American East Conference

AE Voices: I Am Beautiful - Maddy Brogan

11/21/2019 9:00:00 AM

AE Voices is space for America East Conference student-athletes, coaches and administrators to share their personal stories in their own words. This feature is sponsored by America East’s #BetterTo9ether initiative, which aims to help create more mentally healthy environments for AE student-athletes.

Read past AE Voices features

I Am Beautiful
By: Maddy Brogan, UAlbany

Patrick Henry once stated, “Give Me Liberty or Give Me Death”. Undoubtedly, this refers to the revolutionary cry for liberation from repressive outside forces. A more befitting interpretation for me, though, would imply a deliverance from the abusively restrictive nature of myself. 
 
The downward spiral was fast and fierce. It was the fall of seventh grade and with each passing day I drew increasingly within. My peers were waging a battle for sameness, and I stood confused, an all-too-conscientious objector. My subconscious need to fit in continually conflicted with my disgust of the "ideal" person I seemingly had to become to do that. Analytically, I was far advanced; emotionally, I was the runt. My world felt out of my control and I searched for something that did not exist. Months passed, my parents dragged me to the doctor, and the words were finally spoken aloud: anorexia nervosa. 
 
During one of the most rapid growth periods of my life, I was shutting my body down. With each passing day I decreased my food intake to the point where I ate no more than 500 calories a day— the equivalent of a small banana, a dry piece of toast and a minuscule dinner. My parents were terrified but determined to help me overcome the disorder. In a plea for magic, my parents and doctor threatened to send me to an inpatient treatment facility. The hope was that the sudden and all too real future would snap me out of it. The scheme faltered and I remained a wasted, frantically weak sack of bones whose emotional fragility embarrassed even the little bit of herself that remained. My body had surrendered a third of its original (and never excessive) weight, and my psyche had relinquished even more. Without fear of over-exaggeration, my state was horrific -- I could not even cognize what it would be like to be better. Doctors insisted I be hospitalized for fear that I would “not wake up one morning.”
 
That night as I got ready for bed, I found a letter my mom had written laying on my pillow. The crisp envelope felt heavy in my hands as I gently unsealed it. What was inside changed my life and gave me the motivation to work towards recovery. My mom expressed her deepest love for me and how she believed I could overcome this disorder, saying that “with great pain comes great strength.” For the first time in months, I no longer felt alone. Someone—one of the most important people in my life—believed in me and knew what I was going through. I knew it wasn’t going to be easy, but I was ready to change my life for the better.
 
 
To say that the following period was plagued with failures is an understatement. I do not know if I will ever engage in a more difficult or perverted battle in my life. To actively fight oneself is insidious business—resulting in two relapses. At all times I betrayed part of myself, causing emotional endurance to be nearly impossible to regain. I had to quadruple any willpower I had used in starving myself to now replenish my body. 
 
From where did this willpower come? My desire to run.
 
The last three years of high school I felt like my old self again. I was happy. I was healthy. And I was running again. It became my release, a time I could let go and just be me. While I listened to the repetition of my feet hitting the pavement, I contemplated life and imagined the future I was going to have. It also provided me with friendships that will last a lifetime. I smiled more, laughed more, and just enjoyed life. Running kept me sane. It saved my life.

I knew I was never going to be a top runner. I switched to distance my junior year, and to put it simply, I sucked. I could barely keep up with my teammates and I was exhausted after running two miles. But I didn’t give up. I worked hard every day and eventually it paid off—I became average at best. So, I set a new goal: to be the best I could be. That best was a 15^th place finish in the cross-country sectional meet and sectional qualifying times in the 3k for indoor and the steeplechase for outdoor my senior year, and I couldn’t have been happier. Just three years earlier I was knocking on the door of death and now, I was running in sectional championships. It was the perfect end to my competitive running career.
 
I was excited and ready to start a new chapter in my life. I chose to attend the University at Albany as a member of the Honors College where I made new friends, and even participated in intermural soccer. I was having the time of my life, but I couldn’t shake the feeling that a part of me was missing—competitive running and being part of a team.
 
Knowing that I didn’t have the credentials and that it was a long shot I emailed the head cross country coach, Matt Jones. I sent him my race times from high school and expressed my desire to join the team… and received no response (I now know he’s not the best at responding to emails). So, I emailed again…and again… and again. Finally, I received a response asking me to meet with him. Again, I knew my chances were slim, but I couldn’t have been more excited.
 
