Working With a Running Coach: Why I Started, Why I Stopped

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In February 2019, I had one of the best racing performances of my life. My finishing time was just shy of the personal record that I set 12 years earlier, and had I better understood the course, I think I could have beaten it. Despite my age and three surgeries in the preceding five years, I was still running close to my best. Then, for reasons that I still cannot completely identify, my running ability abruptly fell off a cliff.

Sometimes I have dreams in which I struggle to run, like I am knee-deep in molasses, and this struggle became real in the summer of 2019. My legs were not tired, nor were they sore, but they just would not go. It was the oddest feeling, and the best way I can describe it is to compare it to having a limb that has fallen asleep: There is nothing structurally wrong with it, but it just does not work as it should. One morning, Joanne watched from the front door as I slowly jogged down to the end of the block, stopped, threw my hands up in exasperation and frustration, and walked back home.

From the summer of 2019 to early 2023, my running rebounded to a small extent. My endurance returned but my speed did not when I ran another marathon in 2022. In fact, my speed continued to worsen over those years at a pace that getting older alone does not explain. Each time I had an inexplicably slow run, each one seemingly slower than the preceding outing, my confusion and frustration grew and began to morph into disgust. In the midst of these runs, sometimes I thought about stopping – not just that day’s workout, but giving up running entirely.

After hearing of my frustration, a generous friend gifted me three months with a running coach who works remotely with distance runners all around the world. During our first conversation, the coach offered his opinion that I was running too fast during most of my training runs. Running slower in order to run faster sounded counterintuitive, but I was willing to try his approach for a few reasons. One, the training approach I had been taking clearly was no longer working for me. Two, he had helped numerous runners – including my friend – dramatically improve their running, which gave me hope that he could do the same with me. Three, in my line of work, I am used to offering suggestions that seem counterproductive at first glance, such as stocking, so I know to keep an open mind.

The coach used the workout pattern that I was already following as a starting point, but he made some significant changes. He added an additional day of running per week, increased my mileage, and significantly slowed my pace. Even during my interval workouts, he wanted me to refrain from running as hard as I could.

He gave me a training plan to follow, and while the specifics varied from week to week, the overall pattern was the same. Tuesdays were interval workouts at the track, Thursdays were recovery runs, and Saturdays were long and slow jogs. At first, the workout’s distances and paces were easy for me to achieve, which gave me confidence that I would be able to keep up with the coach’s training plan, and I felt optimistic.

Then problems arose. While I never got injured under the coach’s watch, I began getting sick more often than I ever had in adulthood. The frequent illnesses were more correlation than causation, as I suspect they were mostly due to exposure to the germs that our daughter brings home from kindergarten. However, I was pushing myself too hard. Sure, my speeds were slower than what I would have run on my own, but I also pushed myself to achieve the workout goals even when I was overtired or otherwise not feeling up to it because skipping or modifying a prescribed workout felt like failure. Instead of sleeping relatively late on Saturday mornings, I was waking up and starting my runs in the dark in order to fit in the mileage before beginning daddy duty. Between the decreased sleep and pushing myself too hard in my training, I was wearing myself out.

Still, I kept going, as I was clinging to the hope that following the coach’s training plan would make me a better runner, just like he had done for others. A few months into our training plan, coach began to prescribe faster workouts. After running so slowly for so long though, the goal paces felt lightning quick, and I failed to achieve them. At the beginning of our work, I routinely returned home from my training runs feeling optimistic, happy, and proud that I was able to achieve the goals that coach set out for me, but soon failure became the norm. Before leaving my house for a training run, I looked at the prescribed workout knowing I would need a miracle to achieve the day’s goals. Instead of feeling positive, I felt guilty and ashamed, and I wondered what was wrong with me.

Coach and I ended up working together for somewhere around six or seven months before I called it quits. He is a super nice guy, an elite runner himself, and he has vast coaching experience, loads of knowledge, and a long list of runners he had helped, but I seemed to be some sort of outlier in that my body was not responding positively to his training plan. We seemed to be bumping up against whatever mysterious factors had eroded my running abilities in the first place.

As you have read through my story, I wonder if you have picked up on the common themes between my work with the running coach and diet culture: turning to someone who “looks the part” for guidance, optimism based on testimonials that may or may not be indicative of typical results, reliance on external prescriptions rather than internal cues, and self-blame in the face of failure. Ultimately, realizing these commonalities is why I stopped.

Now I take a similar approach to running that diet survivors do to eating. My body’s internal cues are the primary factors in the decisions I make regarding when, how far, and how fast to run. Instead of focusing on my slow speed and feeling frustrated about it, I am working on accepting that all bodies change over time and the amount of control that I have over mine is limited. These days, I try to approach my running with a spirit of enjoyment and adventure, a fun and relaxing way to be outside, and feeling proud about covering ground on my own two feet – even if they do move much slower than they once did.

Pinkalicious

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Mondays are our kindergartener’s “media day,” which means she and her classmates visit her elementary school’s library and have an opportunity to borrow a book for the upcoming week. During one Monday afternoon walk home from school, she gave me a synopsis of the book she was taking home, something along the lines of, “She [the main character] eats a lot of pink foods and turns pink, then she eats more pink food and turns red, and then she eats green foods and her color turns back to normal.”

Uh-oh.

Right off the bat, I had a feeling where this was going. My intuition proved correct once I read the book myself. Pinkalicious is a funny and cute book, but it is problematic in certain ways. If your child is going to read it, an accompanying and clarifying conversation will be important in order to mitigate harm.

