Redefining Strengths: My Journey With REDs 

Redefining Strengths: My Journey With REDs 

By Ambassador, Abigail Loe  

I stare at the racing bibs lined up beside my bed. They’re supposed to represent progress and hard work, but when I look at them, I don’t feel proud. Instead, I replay what went wrong in each race and what I could have done better. I think about the times I fell off pace or lost focus when it mattered most. The memories attached to those bibs feel heavier than the accomplishments. I felt slow, tired, and burned out. 

When I first started running in middle school, it was simple. I didn’t worry about splits, times, or how I compared to other runners. I liked being outside, being part of a team, and pushing myself in a way that felt exciting. Practices were something I looked forward to after school, not something I stressed about all day. Races felt like opportunities, not tests of whether I was good enough. I wasn’t overthinking every detail of my performance or my body. I just ran because I wanted to. At the time, I didn’t realize I could lose that sense of freedom. 

As I got older, expectations began to build, both from others and from myself. Taking running more seriously seemed positive at first, but that seriousness gradually turned into pressure that followed me into every practice and race. I became focused on always doing harder workouts and pushing through fatigue. At the same time, I wasn’t giving my body what it needed to keep up. I wasn’t eating enough, and I wasn’t allowing myself to rest properly. I told myself that was discipline, even though it was doing more harm than good. Looking back, that was when things started to go wrong. 

My body made the consequences clear. Runs that used to feel manageable became harder, even at the same effort. I dealt with constant soreness that never fully went away, along with injuries that kept interrupting my training."

Even then, I rushed back before I had fully recovered because I was afraid of losing progress. I also lost my menstrual cycle, which I didn’t question at the time because I thought it was normal for serious athletes. In reality, it was a sign that my body was under too much stress. I ignored those warnings because I believed pushing through them would make me better. 

I came to believe that becoming a stronger runner required sacrificing parts of my health. I thought that if I were more controlled, more disciplined, and even lighter, I would finally improve. Instead, that mindset led me toward disordered eating and constant anxiety around training and performance. Then in I kept trying to solve the problem by working harder, which only made it worse. It became a cycle that was difficult to break, and I didn’t realize how far I had moved from a healthy relationship with the sport. 

During my senior year of high school, I learned about Relative Energy Deficiency in Sport, or REDs. Suddenly, everything I had been experiencing started to make sense. The injuries, the fatigue, and the loss of my menstrual cycle were all tied to not fueling my body enough for the work I was asking it to do. That understanding gave me a new perspective. The problem wasn’t that I lacked effort; it was that I lacked balance. Accepting that was difficult, but it was necessary. It gave me a reason to start changing instead of repeating the same harmful patterns. 

With the help of counseling, I began rebuilding my habits in a healthier way. I focused on eating enough, resting properly, and paying attention to how I felt during training. At first, those changes were uncomfortable because they challenged everything I had taught myself to believe. Slowing down felt like losing progress, and eating more felt like giving up control. Over time, though, I saw real improvement. I became stronger, more consistent, and better able to handle mileage without getting injured. My runs started to feel smoother and more manageable again. For the first time in a long time, I was supporting my body instead of fighting it. 

The biggest change wasn’t just physical. It was how I felt about running. I started to enjoy it again in a way I hadn’t in years. I stopped constantly comparing myself to other runners and focusing only on outcomes. I paid more attention to what my body needed and how I could stay healthy long term. Running became something I could appreciate again instead of something that drained me. That shift changed both my performance and my mindset. It reminded me why I started in the first place and showed me that improvement does not have to come at the expense of health. 

Now, as a freshman in college, I see how common these struggles are among athletes. There is still a strong belief that being a better runner means looking a certain way or pushing through every warning sign. Many athletes assume that losing their menstrual cycle or constantly feeling exhausted is simply part of the sport. I’ve seen teammates and friends struggle with injuries and stress because of those expectations. Some have stepped away from running completely because of it. 

My experience with REDs has shaped what I want to do in the future. At Longwood University, I plan to study nursing and psychology so I can better understand both the physical and mental sides of this issue. I want to help other athletes recognize the warning signs early and avoid going through the same cycle. I also want to help change the way people think about what it means to be a strong athlete. For me, being a better runner is no longer about fitting into a certain stereotype. It is about taking care of my body so I can continue doing the sport I care about.