Running was my first love and, if I’m being honest, one of my earliest sources of confidence and validation. I was good at it, and I loved the feeling of competing. I ran throughout junior high and high school, and when it came time for college, I knew I wanted to continue running, so I joined the track team.
When I started college, I chose to major in Exercise Science. I wasn’t exactly sure what I
wanted to do with my degree, but I figured, “I like exercise, so this seems like a good place to start.”
Everything changed during my junior year when I took my first nutrition class. I was fascinated by how food could influence performance, recovery, health, and overall well-being. I fell in love with nutrition and eventually went on to earn my Master’s degree in Nutrition.
After college, I continued pursuing endurance sports and eventually completed an Ironman in 2012.
At the time, I thought I was doing everything right. I trained hard, ate what I believed was
a healthy diet, and checked all the boxes.
But after the Ironman, I found myself dealing with a series of injuries that made it difficult to
continue training at the level I wanted. As I reflected on my training and nutrition, I realized
something important: I had been underfueling for much of my athletic career.
Not intentionally—I simply didn’t understand how much energy my body actually needed to
support the training I was doing.
That realization led to an even bigger one. I finally came to terms with the fact that I had been
struggling with disordered eating patterns for years. Many athletes become very good at
normalizing restrictive eating habits because they’re often praised as discipline, commitment, or
dedication.
As I worked through that season of my life, I realized that I had tied much of my self-worth and
self-esteem to my athletic accomplishments and my appearance. If I was running well, I felt
good about myself. If I wasn’t, I struggled. My identity had become wrapped up in what I did
rather than who I was.
One of the most important lessons I learned was that my value doesn’t come from a finish time,
a race result, a number on a scale, or how I look.
That shift changed everything.
I learned that there’s a big difference between chasing performance or appearance for validation
and pursuing health, strength, and excellence from a place of purpose and gratitude.
Those experiences changed not only how I approached my own nutrition but ultimately shaped
the work I do today. I help runners and endurance athletes fuel properly, perform at their best,
and develop a healthier relationship with food, exercise, and themselves.
Today, I get to help people avoid many of the struggles I experienced and show them that
nutrition is not about perfection. It’s about giving your body what it needs so you can do the
things you love and become the person you’re meant to be.