When I met Coach Jones the first thing he said to me was, “Well, I must admit you are persistent.” I found that ironic considering persistence and determination is what had gotten me through one of the hardest parts of my life. We sat down and he pulled up my email containing my high school times and plainly said that based on these I wouldn’t meet the team standards. So, and I’m still not proud of this, I lied. I said I had run a Thanksgiving 5k in my hometown over the break and had run 18:45. After hearing this he pulled up the previous year’s conference meet 10k results and saw that I would have had a chance at placing.
 
He then introduced me to Coach Vives, the head track and field coach, and they offered me a spot on the team. My heart pounded as happiness filled my chest. I walked out of the office feeling on top of the world. When I got back to my room, I called my mom to tell her the news. Together we cried over the phone as I felt proud of myself for the first time in almost five years.
 
I didn’t start training until the beginning of the second semester and to say I was nervous is an understatement. I didn’t know how I would do compared to everyone else on the team or even if they would welcome me. But from that first day I knew that these thoughts would not be an issue. Every single person welcomed me with open arms, and I did well in the first workout. Once again, I felt like I was on top of the world and that nothing could bring me down.
 
However, life isn’t a linear line to the top. As my training continued, I began to slowly increase my mileage—which I expected to have to do. But I took it to the extreme. I noticed that all the top girls on the team were running roughly 55-65 miles a week and I wanted to do as well as them. So, by the end of the indoor season, I was running approximately 60 miles a week. I felt great in the beginning, but I ignored the fact that I had to increase my calorie intake with the increase in exercise. As a result, I lost nearly 15 pounds and began to spiral back into my anorexic habits.

At this point I knew I couldn’t continue running. I finally told Coach Jones about my history and what was going on, completely expecting him to tell me that if I couldn’t handle DI running then I should reconsider being a part of the team. Instead, he gave me a hug. I will forever treasure that moment because for the first time, I felt someone cared about me for me, and didn’t see me as “the girl with the eating disorder.” He told me that we can do whatever I need, he just wanted me to be healthy.
 
The following fall when we returned to campus, I had put on a few pounds over the summer (still not nearly where I should have been) and I felt amazing. I was killing every workout. I felt like I could do rep after rep after rep. After about two weeks, I started have slight knee pain but nothing I couldn’t run through. However, a week after our first meet I developed achilles tendinitis from compensating and was put in a walking boot for 6 weeks. I didn’t let this stop me. I cross trained my heart out and when I was finally cleared and began workouts again, I found I was still able to keep up with most of the girls.
 
After a few weeks of training it came time for the America East Cross Country Championship and Coach Jones informed me I would be our #10 girl. I was ecstatic. I distinctly remember standing on the start line, rain falling, wind gusting, and the cool air stinging my lungs. But I didn’t care. I was here and that’s all that mattered.
 
Once I crossed the finish line, I found my team and we all started to piece together how the race went. As we all figured out places, we soon realized that we had a chance of winning. As we all stood inside putting on dry clothes Coach Vives gathered us together and congratulated us on being UAlbany’s first women’s cross country team to win the conference championship. We erupted in cheers, tears, and utter happiness. I will cherish that moment not only because I can say I was apart of school history, but because we did it as a team.
 
The next two months consisted of uninterrupted training for the indoor season. When the first meet came along, I honestly had no clue how I would do. I was entered in the 5k and my personal best in that event was 19:20—so my goal was to run 19:10. As the race progressed, I felt great. With each lap my confidence was building and when I crossed the finish line I saw a time of 18:56. I never imagined I could ever run that time. Then the following race, I ran 18:46. I couldn’t be prouder of myself and how far I had come.
 
This all came to a crashing halt a few weeks later during a tempo workout. I was on my fourth mile of tempo when I took one step and sheer pain filled my groin. I immediately stopped, thinking I pulled my upper hamstring. The next few weeks were the most painful in my life. Walking, sitting, and even laying down was filled with discomfort and every morning and night I had to lay my head on my bed and will myself to put on pants because it caused excruciating pain. Finally, I went to the doctor to discover that I had a pelvic stress fracture, ending my indoor and outdoor season.
 
The next few months were a real mental challenge. I had to fight every day to not restrict my calories because I wasn’t running. I knew that this injury was directly related to my eating disorder, not my training. After so many years of damaging my body, my bones were weak, and I didn’t have the muscle/fat to absorb the impact of running so my bones were taking all the force until they finally broke down. I had to use this logic every day as I battled my mental demons. I’m the first to admit that there were times were I mentally couldn’t take it and gave in, but I didn’t let that deter me, so I treated each day like a new opportunity to better myself.
 
I put on a brave face, but within I was constantly crying, yelling, and just mad at the world. I felt like the world was constantly saying “F*** you, Maddy!” and that I would never catch a break. This disorder had controlled my life for the past 8 years and it felt like I would never be able to escape its grasps. It had taken so much from me and caused the I people I love pain. I had to make a decision: overcome it or be ruled by it.
 
