Confessions of a Workoutaholic

I have a serious problem. I know the title sounds funny, but it is true.  I am addicted to working out.  I am addicted to the adrenaline rush.  I am addicted to the feeling of empowerment and being in control.  I am addicted to the way my body feels after I have pushed it to the limit.





It started off innocently enough.  As I was running my "hell bound race" I racked up plenty of bad decisions, too many to count actually. I used to cope with these decisions, the consequences, and in turn the enormous regret, shame, and guild through alcohol and an "I don't give a damn" attitude.  I justified my actions by claiming that I was living "young, wild, and free," living the young American dream.  I was in charge of myself, no one could tell me what to do, and I told myself I didn't care what they thought anyway.  With every bottle of Jack came more regret, every next day the promise to myself to be better always ended up in failure.

The "young, wild, and free" myth was running its course, I was getting older and society's expectations of me were changing. I was supposed to seamlessly transition to having it all together, to pick up all the pieces of where I left off at being "perfect" before the crazy days.  The problem was I had a heaping amount of memories that tortured my conscious. Alcohol could only dim the pain for so long.  I needed a new fix, a new way to justify myself and feel like I was worth something.

One fitness article led to another, one health book led to another, one documentary led to another.  One hour of working out per day, turned into two, then three, then doubles.  I started counting calories, calculating macro and micronutrients.  I bought supplements, fat burners, and detox kits.  All of the sudden fat became the symbol of my shame.  To me fat represented all of the "out of control" mistakes I made. But I could beat it, I could win.  Just one more rep, one more kilo, one more mile, one more fitness class.  Just another minute, make that thirty minutes.  I could win the fat war.  I could get the perfect body, because I knew that when I did I would overcome my shame, I would be perfect.  The perfection on the outside would cleanse the ugliness on the inside.

I was relentlessly determined.  I would look in the mirror, agonizing over my dimples and curves.  Any softness to me represented a lack of will, laziness. I would look in the mirror and despise myself so much I would make myself sick.  Meal time was always a test of the will.  Could I make it? Could I prevail over my cravings?  I kept a running account in my mind of the food I ate and how I would make up for it.  Eat a cupcake, ok.  I can fix that, I will just run sprints after the workout.  Have a salad with some dressing on it, ok.  No big deal, I can make up for it by doing 50 sit-ups during my rest time in a workout.  Eat a banana, ok.  It has 32 calories, I bet I can pay for that by doing 10 sets of 10 back squats. Problem solved.

But I kept looking in the mirror, scrutinizing, criticizing. I was always so close, but never quite there. Perfection was just out of reach.  As hard as I tried I couldn't erase all the fat.  I couldn't be void of shame.  In these moments when I had this realization, my world fell apart.  Panic would set in deep to my core.  Every part of my being hated myself.  I didn't measure up.  I didn't have what it took to cleanse myself.  In a frenzied state I would push myself until I had nothing left to give.  I told myself, have patience, you will make it.  Tomorrow is another day.  You can work out twice as hard tomorrow.  Just keep going.  Just keep pushing.  Prove yourself.  Never admit defeat.  I would pour over Pinterest pictures, fitness quotes....and I was the biggest hypocrite you could ever meet.

While I was slowly wasting away inside, I preached women's empowerment.  I told women they shouldn't look at the ads, they should be happy with being healthy no matter what it looked like.  I proclaimed war against pop culture and advertisements.  I blamed society. I was infuriated when I read stories of women and body image issues.  I poured over research on eating disorders and body image problems, I became an expert.  I even decided to write a thesis about it. It was my protection about anyone finding out about my deep dark secret.  No one would question my lifestyle, no one would suspect that I was suffering from the very thing I was preaching against.  Besides, being healthy and working out is good right?  How could it be a bad thing?

Then I met Jesus.

He saved me.  I was running a "hell bound race" and Jesus Christ saved me from death, condemnation, and the wrath I surely deserved.  He set me free.

But I didn't fully believe him at first.  How could Jesus, the Son of God, the ONLY perfect person love me?  I was unworthy of his love.  I had to earn it.  I didn't trust that he forgave all of my sins.  I still wanted to take care of myself, atone for my own sins. Make up for my own mistakes.

So I continued in my quest of perfection.  Working out was my way of feeling secure, it was my way of feeling worthy.  Memories of the past would surface and replay again and again in my mind, my solution was to work out.  The feeling of being strong, of being powerful, the knowledge of what the workout was going to do to my physical body - it was addicting.  I would compare myself to other women, I would covet what they had.