The story begins with the main character, a young girl named Pinkalicious, baking pink cupcakes on a rainy day. She disregards her parents’ commands and eats so many of them that she wakes up in the morning and discovers that she has turned pink. Her doctor diagnoses her with a case of “Pinkititis” and advises her, “For the next week, no more pink cupcakes, pink bubble gum, or pink cotton candy.” The doctor continues, “To return to normal, you must eat a steady diet of green food.” Immediately thereafter, the book reads, “(YUCK!)”

The accompanying illustration shows several pink foods crossed out, indicating that Pinkalicious is to abstain from them. While the picture does include strawberries, grapefruit, and watermelon, the vast majority of the foods are desserts: lollipops, jelly beans, cotton candy, ice cream, donuts, milk shakes, jello, and cupcakes.

Following her trip to the doctor, Pinkalicious suffers various consequences as a result of her altered color: Her friend cannot spot her because she is camouflaged among the pink peonies, a bee mistakes her for a flower and lands on her nose, and she cries for her mother to take her home after bees, butterflies, and birds surround her.

Back at home, Pinkalicious requests and is denied another pink cupcake. After pretending to eat her dinner of “mushy, dark vegetables,” she sneaks back into the kitchen in the middle of the night and devours a cupcake that her mother had hidden. In the morning, a horrified Pinkalicious awakens to discover that her condition has worsened: She is now red.

Desperate to return to her normal self, Pinkalicious says, “I opened the fridge, held my nose, and squeezed a bottle of icky green relish onto my tongue. I ate pickles and spinach, olives and okra. I choked down artichokes, gagged on grapes, and burped up Brussels sprouts.” The accompanying illustration shows a few fruits – limes, honeydew, green apple, and grapes – and a bunch of vegetables, including broccoli, cucumber, celery, asparagus, cabbage, and peas. After ingesting these green foods, Pinkalicious loses her discoloration and becomes “beautiful.”

Left to their own devices to interpret this story, a child has likely internalized the following messages: (1) Pink foods are almost exclusively sweets. (2) Too many sweets will make them sick. (3) Sweets have an addictive-like quality. (4) The way to get healthy is to completely avoid sweets and to instead eat green foods. (5) Green foods are almost exclusively vegetables. (6) Vegetables are yucky. (7) Vegetables make them pretty.

Unfortunately, all of these messages are problematic. Let’s take a look.

Problematic Message 1: Pink foods are almost exclusively sweets.

Plenty of pink foods exist that have zero to mild sweetness, including corned beef, edible flowers, beets, dragon fruit, rare steak, and Himalayan salt, yet the only examples of pink foods that the authors cite are sweets because the former is really just code for the latter.

Problematic Message 2: Too many sweets will make them sick.

Sure, too many sweets can make someone sick, a lesson that I learned on Halloween many years ago. However, we tend to single out and villainize sweets, as if they are somehow the only food group that can sicken us in excess, while ignoring the reality that too much of anything can be detrimental to our health. Remember that even water, when consumed excessively, can kill someone.

Problematic Message 3: Sweets have an addictive-like quality.

Admittedly, this message is more subtle than the others, and I can imagine that it will go over the heads of some children. However, for those of us familiar with the apparent fallacy of sugar “addiction,” we can see its theme in the way that Pinkalicious eats another cupcake despite already having turned pink and gone to the doctor as well as in the lengths that she goes to – deceiving her family, waking up in the middle of the night, and sneaking around – in order to obtain the cupcake. Nevertheless, research suggests that sugar “addiction” is not a true addiction, but rather a byproduct of how we tend to demonize and restrict sugary foods.

Problematic Message 4: The way to get healthy is to completely avoid sweets and to instead eat green foods.

If this general sentiment sounds familiar, maybe that is because our culture oftentimes splits foods into dichotomies and presents one side as sin and the other as salvation. Whole30®, detoxes, “clean eating,” etc., are all based on this basic – and flawed – premise.

Alan Levinovitz, a religion professor who has taken to writing about nutrition because of the intersectionality of spirituality and food, sums up the situation very well, “It’s terrifying to live in a place where the causes of diseases like Alzheimer’s, autism, or ADHD, or the causes of weight gain, are mysterious. So what we do is come up with certain causes for the things that we fear. If we’re trying to avoid things that we fear, why would we invent a world full of toxins that don’t really exist? Again, it’s about control. After all, if there are things that we’re scared of, then at least we know what to avoid. If there is a sacred diet, and if there are foods that are really taboo, yeah, it’s scary, but it’s also empowering, because we can readily identify culinary good and evil, and then we have a path that we can follow that’s salvific.”

Sickness and health are never entirely within our control and are certainly way more complex than eat this, not that.

Problematic Message 5: Green foods are almost exclusively vegetables.

To acknowledge the obvious, yes, many vegetables are green. However, for all the green veggies in the world, we also have pistachios, pumpkin seeds, avocados, and other fruits that the book excludes. Are sweets, such as lime jello and green apple jelly beans included? What about – gasp – green cupcakes? Of course not, and I think we all know why.

Problematic Message 6: Vegetables are yucky.

The attitude that we have towards various foods shapes how our children come to see them. In our culture, adults often teach children to view eating vegetables as a chore. For example, earning dessert by first eating vegetables teaches the child that consuming vegetables is the suffering that one must endure in order to be able to eat what they really want.

My first job as a dietitian was a traveling research position that sent me all over the country examining the foods and eating behaviors in elementary school cafeterias. All these years later, I still remember two specific schools. In one suburban Chicago school, the kids saw eating vegetables as uncool and would not eat them, so the cafeteria monitors would proactively remove the vegetables from the trays for fear that the uneaten veggies would be ammunition for a food fight. Peas were on the menu the day I was there, and I remember seeing the bottom of the trash bin lined with confiscated peas. Meanwhile, eating vegetables was the in thing to do in one northern Tennessee school. The problem the cafeteria workers faced there was that kids were taking too many vegetables from the self-serve salad bar, thereby exceeding the allowed serving sizes. The contrast between these two schools stuck with me because it illustrates how cultural views of a food shape its consumption.