That summer I focused more on myself than I ever have. I focused on strength training to build muscle, gaining weight, and slowly getting back into running. It was a lot harder than I imagined. I was frustrated because I kept having minor setbacks while trying to run again and mentally drained from constantly fighting my inner self as I worked to put weight on. There were several times when I wanted to quit running and trying to overcome my eating disorder. But each time I pushed forward.
 
I returned to campus for my junior/senior year and the cross country season, feeling good and 10 pounds heavier (while still working on putting on weight). I was filled with nerves and dread for the first workout because the last one I had done resulted in my injury. It went better than I had expected, and I finally felt like my old self. However, this soon came crashing down when the university’s health center took away my clearance because they said they would not monitor my weight as my home doctor had asked them to. Instead they gave me a brochure and contact information for an outpatient eating disorder clinic in Albany. I left the health center sobbing and asking myself why I could never escape my past. The next two weeks I was not able to practice with the team while the trainers and my coach tried to figure out a solution.
 
During that time, I was an emotional mess. I put on a brave face during the day when I was around my teammates and peers to only breakdown the moment I got to my room where I ultimately cried myself to sleep each night. I felt like I couldn’t breathe. Ultimately, I had to go back on anxiety medication I had taken previously.
 
In time the issue was resolved, but my psyche was damaged. As I got back into training with the team, I began to feel like my self again. It finally came time for my first race since my injury nearly 9 months prior. I ran 22:25, the slowest 5k I had run in my entire life, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t care what time the clock said, I just wanted to be able to race again. Two weeks later I ran my first 6k at the Paul Short Invitational where I came in last place with a time of 25:20. Again, I could care less about the time or placement. I just wanted to run.
 
While I always have a time goal, I now don’t focus on the numbers or the outcome. Instead I focus on the fact that I’ve overcome so many obstacles and never given up. Each day is a gift that I didn’t think I would be around to see. Each day I can not only race, but run is a gift that I will never take for granted. Without the support from my family, friends, and coaches I can say for a fact that I would not be alive today. Each and every one of them is a small part of why I chose to live, and I could never the extent of my appreciation to them.

Yes, I will be shot down, time and time again, but wounds heal stronger than before. Darkness is an essential step in true enlightenment. 
 
I was bloodied. I was bloodied by my peers and I was bloodied by myself. From the twisted depths of helplessness, though, I have soared to individually unprecedented heights. I have opened myself up and found that I have the ability to be the very person I dream of being. I am not perfect by any, but I am where I want to be in my mental, emotional, and (not to be forgotten) physical development. 
 
I hold myself to high standards and knowing that I was comparing myself to other people made me feel less beautiful. It made me less confident and it led me down the road of self-destruction. My mind was filled with what I could be rather than what I am doing now.
 
Nothing in this life will be easy, I will cry, laugh, scream and be silent. What I do to get over that wall is what defines me. There’s more than one way over a wall.
 
After hard times one learns what it means to love oneself whole heartedly and how important it is to look in the mirror and say to yourself, “You are beautiful.”
 
Thinking positive thoughts enhances self-love and confidence. Thoughts of comparing myself to others resulted in me feeling less confident. I stepped away from the mirror and did things that made me feel beautiful and competent.
 
I learned to practice positive thinking and start doing things that made me feel like I was enough. Those who think they can change the world, probably will be the ones to do it. So, I put the scale away and appreciate what’s here, right now, in front of me.
 
There’s nothing better than maturing and knowing that I am enough. All that I have is what God gave me. Nothing more and nothing less.
 
More than any other achievement in my life, I am proud of this one. The chemical deficiency that led to this devastating, psychological disease was out of my control; power that was used to beat it was not. What underlying, overriding lesson has enlightened me, then? Simplistically speaking, I suppose the expression "Live Free or Die" fits. A more personally appropriate way of stating it, though, is this: 

If I live free, I fly.


Maddy Brogan is a junior women's cross country and track & field student-athlete at UAlbany. She carries a 3.80 GPA majoring in public health with a chemistry minor.
 

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If you, or someone you know, is battling anxiety or depression and in need of someone to talk to, The Lifeline provides 24/7, free and confidential support for people in distress, prevention and crisis resources for you or your loved ones by calling 1-800-273-8255. 

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Are you a current or former America East student-athlete, coach or administrator interested in sharing your own story as part of the AE Voices series? Contact America East Associate Commissioner Sean Tainsh (tainsh@americaeast.com).