Pieces of the Puzzle

Food has always been there. From late night study sessions to early morning ice hockey practices, food was the singular thing that was always there. It was always the one thing that was held constant throughout my chaotic life. My diet helped me to fit into the puzzle of my community. Food was part of my culture—my culture as an athlete. My whole life was never all about sports; at least that’s what I thought. Never did I think my life was all about food either. Food and sports were both things I took for granted. It is only in hindsight that I realized my whole lifestyle and diet was sports oriented.

What makes a team great isn’t always the talent. It’s the chemistry. It’s the pregame pasta parties, the constant intake of energy bars and protein shakes, and the celebratory dinners. When you’re burning thousands of calories a day, food is fuel, not something to fear. My entire life, I have always been able to eat whatever I liked without having to worry. I never sweated the extra cupcake or the three bowls of pasta because I knew that as an athlete, I would burn it off.  I always used to pride myself in being the one to always eat the most amongst my school friends. I would secretly indulge in the pleasure of being able to eat all the junk food and carbs I wanted without compromising my health.

This all changed when I lost everything I had taken for granted. I went from being “Nicole, the hockey star” to “Nicole, the gimpy girl in the sling.” I never could have imagined that my dislocated shoulder would mark the start of my battle with food. Food was my friend, now turned enemy. There was nothing better than enjoying all my favorite foods, knowing I would be exercising later. I no longer have that luxury. These days, food is all I can think about. Food was my addiction, and now I’m facing the side effects. It is not that I crave eating large amounts, but I do crave the freedom of not worrying about my weight.

            My injury has caused my body to change, but the culture I’ve always known has not. The people around me have not changed. It kills me having to go to a pasta party and watch the rest of my team eat bowls and bowls of pasta in preparation for the game—the game I will not be playing in.  It is unreasonable for me expect my peers and teammates to adjust to my new lifestyle, yet, deep down, I still hope that they will. It is a selfish desire, I know, but change is hard. I am the piece that no longer fits to the rest of their puzzle. Food is no longer the constant in which I can rely on. Instead, it is time to strike a new balance in my life. It is time to restructure my puzzle piece.