Of course we all have our own unique food preferences and aversions, and some people genuinely just do not care for vegetables, but teaching kids that they are “yucky” is mostly a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Problematic Message 7: Vegetables make them pretty.

“I was me, and I was beautiful,” says Pinkalicious after eating green foods and returning to her normal hue. With beauty being the subjective entity that it is, the use of the first-person perspective is significant and raises questions to which we will never know the answers.

On the surface, this quote reads as a self-affirming statement, but does Pinkalicious – who loves the color pink – really think she looks better now than she did when she was pink, or is she rather expressing relief that her color now matches the necessary criteria for societal beauty standards? In other words, does she really think she is beautiful in her own eyes, or because others – her parents, her doctor, and society as a whole – have taught her that being pink was wrong?

Unsaid but certainly implied is the message that if Pinkalicious returned to her beauty after eating green foods, then she must have been less than beautiful when she was eating pink foods, which tells kids that eating sweets makes them less attractive. If that sounds like too much of a stretch, consider the multitude of my adolescent patients (and sometimes their parents, too) who scapegoat sweets for their acne.

Given how many people – including kids – learn to dislike their bodies and yearn to conform to whatever media, peers, doctors, family, friends, etc., say they should look like, the notion that vegetables can make someone beautiful is surely enticing. The problem is that this message is false. Regardless of what one considers beautiful, no food group has the power to dramatically alter appearance.

Do you really want to indoctrinate your kindergartener into diet culture? If not, make sure that enjoying a reading of Pinkalicious is accompanied with a conversation discussing these messages.

The End Is Near!

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Seven years ago, when I saw Chic in concert for the first time, Nile Rodgers used the interlude in one of their songs as an opportunity to tell the crowd about his recent cancer battle, which he ultimately won. The songwriter and producer explained that receiving the news inspired him to go on a music-making binge, as he figured he only had a short window of time left to express his art.

Earlier today, as I was driving home from the beach with our daughter, that memory crossed my mind. Since she will soon be restarting school, we have been trying to cram in as many daddy-daughter activities and outings – the Museum of Science, the Butterfly Place, farms, the zoo, fruit picking, restaurants, train rides, the aforementioned beach, etc. – as we can before the start of the school year interferes and forces these bonding experiences from frequent occasions to relative rarities. Before we have even left the parking lot of one activity, I am already thinking about the next one and all of the others that I hope to shove into our remaining time before it runs out. We have fun, but part of me is distracted, anxious, and sad as I think about the end.

Deadlines have their upsides because they can push us to accomplish tasks and achieve goals that might otherwise remain unfulfilled, but they bring with them stress and general feelings of unease that detract from the experience.

Life-threatening illnesses and the school calendar are examples of deadlines imposed upon us, realities that we just have to do our best to roll with, but sometimes we needlessly impose deadlines upon ourselves. A person who wants to get married by a certain age may settle because the timing is right even though the partner is wrong. Someone I know recently spent a hot summer evening in the emergency room with heat exhaustion and dehydration because they stubbornly kept hacking away at a tree they really wanted to cut down before dinnertime rather than conceding they should take an additional day to complete the project. When we were adolescents, a friend of mine wanted to bench press a particular weight before a school dance, and he ended up having to fight to free himself as the much-too-heavy bar laid across his chest.

Because this is a nutrition blog, I am of course thinking about the predicaments we can put ourselves and our relationships with food in due to self-imposed deadlines. An obvious example is the melancholy and frantic overconsumption that precedes a scheduled diet. Trying to lose weight before a wedding or another similar function is a common – yet problematic – behavior that is most likely to result in eventual weight gain and increased risk for developing a wide range of health woes. Someone I know severely dehydrated himself on his birthday and spent much of it at the gym because he had set a goal to be at a particular weight by his new age, and while he did survive and recover, he put himself in a dangerous situation for the sake of an arbitrary goal.

Imagine what these scenarios could look like instead without the needless deadlines. No diet on the horizon could mean more peaceful and intuitive eating without the threat of self-imposed food insecurity looming. Foregoing an attempt to lose weight before an event reduces the chances of harmful and discouraging weight cycling and creates space for the person to focus their time and attention on the big day itself and to go into it full of energy instead of depleted. Personally, I can think of more fun ways to spend a birthday than sweating out as much fluid as possible on an elliptical machine.

Time and opportunities are finite resources, and while we never know when they will run out, we can make life easier for ourselves by leaving self-imposed deadlines in the past.

What We Can Learn From Eating While Sick

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We managed to avoid it for over three years, but COVID finally got us. Joanne and I developed strange sensations in our throats virtually simultaneously and then tested positive a couple of days later. Whether due to the disease itself or as a side effect of Paxlovid, we developed terrible tastes in our mouths. Joanne described it as tasting like gasoline, while to me it seemed more a combination of cheese, bad breath, and metal. Additionally, I experienced waves of queasiness and a drastically reduced appetite.

Some of my patients talk about how much easier it is for them to eat intuitively when they are sick versus when they are fully healthy, and my experiences were somewhat similar to their own. When our appetites are diminished and food seems off-putting, our range of tolerable eating options shrinks considerably, which ironically makes food selection easier because foods we are willing and able to eat stand out in greater contrast to the rest.

