"Balance, Variety, Moderation."
“My mom was and still is my biggest support and hero in my life. In the midst of her fighting and struggling with how to help me find the proper professional support, she wrote on a piece of lined paper "balance, variety, moderation." I still have that piece of paper 11 years later which is crazy, but in some ways I think that was a start of entertaining the idea that someday I would want that in my life and be "better" or have a "normal" relationship with my body in regards to control- but mostly mentally rather than physically. At first I started addressing this piece of paper in regards to food, then exercise and then as I got older I thought about social life, sleep, work, partying etc. It is 3 words that are far too simple for some to probably believe, but for me it’s a little reminder, or piece of hope."
Words by Natalie to finish off your "Running On Empty" story.
To Be Her...
Natalie turned to the scrapbook. Here was a picture of Jessica Alba, a Roxy bikini ad, and a Sports Illustrated photo of Olympic runner, Marian Jones. “That was my goal.” She said, “To be her. The strongest least feminine athlete, and pure muscle.” Next to her objective was a poem and a handful of photos of Natalie crossing the finish after winning a number of races. One year after Natalie created her scrapbook, Marian Jones would admit to steroid use and return all 5 Medals to the Olympic committee.
From the "Running On Empty" story.
Running On Empty: CONFIDENTIAL
In her hand Natalie held a file that read “CONFIDENTIAL” with three asterisks flanking each side of the bold lettering, indicating it’s weight. Below it read “Children's & Women's Health Centre Of British Columbia” She continued reading out loud, the notes the Nurse Clinician had written her ten years ago when she was first enlisted into the Youth Health Program.
From the "Running On Empty" story.
It's late afternoon and we stumble into an empty warehouse bar. We grab a beer and watch the dust particles dance as we move further inside. I recognize the song and tell the bar-back to turn it up until I can't recognize it anymore. We shyly pretend to dance. I want this buzz to keep going. The fringe of her dress trips her so the sun moves to catch her. She's on the hardwood floor with her blouse pulled down, and laughing. The stairs above her are lit, but I won't go.
