Who Needs This?

A few weeks ago, I had family in town. I went for a five-mile run, got home, got distracted, and accidentally didn’t eat for an hour. (big oops)

We had breakfast plans later, but I was hungry, so I cut up some watermelon. It honestly should’ve been a bagel or oatmeal but something better than nothing I guess.

Mid-chop, someone said, “Who needs that? We’re about to go to breakfast.”

Cue the instant spiral.

Do I really need this?

Can’t I just wait?

Logically, this wasn’t complicated. I’d just run and hadn’t eaten. The more interesting question was why that comment still had the power to throw me off. 

The Background Noise

I’ve never been formally diagnosed with an eating disorder, but food has taken up more mental space than it should have for most of my life. I’ve always loved it—I just also treated it like a negotiation: how little can I eat and still function normally?

A lot of energy went into not looking hungry. Some of that came from growing up in an environment where food and weight were constant, casual conversation. Nothing extreme—just enough to quietly shape how I thought about eating. Hunger became something to manage. Eating became something that occasionally needed justification.

I didn’t really question any of it.

Then I started training for marathons—and brought all of that with me.

I focused on plans, mileage, and workouts. I put almost no thought into fueling. I knew how to run. I did not know how to eat for running—again, big oops.

As training ramped up, my approach to food didn’t. I was still trying to eat as little as possible while asking my body to do more and more.

Eventually, that caught up with me.

Learning a Different Approach

I ended up with a pelvic stress injury that sidelined me. At the time, I called it bad luck. In hindsight, it feels a lot more predictable. There were probably multiple factors, but under-fueling was almost certainly one of them.

Recovery forced me to slow down and actually learn. Working with a coach, I started to understand fueling and recovery in a way I hadn’t before.

Carbs weren’t something to avoid—they were fuel.

Eating during runs wasn’t extra—it was necessary to feel good.

Eating after workouts wasn’t a reward—it was part of the recovery process.

For the first time, I started seeing food as something that supported performance instead of something to control.

The results were hard to ignore: better energy, better recovery, more consistent training. Shocker. Gone were the days of couch rotting after a long run because I was so wiped. Instead, I could go out, see friends, do errands, and be an energetic participant in my own life. I stayed healthier. And I started trusting my body instead of constantly second-guessing it.

Which is why that watermelon moment mattered.

Not because of the comment—but because of how quickly the old thoughts showed up. The difference now is that I notice them and don’t automatically believe them.

A few years ago, I might have skipped the snack and felt proud of it.

Instead, I ate the watermelon. Not because it was going to fix me or really even fuel me—it wasn’t—but because eating it was an act of resistance against the kind of thinking that got me injured in the first place.

That’s really the shift.

What I Wish More Athletes Understood

Most athletes don’t have a training problem—they have a fueling problem. We praise discipline, but sometimes that just becomes ignoring what the body is asking for.

Food isn’t separate from training. It is training.

Once I understood that, things started to change. Not just performance, but how I felt in my own body. The difference was obvious: when I fueled properly, I wasn’t fighting myself anymore—I was working with myself.

That shift matters. Athletes who fuel well stay healthier. Healthier athletes are more consistent. And consistency is what actually leads to better performance over time.

It sounds simple. It just took me a long time to learn.