Sometimes my patients, when they are ill, have an easier time practicing unconditional permission for a couple of reasons. First, because their array of appealing foods is so small, their only realistic option is to go with these foods. Second, because they are sick, they feel they are more deserving of self-care than when they are healthy, so they worry less about their perceived nutritional quality of food or about what they “should” be eating.

Being sick is so unpleasant and disruptive that at least making food choices can be easier for the aforementioned reasons, yet we can learn lessons from eating while sick that we can apply when we are healthy.

Choosing from a vast sea of eating options can be difficult and overwhelming, which is why deciding what to order from the Cheesecake Factory’s massive menu can be challenging. It is why, when our daughter demands “Choices!” when I ask her what she wants for a given meal, I offer her a small selection of different foods. We do advocate for having a wide variety of foods on hand at home so we have a reasonable shot at being able to satisfy whatever criteria our intuitive eating questions lead us to, but selection can nevertheless be hard if every option feels appealing. As when we are sick, having a smaller range of options that sounds good can make the process easier, but we can accomplish the same objective without being ill by eating before the magnitude of our hunger grows to unwieldy levels.

Only some of my patients utilize a hunger/fullness continuum, as it can sometimes be counterproductive if misused, but those who do know that we define a “3” as a comfortable hunger where we are ready for a meal and we are able to discern which foods sound like they will best hit the spot. In contrast, we define a “2” as a hunger that has grown uncomfortable, where we may feel irritable and stressed, and choosing what to eat can be especially challenging because our bodies are essentially telling us, “I don’t care what you feed me, just give me food!”

By eating before we get to a “2,” we give ourselves an opportunity to separate the most appealing foods more easily from the rest of our options. The practicalities of real life sometimes preclude us from being able to have our meals and snacks exactly when our body’s hunger cues suggest we are best off eating, but through experience, we can learn how to incorporate well-timed snacks that have us arriving at mealtime comfortably hungry rather than ravenous.

In terms of unconditional permission and the relative ease with which we can practice it when we are sick, remember that we are always deserving of self-care – including having the freedom to eat what, when, and how much we want without justification – regardless of our state of health. Think of self-care as something to be practiced not just when we are ill and need to get better, but also when we are already well and hope to stay that way. Personally, I can remember many times over the last few decades when I put self-care to the side, disregarded what my body was asking for, and ended up in a state of illness that was arguably avoidable if I had taken better care of myself.

Next time you are sick, consider the lessons about your eating that you can take with you as you leave the illness behind.

The Problem With Fat Shaming Professional Athletes

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Felger: If we ever get to the point where we can’t fat shame athletes, I quit.

Massarotti: It’s coming.

Felger: It is coming.

Massarotti: It might already be here already.

Felger: It’s not. We’re not talking about a teenage girl. We’re talking about professional athletes whose job it is is to be in shape. We are allowed to call them fat and tease them for being fat. If that becomes off limits, I’m done.

The aforementioned exchange, which took place in the context of discussing Kyle Lowry of the Miami Heat, occurred between co-hosts Michael Felger and Tony Massarotti near the end of their Felger & Mazz sports talk show on May 17, 2023. Much like the fat shaming directed at Pablo Sandoval seven years ago, this problematic dialogue misses the mark and causes harm.

Felger asserted that part of a professional athlete’s job is to be in shape, but what constitutes “in shape” should not be defined by anthropometrics, such as weight or body fat percentage, but rather by an athlete’s readiness to perform their given sport at the level their employers expect of them. If an athlete lacks the strength, endurance, or flexibility to perform, the deficiency in their fitness is the real issue regardless of how their body is built; otherwise, teams would just fill their rosters with bodybuilders and models and call it a day.

“In shape” is also context dependent, as the physical abilities necessary to perform at a high level vary from sport to sport. A gymnast who lifts weights and runs but never stretches, a shot putter who stretches and runs but never lifts, and a marathoner who stretches and lifts but never runs would all have serious issues with their performance regardless of how their bodies look.

Besides, Kyle Lowry is actually quite a good basketball player. Lowry is in the midst of finishing his 17th season in the NBA, he earned spots in six straight All-Star games from 2015 to 2020, he started all 65 regular season and 24 playoff games that his team played on their way to winning the 2019 championship, and he was a member of the USA Olympic team that won the gold medal in 2016. Sure, his statistics dropped off a bit this season, but blaming the dip on his physique – which looks to be the same now as it did four years ago – is a bit of a head-scratcher considering the 37-year-old is the seventh oldest player (out of approximately 450) in a league where the average player is 26.01 years old. According to basketball-reference.com, Lowry’s career performance arc is thus far most similar to those of Terry Porter, Vince Carter, and Allen Iverson, the latter of whom is already enshrined in the Hall of Fame, and another – Carter – will likely get in too once he is eligible.

Lowry is far from the only “fat” athlete to outperform many of his leaner peers. The aforementioned Sandoval made over $73 million during his 14 years in the major leagues, and the two-time All-Star was named Most Valuable Player in one of the three World Series that his teams won. Pat Maroon was fat shamed despite winning three straight Stanley Cups. Back in Lowry’s realm of basketball, Luka Doncic’s own boss criticized him for his weight despite winning Rookie of the Year, then being named an All-Star and making the All-NBA first team in the four seasons he has played since then.

However, the most concerning part of Felger’s opinion is that he seems ignorant of the impact that his sentiments have on people other than professional athletes. “We’re not talking about a teenage girl,” he said, but the reality is that fat shaming anybody breeds fat shaming in general. Discussing the reasons why criticizing Donald Trump for his weight is harmful, Ragen Chastain explained, “And make no mistake, when you engage in fat-shaming, your victim is every single fat person.” The ramifications of fat shaming athletes are clear, as I discussed in the Boston Baseball article I wrote about Sandoval back in 2016.

