but he guided me.
He was absolutely incredible, and not only was he my trainer, but my
psychologist, mentor and friend. It was
a breath of fresh air coming to see him every other day during those hard
couple of months. He couldn’t care less
what they told me, and thought that those people telling me I was overweight
were crazy.
I was strong, powerful and dynamic, and
he saw how beautiful that was and asked me if I wanted to be the best gymnast
out there, one who could turn heads with her power and strength. I couldn’t help but smile. So that’s exactly what we did. When I was with him, I have never felt more
healthy and athletic in my life. He
brought me back to life, and I will never be able to thank him enough for
that. When they broke me down, he picked
me back up, and I would spend hour and hours at the gym with him because it
felt like home.
After our sessions, he would sit down
with me and make sure I ate properly, adding some chicken or protein to my plate, trying to make
me understand how important it was to fuel my body with foods that would help,
not hinder my potential. I was at my
healthiest with him by my side. You get
blinded when you are surrounded with so much negativity that you don’t know how
to be positive anymore, and you become unable to understand the other
side. I could hardly believe that there
was any other way to look at myself. It
didn’t matter how many times my parents told me I was beautiful or my sister
tried to make me see how incredible I was – nothing worked. I could nod my head and say I understood, but
I didn’t really believe it. Inside, I
was twisted and torn up, making scrapbooks of models that I wanted to look
like, and diaries of my food intake and body measurements. I would have probably kept that measuring
tape under my pillow if I thought my mom wouldn’t have found it. I was leading this secret life and shutting
the rest of the world out, not letting anyone get too close to me.
As it got closer to Olympic Qualifiers,
the stress I placed on myself was more than I could bear. I was having the best training of my life and
hitting personal bests in Europe and all over the world, but the pressure to be
thin enough to make it to the Olympics caught up to me. I could now count down the weeks until I
walked into Greece for the World Championships, and it all of a sudden dawned
on me that there was not more fooling around with this weight thing. No more just monitoring the situation and
making sure I was stable and healthy – I needed to do something drastic. I wasn’t quite sure how I was going to do it,
but it’s scary what you can put your mind to when you feel so strongly about
something. So, I did the unthinkable.
I starved myself until I could see the
pounds melt off, only eating in front of people to make it seem as though
everything was okay. The
headaches and stomach torture were worth it, I told myself; and the more praise
I received for losing weight, the more motivated I became. For the first time in my life, people were
looking at me and smiling again, sighing in relief that I had finally cut
weight. It was as if they thought I sat
at home and stuffed my face with chocolate and pizza, Italian home-cooked meals
and anything else I could find, being greedy, inconsiderate and careless, like
I didn’t care, like I didn’t want to the Olympics bad enough…like I chose to be
fat. I could see it on their faces. I was in complete denial the entire year,
training eight hours a day on five hundred calories or less, trying to avoid
water to dehydrate myself before I competed.
It became so normal that I didn’t think anything of it. I loved it.
No one dared to say a word, and the next, precious few months could be
the end of it all.
(to be continued in Part G)
copyright 2014, Anne Shier. All rights reserved.
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