I still know women like my mom. They absolutely detest getting older. They shake incredulous heads at the idea that perhaps they could accept another version of beauty. They are far from the midlife bloggers who stand in the bright sun, taking selfies or Periscopes of themselves, hooting about this and that, exuding confidence.
We often forget that not only is compulsive exercise a frequent and devastating symptom, but that eating disorder sufferers are some of the most altruistic and self-sacrificing people you will ever meet. Holding an event in which they are unable or should not fully participate seems not quite thought through.
Last night, I saw a picture of myself at CrossFit on a friend's Facebook page: I am mid-deadlift and my growing muscles strain at the weight. My expression is one of intensity and fear. Will I die? Not anymore. I'm certain that after I set the bar on the ground, as always, my muscles trembled with the righteous fatigue of joy.