“Fans and media have labeled Sandoval ‘disgusting,’ ‘lazy,’ and ‘pathetic,’ implying that those same terms apply to everyone who has a body type similar to his.

The message is that fat is to be loathed, that larger individuals are not worthy of the respect enjoyed by the rest of us. We reject stereotypes based on race, religion, ethnicity, or sexual orientation but we inexplicably tolerate those based on body size.

The idea that we can tell how someone eats or exercises based on his shape or weight is a myth. Some people built like linebackers never lift weights. Some skinny-as-a-rail folks subsist on fast food. And some obese individuals are more active and have a healthier relationship with food than any of them, but inhabit bigger bodies for other reasons.

As we all know, pressure to be thin leads to dieting, which can lead to a variety of problems, including eating disorders. These life-threatening illnesses are so common in Massachusetts that if the crowd at a sold-out Fenway Park represented a random sample of the state’s population, those in attendance with a diagnosed eating disorder would fill section 41.”

Sounds like Felger’s intent was to focus his fat shame on professional athletes while sparing others – and good thing it was, for his behavior would be even more problematic if his intent was otherwise – but we all know that intent and impact are two different entities. Felger certainly should know this, as his co-host was suspended just three months ago for making a poor attempt at humor that came off as racially insensitive. Like Massarotti, Felger should have known better.

If Felger is unwilling to forego fat shaming professional athletes, then the time for him to quit truly has arrived.

Gentle Nutrition

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What is gentle nutrition? Imagine a Venn diagram. In one circle, we have intuitive eating, which is an approach to making decisions about what, when, and how much to eat centered around our body’s internal cues. In the other circle, we have medical nutrition therapy, which is the use of nutrition to treat various health problems. In the area in the middle where the two circles overlap lives a concept that we call gentle nutrition.

For my patients who are working to rebuild their intuitive eating skills, getting a firm handle on what gentle nutrition means and how to implement it in their lives are often two of the trickiest steps they face. The most common reason is that people oftentimes do not trust that their body’s internal cues will steer them in the direction of eating in a way that is conducive to their health. This fear, which I otherwise think of as the “If I allow myself to eat whatever I want, all I will do is have [insert the name of your taboo food] all the time” expectation, implies that eating for health means overriding intuitive eating cues.

My counter to that concern is to cite the food journal analyses that I perform on some of my patients. When I look at the intakes of my seasoned intuitive eaters, their nutrient consumption almost always falls within their estimated needs because their body naturally guides them towards the food it requires. In other words, my clinical experience suggests that when we eat intuitively, the eating-for-health part largely takes care of itself.

But what if our body is an imperfect guide? What if we face a gap between how far our intuitive eating takes us and where medical nutrition therapy suggests we should be?

For starters, take a step back and remember that our behaviors have limited influence on our health. One of my patients recently told me about a colleague who was diagnosed with cancer, and as word spread around the office, her co-workers reacted with surprise because the woman is so “thin and healthy.” (And as my patient astutely pointed out, if her colleague was fat rather than thin, people likely would have felt that she brought her health woes upon herself, which is a whole other problem.) Hearing the story reminded me of a fellow healthcare practitioner who was diagnosed with cancer herself despite being clearly orthorexic. For people who erroneously believe that they can control their medical fates if only they engage in certain behaviors, counter examples like these can rock their world.

Given that we may suffer whatever ailment we hope to avoid regardless of our best efforts to steer clear of it, we have to consider the lengths that we are willing to go to – and what we are willing to sacrifice – in hopes of reducing our risk. Focusing on medical nutrition therapy may sound sensible in theory, but doing so can come at the expense of our relationship with food. Consider the following scenarios that someone with hypertension might face.

  • What if you feel like you should never have salty food because of your high blood pressure, or when you do allow yourself to have it, you feel like you are being “bad”?
  • What if you have a history of restriction and the mere thought of cutting down on salt feels traumatic?
  • What if you are a recovering binge eater and stocking salty foods is an important step in your treatment?
  • What if you are on the road and happen upon a restaurant famous for a high-salt dish you really want to try, but you feel like if you do, you are asking for a cardiac event?

Who wants this level of angst interwoven with their eating when the fact of the matter is they could die of a heart attack no matter how much or how little sodium they consume? Unfortunately, stress, guilt, second-guessing, and inner turmoil can be significant issues when we practice not-so-gentle nutrition.

We advocate for gentle nutrition because of the downsides that come with focusing too hard on medical nutrition therapy and because of the upsides of taking a more moderate approach that still respects intuitive eating. Consider how someone practicing gentle nutrition would approach the same scenarios that I listed earlier.

  • What if you feel like you should never have salty food because of your high blood pressure, or when you do allow yourself to have it, you feel like you are being “bad”? They understand that complete abstinence of salty food is neither necessary nor practical, and they can enjoy such foods without guilt.
  • What if you have a history of restriction and the mere thought of cutting down on salt feels traumatic? Before even tackling gentle nutrition for their blood pressure concerns, they first do the necessary work to heal their relationship with food, thereby making medical nutrition therapy feel less triggering.
  • What if you are a recovering binge eater and stocking salty foods is an important step in your treatment? They recognize that in order to make peace with salty foods and get to a place where “a little” does not automatically turn into “a lot,” they have to practice unconditional permission and abundance, which entails exposure, continuous access, and predictable overconsumption for a period of time.
  • What if you are on the road and happen upon a restaurant famous for a high-salt dish you really want to try, but you feel like if you do, you are asking for a cardiac event? They understand that no single eating experience is going to save nor doom their health, that food is part of culture and travel, and that they would probably regret forgoing a rare opportunity.*

How then is the nutrition part of gentle nutrition implemented? That same person with hypertension may use their intuitive eating cues to determine that they feel like having a piece of fruit for a snack, but both the apple and the banana sound equally appealing, so they opt for the latter since it has more potassium than the former. On the other hand, if they feel like solely the apple would hit the spot, they eat it, enjoy it, and look for other places in their day to get their potassium. If the whole day goes by without consuming much potassium, they do not worry, but rather trust that their intuitive eating cues guide them in different directions day to day, and tomorrow they could very well find themselves taking in a high amount of potassium.

