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A sharp pain shot up the side of my left hip as I felt myself make contact with the ice. Malnourished and exhausted, I buried my head in my knees and silently cried in frustration. I could feel my 15-year-old body giving up on me, but my mind refused to let me stop my self destruction. How did I even get to this condition?
~~
My coach stared daggers at me as I stood before him, a mere 9-year-old. As his eyes travelled to the contents within my purple skating bag, I could almost see the steam coming from his ears‒he was furious.
“Lily, what is this?” he hissed. I could only stare back, speechless.
“I-it’s, uh, it’s a cracker?” I hesitantly replied.
“No, Lily. It’s a cookie,” he sneered, struggling to even say the forbidden word.
My eyes followed his to the single Milano cookie sitting in my bag that my mom had given me as a pre-lesson snack. She was worried that three consecutive skating sessions combined with a brutal off-ice training class had completely drained my energy and that I would need some fuel to get through my next lesson. I had never realized that such a simple and tasty treat could carry so much shame and dishonor. Appetite gone, I tossed the cookie in the trash.
Following my lesson, I plopped down on the bench inside the lobby to untie my skates when I noticed my coach talking to my mom. I tugged the laces on my skates, quietly loosening the knots. As I began to wipe off my skating blades, I noticed my mom returning from her conversation with my coach.
“What did you guys talk about?” I asked.
“Well, he said your jumps are doing better,” she quoted. “But, he warned me about your nutrition. Apparently he thinks your legs are ‘too big’ and if you gain weight, fat will wrap around the muscle,” answered my mom. “In short, he wants you to watch what you’re eating.”
I stayed silent. My eyebrows furrowed with confusion. At just 9-years old, I had never been told I was fat. Muscular? Sure. However, aside from my infamous legs, I had always considered myself to be rather… normal… whatever that meant. Disregarding the comment, I pushed it to the back of my mind, noting never to bring cookies to the rink again.
~~
As an ambitious 13-year-old determined to achieve her aspirations, I had begun taking lessons with different coaches to improve my skating as much as possible. I proudly landed my triple lutz triple toe—a jump combination I had been struggling on for the past year—and skated over to the coach I was working with, Ms. Gampl. Delighted with the jump I just landed, I expected to hear ecstatic acclamations.
“That wasn’t bad but your air position looks like a gorilla,” she commented. Assuming she was joking, I awkwardly chuckled at her observation.
“No really. Lily, you need to get your legs together and tight in the air. Speaking of which, do you stretch or roll out after you skate?” she added.
Puzzled with the sudden change in subject, I explained that I usually stretched after skating but avoided rolling out as per my physical therapist’s recommendations.
She gave me a hard look and replied, “Well, I think you should consider using a roller to roll out your legs. They’re too fat.”
Hearing her words, I could feel my confidence crumbling away. While I had heard subtle jabs and remarks over the years, no one had ever been that straightforward with me. As someone who was already highly self-conscious of her “big” legs, being told by an Olympic coach that my legs were “too fat” was the worst I had ever felt about myself. I tried not to let it get to me but unlike the last memory, I struggled to push it away. It stayed in the center of my thoughts, making me hyper aware and obsessive over my appearance.
~~
A hand on my shoulder snapped me out of my daze and I found myself in present time, sitting on the ice against the boards with my head in my hands. I turned to see my current coach, Darren, staring down at me with a worried look on his face.
“Lily, are you ok?” he questioned. To be honest, I wasn’t but I would never admit that. I would never admit that I had been starving myself for over a year, that I barely ate lunch that day. I would never tell anyone that I actually enjoyed having an eating disorder because I was finally being told I was “too skinny” instead of “too big.” No one could know I wasn’t ok because then it would mean that the current me wasn’t my true self—she was a fraud. But I wanted—I needed—to be this version of me.
“I’m fine” I choked out.
My coach sighed and crouched down beside me. “You know, when I was skating, I also tried to diet like you did. There came a time when once I reached a certain weight, my body just couldn’t handle it anymore,” he confessed. “Lily, I’m really worried.”
I studied my skates as I listened to his words. “I’ll be fine tomorrow after a good night’s sleep,” I answered.
“Not your skating Lily. I’m worried about you.”
I felt more tears streaming down my face. Everyone was always concerned about my skating and my appearance on the ice but no one had been concerned about me before. Body aching, I sat there considering my coach’s words for what seemed like an eternity. Finally, I got up from the ice and brushed myself off.
I looked at my coach and gave him a slight smile. “I’ll be back for the next session. I’m going to get something to eat first.”
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