Peach Friedman - Diary of an Exercise Addict

Peach Friedman is a spokesperson for the National Eating Disorders Association (NEDA) and the Education and Outreach Coordinator for Summit Eating Disorders and Outreach Program. She is a personal fitness trainer who works with people recovering from eating disorders, and she has an MFA in creative writing. She has been featured in People magazine, has interviewed with Barbara Walters on ABCs The View, and has appeared on 20/20 and E! True Hollywood Story. She lives in Sacramento, California.

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GPP Life gives women answers they can trust.

p. cm.

2008017254

This book is for my mother and father.

Exercise bulimia is a newly recognized eating disorder. It is identified by a compulsion to purge calories through excessive exercise. I refer in my book to exercise addiction and compulsive exercise, which I use as interchangeable phrases for exercise bulimia.

On a recent Saturday evening, Jeffrey and I hurried to get ready for a dinner party. I tried on the same three dresses several times: one was too dressy, he thought, and I didnt like the way it shaped my arms. One was a little slutty, I thought, and he agreedtoo short, too much skin. And the third was too summery. Its late fall; dressing for the seasons is somewhat confusing in a Northern California climate. Today, for instance, its eighty degrees, but there are pumpkins on doorsteps and Starbucks is advertising its spicy latte. I wound up choosing the dressier dress that didnt flatter my arms, forgot to put on perfume, and off we drove.

Nice people, all of them. Genuine, friendly, down to earth. I sat with two women I hadnt met before, sipping wine and talking about working out, about exercise: a common conversation among ladies. With my back to Jeffrey, I wondered if he was listeningsilently I hoped he was overhearing this conversation. Hes learned a lot since weve been together, about eating disorders and exercise compulsions. Hes learned a lot about what I deem healthy behavior and what concerns me. It was too noisy for me to tell if he was leaning forward, listening to us, or if he had engaged in some other conversation behind me, but it quickly didnt matter, because I was wrapped up with my two new friends.

They were discussing the pros and cons of their gym in Sacramento, so I told them that Im a personal trainer, and that I educate about eating disorders and the risks of exercise addictions. One of the women laughed, Oh, I wish I had that problem! I could see the other woman scan my body, check out my size. I thought to myself, I wish Id worn the other dress....

Boulder is beautiful in autumn: the sky pure blue, cloudless and bright, the air fresh with changing seasons and falling leaves. Up in the mountains above Boulder the aspen trees are turning. I like driving up the canyon to this huge rock situated off the road somewhere between the small mountain towns of Nederland and Ward. When I lived here with my boyfriend Christopher, we would pack a picnic lunch and sit there, on the rock, gazing at the landscape in the crisp, sunny air. Im beautiful this fall, too. Its my senior year of college, and my flesh is slightly carved away, my hair straighter than usual, the hem of it flat, solid, even, the whole combination of which gives me a look of impermeability.

(It was, in fact, such an impossibly temporary phase. Nothing lasted that year, or in the years to follow. About my hair I later wondered, was it the Boulder temperature that steadied the fall of my locks? Was it the weather, the dryness, my diet? I lost so many long white strands down the shower drain that fall and kept calling home to ask, Am I eating enough chicken? Is there a pollutant in the water? )

My mother is visiting. I pick her up at the airport in Denver. I look dazzling, with deep blue-black eyelashes and those flat blonde tresses swooping my shoulder blades in the back. Im wearing some unusually chic yet Boulderesque combination of clothes: a V-neck whooshed in a swirl of colors, a knee-length straight and stretchy black skirt, and fuchsia platform thong sandals. Mom always manages to outdo me, her diamond earrings thrice the rocks of what feel like chips in my own lobes. And on this trip, despite my mothers griefpain I dont yet know aboutshe steps off the airplane in straight suede pants and an olive leather jacket. She looks Parisian, tiny and sophisticated.

Its another gorgeous, sunny afternoon in Colorado, and my mother and I are sitting together outside the Boulder Tea House eating its famous hummus on our salads, sipping at our soy chais. Ive just said I would move to Boston and marry a Harvard man. That perfect autumn blend of sun and breeze is on my back, warming my skin through my T-shirt. The leaves in the park across the street are falling, crisp yellows and oranges, and all around us college students, mothers with strollers, businessmen, and joggers look like theyre almost prancing in the sunlight. Boulder is unsurpassable in autumn: that ideal combination of cool in the mornings and warm all afternoon, with such a bright sky it makes you want to sun your legs. Or maybe its only so perfect through my polished approach to life this month. Everything is perfect. Everything is just fine. I am stronger than ever. I tell myself again, I am stronger than ever.

I tell Mom we should get our nails done. I tell her that I need to get to the gym before dinner. I tell her that I need to market myself for marriage. Mom says, Im here to tell you everything will be okay, darling girl. Im taking a bit of a break from family life. Shes squeezing my hand now, our faces close together, and Im noticing a chicken pox scar on her cheek, near her lips and nose. She says, Ive rented an apartment, just to get to be a girl! What do you think of that? Well still have Christmas at home and then Ill spend a few months on my own. Its a darling apartment, all white, and well bring in white orchids and a big mirror, that one we both liked from the catalog. Not to worry, my darling girl, there is nothing to worry about.