Founder Pippa's Story
When I was describing my problem to a doctor ten years ago, even I could admit I sounded insane. I’d spent the best part of a year visiting healthcare professional after healthcare professional, chasing around answers and gaining nothing but frustration. I was willing to work with anyone and do anything it took to fix my problem, but no one could even offer a diagnosis, let alone advice on how to help.
My well-practised appointment pitch went a little like this:
Until recently, I was a 'normal' athlete, full of energy and enthusiasm. Upon starting university life in Birmingham (UK) and seizing a scholarship opportunity in America, I successfully managed high training volumes, achieved my 'race weight,' and embraced the life of the professional runner I wanted to become. From a simple training and conditioning standpoint, nothing seemed suspect—I was a devoted athlete pursuing her goals. However, over the preceding months, a mysterious health condition, characterised by a set of seemingly unrelated symptoms, had infiltrated every aspect of my life.
It had started subtly at first, with the odd cold that took too long to shift; unusually low moods muddled in with homesickness; a growing preoccupation with food disguised as dedication to my sport; and an inconsistent and unfamiliar form of fatigue. It made no sense to me at the time. In the absence of any other abnormal test results, iron deficiency seemed enough to justify the exhaustion, but its inconsistency remained puzzling.
On days when I was too tired to train, anxiety around eating and the fear of gaining weight escalated. I had worked so hard to achieve my 'athletic aesthetic', and I wasn’t willing to let it slip. When I could muster the strength to run, I felt so weak that I pushed myself harder—a response fueled by mounting pressure to perform and the absurd notion that this could all be driven by a lack of fitness.
Every doctor's visit heightened my sense of helplessness, and each round of 'normal' test results deepened my confusion. Since I was taking the Contraceptive Pill, I didn’t identify with an eating disorder, and wasn’t experiencing any bone stress injuries (yet), the Female Athlete Triad was never mentioned. So, despite knowing full well that something just wasn’t right and that this ‘something’ could be serious, I pushed on, continuing to sail miserably under the REDs radar for a few frustrating years to follow.
Fast forward...
Fast forward a few years, and I was finally starting to make sense of my experience. For so long, I had been living, breathing, and barely running as a textbook example of REDs, yet neither I nor anyone around me had ever heard of it. Quite the contrary, I’d been repeatedly reassured by doctors that it was normal for ‘an athlete like me’ not to have periods after coming off the Pill. Who was I to question the experts? So, like a terrifying number of others ‘like me’, I simply stood by to watch my athletic dreams slip away without ever realising what was happening to my body.
When an internet search eventually led me to the information I had needed years earlier, it was via another athlete's story, just like mine. Despite its relatively recent introduction by the International Olympic Committee in 2014 (and later updated in 2023), it became clear that REDs was a widespread issue within the exercising population. As I read page after page of accounts mirroring my condition, I realised I wasn't facing some rare medical phenomenon after all. Instead, it was a terrifyingly common issue shared by countless others of all ages, genders, and abilities worldwide.
In the end, all it had taken was hearing others describe the subtle, yet shattering, symptoms I was facing in order to line up the pieces of my own RED-S puzzle. For years, I had dismissed many symptoms in ignorance or denial, but it turned out, the fatigue wasn’t psychological; the relationship with food wasn’t normal; and the missing menstrual cycle was a critical sign of a larger problem. My body had been running on empty, and the lack of energy was manifesting in ways I didn’t recognise at the time.
Now, I am acutely aware of how many others are in the same situation I was in back then.
I wish I could say that once I had a name for my condition, everything improved immediately. But recovery from REDs wasn’t as simple as identifying the problem. Regaining my period, restoring my energy, and rebuilding my health was a slow process, marked by setbacks and frustration. It took years of trial and error, with guidance from professionals who truly understood REDs and other athletes who had faced the same battle.
I now see how easy it is to fall into the trap of REDs and how common it is for athletes to suffer in silence. It’s not just an issue for elite athletes; it can affect anyone, at any stage of their athletic journey. The most dangerous part, however, is how invisible it can be. How easily the early warning signs are dismissed or overlooked, both by athletes and the medical professionals supporting them.
Talking about REDs is difficult because it feels so isolating, and at the time, something we just want to move on from. For me, the emotional toll was immense. Losing my passion for sport felt like losing a part of my identity, and it took years to fully comprehend the impact it had on my mental health. But what I’ve learned is that silence only allows REDs to thrive. When we keep quiet, the condition stays under the radar, and more athletes fall into the same trap I did.
Today, I’m proud to be part of the conversation around REDs. I want to raise awareness and offer resources, so athletes everywhere can recognise the signs early and seek help before their health and athletic careers are compromised. It’s not just about diagnosing REDs but also promoting a healthier approach to training and competing. We need to understand that sustainable success is built on long-term health, not on pushing our bodies past their limits.
If any part of my story resonates with you, know that you’re not alone. There’s a way forward, and together, by raising awareness, we can make sure athletes don’t have to suffer in silence anymore.
Feel free to reach out, here.