After reading all this, you might be thinking to yourself, “Yeah, okay, I get that my health is not entirely within my control, but I want to do everything I can to minimize my risk.” If so, that is entirely your right. You are the expert in your own life, nobody is in a better position to decide your path forward than you are, and I commend you for weighing the pros and cons and making an informed decision that feels right for you.

However, that same autonomy applies to each of us, and many people conclude that not-so-gentle nutrition is just not worth its cons and that gentle nutrition is the way to go.

* Speaking from personal experience, I remember spending a night at a church on a Native American reservation in Montana during my Seattle-to-Boston bicycle trip. My hosts offered me one of their traditional dishes – something that I can only describe as a French-fried donut, although I am sure that is not at all what it was – and it turned out to be literally the best tasting food I have ever had in my life. Sometimes I think about what I would have missed had I turned down the food due to nutrition concerns.

Pancakes

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Some months, coming up with a newsletter topic is unusually challenging. For the last few weeks, Joanne and I were both scratching our heads, as the ideas we had were for research pieces that would demand more time than either of us is able to dedicate at this point in time. Being silly, I facetiously asked our four-year-old daughter what I should write about this month. “Pancakes,” she responded, “Pancakes and maple syrup.” Joanne and I laughed, and I walked out of the room, but I quickly returned and told them I was going to use her idea.

Our daughter’s suggestion reminded me of a quote from one of my earliest patients many years ago, and what the latter said to me felt significant enough that I wrote it down as soon as she left my office. “One day, you will have a baby boy who will love you,” my patient said, “and then he will grow up to hate you. But then one day he will love you again and say, ‘Hey, Dad, let’s go out to breakfast, just us guys,’ and then you will go to Bickford’s, and you will have an apple pancake, too.”

At that point in my career, I was still doing the kind of work that most people figure dietitians do: putting people on diets in the pursuit of weight loss. My prescribed diets were low in carbohydrates, especially grains, and so restrictive of calories that if my patients were living in a different region of the world, the United Nations would have sent cargo ships full of food to help them. While I did not author these diet plans, which seemed concerning to me at the time because of their restrictive nature and the good/bad food dichotomy they established, I did dole them out as instructed, and for that I have nobody to blame but myself.

These diet plans typically “worked” in the sense that my patients lost weight, but rarely – if ever – did the weight suppression last long term. At the time that I left the medical center where I was working and stopped doing that kind of work, I did have some patients who had maintained their weight loss thus far, but I have no idea what happened to them later. Given that most weight regain happens two to five years after baseline, I can only assume that at least some of these patients, if not all of them, regained weight after I was out of the picture.

Diets fail for a number of reasons. Most significantly, the physiological mechanisms that kept our ancestors alive through periods of starvation kick in when we restrict and promote weight regain. Another factor, the one that my patient was trying to make me aware of via her aforementioned quote, is that diets are incompatible with real life. After all, if I were following the low-carb, low-grain, low-calorie diet that I had put her on, I would be unable to both remain on the plan and partake in her breakfast scenario. The dietary expectations I had set out for her were unrealistic, which was exactly the point she was trying to get me to see. Point taken.

Now that I am a dad myself, I have greater first-hand life experience to reinforce my theoretical understanding. Numerous times over the last few years, I have eaten foods I was not in the mood for because sharing an eating experience with my daughter was more important to me than eating exactly what I wanted. For example, the food at Chick-fil-A rarely sounds good to me, and I certainly would have preferred something else for dinner last Tuesday night, but I took her there because she loves it, she asked me if I would take her, and I prioritized making her happy and sharing one of her favorite meals over eating what I really wanted.

If I was on some diet plan that restricted foods like Chick-fil-A, such as the plan I had given to the patient in question, I would have had to choose between breaking the diet or missing out on a family bonding experience. When I was a young adult and somewhat orthorexic, I prioritized “healthy behaviors” to the detriment of other important areas of my life. After turning down plans with friends so I could exercise after work and go to bed early, some of them began to distance themselves from me and stopped extending invitations. My insistence on only eating food I had brought from home kept me from joining co-workers for lunch, and my rapport with them weakened. If you have ever been on a diet yourself, consider the ways in which sticking to the plan came at the expense of other facets of your life. My guess is that if you look back, you will find examples in your own life similar to the ones I just described.

Furthermore, remember how you felt when you inevitably deviated from your diet. In Reclaiming Body Trust, authors Hilary Kinavey and Dana Sturtevant succinctly describe the pattern of dieting with a diagram that they entitle “The Cycle.” At the 12 o’clock position, the circular diagram begins with “The Problem,” which then leads to “The Shame Shitstorm” at three o’clock, followed by “The Plan” at six o’clock, then “Life” at nine o’clock, and then back to “The Problem” as the pattern indefinitely repeats. Delving into the particulars of these positions is beyond the scope of this blog, but the overall pattern is one to which many of us can relate: We identify a problematic eating behavior, feel bad about it, desperately grab for a plan that will supposedly rescue us from ourselves, abandon the plan when it proves itself to be incompatible with life, and the cycle repeats.