But I had a problem, I was becoming aware that this was sinful.  I didn't want to admit it, in fact I didn't for a very long time.  I told God this was an area that He couldn't touch, working out was off-limits.  Sure He could ask me to do anything else, and He did.  He asked me to give up alcohol for awhile so I could get healing in that area, so I gave up alcohol, every last drop of it, for a year and that was great.  He asked me to read the Bible more, pray more, so I did and it was great.  He asked me to be committed to His church, so I did and it was great. But there was one thing that I was deaf to, I would not listen.  Working out was mine!  I deserved it!  I worked so hard for it!  My life would be shattered without it!  How could I matter without it?  How could I be in control without it? .....How could anyone love me without it?

But He loves me, more ferociously than I will ever be able to comprehend.  And He is patient and merciful and full of love.  He started chipping away at the idol it had become and false security that it represented, in very small doses.  He gave me so much grace, completely undeserved.  At times He would reveal to me that I had a problem: "Anorexia Athletica" as they call it in the psychological world.  I would pray about it, cry and ask for His help.  But I wasn't willing to give it up.  I wasn't willing to take the risk to fully trust Him with everything. So I justified, rationalized, compensated, you name it.  My relationship with God suffered.  There was something that divided us, I knew what it was but I denied it.  I loved something more than I loved Him.

True, God is patient.  But God is also jealous, in the most perfect way.  He was jealous for my affection and devotion.  So He poured His grace on me.  He gave me the strength to give him working out...to a certain extent.  I committed to no more two a days, no more extra sets, nothing more than the workout of the day.  I went from approximately 25 hours of working out per week to about 5.  It was hard. Very hard. At first I felt like I was being punished for something that I did wrong.  Then I realized that is not how God works.  He is not a God of retribution and punishment, He is a God of grace.  I knew it was for my own good.  For awhile I was doing really well.  But then it started to creep back.  All I could think about was how I perceived that my body was disintegrating.  I was getting soft and weak.  My numbers slowly declined over the weeks.  Where I had placed my identity and pride was slowly slipping through my fingers.  I began noticing everyone around me with a new intensity.  "Wow, her legs are amazing" "her arms are so toned" "That shirt fits perfectly over her stomach"... I started looking in the mirror every chance I got. Comparing and criticizing.  I never once did an extra rep, God gave me the strength to resist that temptation.  So technically I was not physically doing anything outside of what I committed to God.  But my heart was off.

In the Sermon on the Mount Jesus tells the crowd that if you lust after a woman you are committing adultery in your heart, and if you are angry than you are committing murder.  You see, I had a heart issue.  I wasn't doing anything that was inherently wrong. Eating healthy isn't inherently wrong.  Working out isn't inherently wrong.  Working towards goals isn't inherently wrong.  However, my heart was wrong.  And because my heart was wrong, it made everything I was doing wrong.  My body was my idol, a false god.  That feeling, that high from working out. That feeling of self-righteousness from eating healthy.  All false gods, with empty promises, and full of condemnation and death.

Guess what.  God has given me the grace to give it to him, not to a certain extent like before, but completely.  He has revealed my heart, and He has given me a way out.  The way out, the way to freedom is Jesus.  Jesus is my identity. Jesus is the center of my heart.  In Him I am complete, I am perfect. Apart from Him I am nothing. I am harassed and helpless.  In Him I am cherished, loved, justified, fulfilled in every way, and full of joy.  You see, I thought I was in control.  But in reality I was a slave.  It is only through His grace that I have been set free.

I once was lost in darkest night
Yet thought I knew the way
The sin that promised joy and life
Had led me to the grave
I had no hope that You would own
A rebel to Your will
And if You had not loved me first
I would refuse You still

Hallelujah, all I have is Christ
Hallelujah, Jesus is my life

But as I ran my hell-bound race
Indifferent to the cost
You looked upon my helpless state
And led me to the cross
And I beheld God's love displayed
You suffered in my place
You bore the wrath reserved for me
Now all I know is grace

Hallelujah! All I have is Christ
Hallelujah! Jesus is my life

Now, Lord, I would be Yours alone
And live so all might see
The strength to follow Your commands
Could never come from me
Oh Father, use my ransomed life
In any way You choose
And let my song forever be
My only boast is You

(2008 Sovereign Grace Praise)

I don't have it all figured out.  I know I will have hard days and good days.  I know there are many other things that I need to trust Jesus with.
But the one thing I know above all else is that Jesus will be with me every single step of the way.