If a diet puts us in a position to choose between (A) sacrificing important parts of life, such as sharing a bonding experience with our kids, in order to remain on the plan, or (B) breaking the diet and perpetuating a cycle of shame and unsustainable attempts to deal with our problems, then perhaps dieting and living a full life are simply incompatible.

A Few Scattered Thoughts

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A few scattered thoughts as we settle into 2023 . . .

Caroline Garcia, a French professional tennis player ranked fourth in the world as of this writing, recently went public about her struggles with bulimia. She reportedly explained, “Everyone is different. Some don’t eat anymore, I was the opposite: I took refuge in food. These were times of crisis. You feel so empty, so sad, that you need to fill yourself up. It was the distress of not being able to do what I wanted on the court, no longer winning and suffering physically. Eating calmed me down for a few minutes. We all know it doesn’t last, but . . . It was an escape. It’s uncontrollable.”

She and I have never worked together, met, nor communicated with each other in any way, nor am I familiar with the particulars of her medical history and eating disorder history, so of course I am only speculating, but it sure sounds to me like she still has a ways to go in her recovery. For example, her discussion of “temptations” in the players’ restaurant suggests that she still might have some trigger foods and/or a dichotomous view of foods in which her mind sorts them into groups of good and bad.

Having said that, one of the positive steps she has taken towards recovery is allowing herself more freedom in her eating. For example, she is quoted as saying, “Now, if for two days, I want a pizza, I’ll take my pizza and it will stop obsessing me.” With every eating disorder – whether bulimia nervosa, anorexia nervosa, binge eating disorder, or anything else – removing restrictions is always part of the solution.

While I was lifting weights at the gym earlier this month, I overheard two high school boys questioning the bench press technique that their muscle-bound trainer was teaching them. Seeking a second opinion, the trainer asked another young man who responded to the boys, “This guy knows everything! Look at him; he’s a beast!” The boys were right to second-guess their trainer, whose directive to bounce the bar off their chest increases the risk of harm and decreases the exercise’s effectiveness.

The more macroscopic problem exemplified here is that some people continue to make the mistake of confusing appearance with expertise. Nearly a decade ago, I gave a presentation that I called “Looking the Part: Patients’ Size-Based Biases Toward Their Practitioners and How to Handle Them” at the 2015 Association for Size Diversity and Health (ASDAH) conference. As I prepared my talk, I found research indicating that patients make all sorts of appearance-based judgments about their practitioners. For example, patients indicated they were much more willing to discuss sensitive issues like their psychological, sexual, and social problems if their doctor was wearing a white coat. Research also shows that patients make assumptions about their caregivers’ abilities based upon age, gender, hairstyle, and even whether or not the practitioner is wearing a name tag. If some patients prejudge a practitioner’s expertise based upon something as silly as the presence/absence of a name tag, then it should come as no surprise that research shows that patients also make assumptions based upon a practitioner’s size.

Having been a personal trainer myself, I can tell you that clients and potential clients hold similar biases based upon a trainer’s size, physique, athletic achievements, and other factors, when really none of that has anything to do with a given trainer’s expertise and capacity to help the client at hand. My client load grew immensely after I rode my bicycle from Seattle to Boston because people assumed that I must be a great trainer if I could accomplish something like that. While I appreciated the uptick in business, the premise behind it was ridiculous, as I was certainly not a better trainer upon my return than I was before I left for my trip. If anything, I was probably worse due to the exercise science knowledge I forgot while I was away.

Trainers often – but certainly not always – have lean and/or muscular builds, but that does not mean they hold some secret that will help their clients to attain similar results. Because of their biases, potential clients tend to gravitate towards trainers who have the type of bodies they want for themselves, while other trainers, who might be great trainers in actuality but fail to look the part, starve for clients before ultimately switching professions. Furthermore, size-based bias also prevents some potential trainers from entering the field, such as a patient of mine who wanted to be a CrossFit coach, but she did not think she would be successful because of her body size.

The truth is that appearance and expertise are independent entities. Conflate the two at your own risk.

Back in November, I wrote a piece about a college buddy who recently died after being hit by a car. Shortly after publishing it, and thanks to some feedback that I received from a longtime friend, I realized that I made a mistake similar to the very one that I was criticizing. Whereas some people jump to blaming the victim without enough information, I did basically the same thing by blaming the perpetrator without taking into account the bigger picture.

We live in a society in which following the law is a suggestion that can be disregarded with little fear of consequence. Examples are numerous, but for the sake of brevity, here are a few that immediately come to mind: doctors who blatantly and knowingly commit insurance fraud yet are still impaneled; above-the-law politicians who are still in office instead of prison; maskless police officers, train conductors, and transit drivers who defied the mask mandate rather than enforce it; ubiquitous underage drinking; and dog owners who behave as if their pet is too special for the leash law.

My daughter used to like to watch cars and trucks, and I would see many drivers holding their phones despite the hands-free law that had gone into effect. Drive the speed limit and watch the line of tailgating traffic elongate behind you. Do pickup trucks even come with turn signals?

Sometimes I wish we had a list of the laws that we are actually supposed to abide by and those that are just for show so everyone could be on the same page. As it stands, each of us picks and chooses which laws to follow and those from which we rationalize our special exemption. The absence of both consistent enforcement and appropriate modeling from our leadership has neutered our system of laws. We tolerate this, and I have no idea why.

We also seem to be okay with huge billboards that are designed to literally distract drivers from the task at hand for the sake of capitalism. We could have floodlights that illuminate a crosswalk when a pedestrian pushes a button, but we do not. Instead of crosswalks, we could have underground passages or overhead walkways to avoid the risk of a car and pedestrian ending up at the same place at the same time, but such structures are rare. Instead of blinking little yellow lights or flashing red lights, we could have normal traffic lights that turn solid red for pedestrians in crosswalks, but I only see these at intersections where cars have to stop for each other anyway. Better yet, we could install the kind of solid red lights that have white strobe lights in the center for increased visibility, but these are few and far between. Guys, things do not have to be this way.

So, here comes my friend, a father of two young girls, entering a crosswalk unequipped with any of these aforementioned safety measures, on his way to meet his wife for dinner. And here comes the teenager – who has grown up and learned to operate a vehicle in a society that has normalized careless driving and repeatedly set the example that following the law is a personal choice rather than a requirement – who will soon kill him. Maybe it helps us to feel better to condemn the driver, to act as if their behavior is somehow an exception to the norm, and to claim that they alone are responsible for my friend’s death. The truth, though, is that we all are.

Blaming the Victim

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Perhaps you caught last month’s news story about a tech CEO who was hit by a car and killed crossing a street in Acton. He was a friend of mine from college. The driver took away a leader from a company, a husband from a wife, and a father from two young daughters, and severely derailed the trajectory of their own life in the process.

Some of the details omitted from the published story include that he was crossing the street to meet his wife for dinner and that the driver hit him while he was in a crosswalk. Try telling that to the internet trolls who left some ignorant comments suggesting that my friend may have been looking at his phone or crossed without looking.

Their comments got me thinking, and I remembered that blaming the victim is largely about fear. Admitting that we have limited control over our fates is scary, so much so that some of us find some comfort in assuming that a victim must have made some error and brought their end upon themselves.

Looking back, I experienced some of this myself with my three back surgeries. When I had the first operation to remove a tumor, some people questioned how I could possibly have developed one and suggested that I must have grown up under high voltage wires or that I did not take care of myself. No, my environment was fine, I was an athlete, and I had a balanced diet (by adolescent standards). When I had my first spinal fusion, some people assumed I must have done something stupid in the weight room to necessitate the repair, but no, it was really just the fallout from a freak accident and residual structural issues from the tumor. The next year, when I had to have a second fusion because the first one did not work, some people figured the surgeon must have screwed up or that I did something wrong with my rehab. No, sometimes surgeons do everything right and the patient can look on paper like the ideal candidate to heal well, and yet, in a small percentage of cases – including mine – problems still arise.

Our health is no exception to the reality that our outcomes are only somewhat in our control. We live in a culture that blames “overweight” people for their size, that if they only were disciplined enough to eat less and exercise more that they would be thinner, while the reality is that long-term weight regulation is largely regulated by factors unrelated to our behavior. We look at scary diseases and hope we can ward off morbidity and mortality by creating and avoiding dietary demons, yet people of all ages and behavior profiles still get sick and die.

A few days after my friend was killed, my daughter and I had a close call ourselves while I was walking her to school. We got to a crosswalk, I hit the button to activate the flashing yellow lights, the cars in both directions stopped for us, and we began to cross. Before we could make it across, an SUV pulled out from the school’s driveway. Perhaps the driver saw the stopped cars and thought they were waving her in. Regardless, without looking in our direction, she turned onto the street towards us and hit the accelerator. I started running, and it was a close enough call that I arched my back in order to avoid the corner of her front bumper. When I glanced back at the driver, she looked horrified. As we continued on our way, the driver repeatedly yelled to us, “I’m so sorry!”

I was angry, just as I was when I heard my friend died. I was angry at both drivers, and I was mad at our society that normalizes and enables careless driving. However, beneath my anger was fear. We live in a world in which someone can do everything right and still have things go very, very wrong, which is horrifying, and we attempt to shield ourselves from this fear by assuming that victims brought their fates upon themselves.

Mindful Eating vs. Intuitive Eating

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In one of my recent blogs, I mentioned in passing that mindful eating and intuitive eating are different concepts, a topic that I am circling back to now because I frequently meet new patients who mistakenly believe they are synonymous.

Intuitive eating is an approach that leans upon our body’s internal cues and uses them to drive decisions regarding what, when, and how much to eat. People who eat intuitively generally use sensations of hunger and fullness to determine when to eat and the quantity of food to consume at a given time, and they may utilize a series of matching questions to determine which foods are going to best hit the spot. (Note the words “generally” and “may,” which I have included to reflect that intuitive eating is a set of guidelines that one can use to the extent that they find helpful, not a set of rules that must always be followed.)

Mindful eating, on the other hand, is broader and simply entails paying attention to one’s eating. Intuitive eating falls under the umbrella of mindful eating, but plenty of other versions of mindful eating exist. For example, one could mindfully portion out their dinner as they carefully strive to stay within the day’s points budget. One could be mindful of the texture and flavor of their Halo Top while wishing it were Ben & Jerry’s. One could mindfully savor every bite of their 100-calorie snack pack while knowing they are hungry for more food than they are going to allow themselves to have.

One must be mindful in order to notice internal cues, but one can be mindful of other things while completely ignoring what their bodies are telling them. In other words, one can eat mindfully without eating intuitively, but one cannot eat intuitively without eating mindfully.

If you have thought to yourself that you wish you ate more mindfully, consider looking deeper to discover what it is that you are ultimately hoping to achieve. If weight loss is the motivation, then mindful eating is likely just code for dieting, an attempt to put a rosier package around restriction while the contents remain the same. On the other hand, if recovering from disordered eating or establishing a more peaceful and healthy relationship with food is the goal, then intuitive eating specifically – not mindful eating in general – is the path forward.