Paul McNamara
The idea that a man may suffer from an eating disorder has always been taboo. After all, isn’t it the preserve of stick-thin young girls and size zero debates? A common misconception and one I certainly held, until early in 2009 when I went to my GP and told her what constituted a normal day for me.
I trained for marathons in 2002 and 2004. By 2004, what had been a pleasurable hobby had become an exercise obsession and I was starting to display symptoms of an eating disorder.
At school, I was unhappy – insecure and lacking confidence. There were ‘harmless’ jibes about my size during college years when I was a healthy weight. In 2003, I took a six week break in Australia which I was desperate to return from not having gained weight. The first comment I heard from a friend on my return was ‘bloody hell, it’s Posh Spice!’ I wasn’t deflated – the discipline I had shown to attain my target made me feel superior. Friends moved on, married, had children and careers. But I was better than everybody else at living a highly disciplined life with the sole purpose of driving my weight down.
Anorexia was now my friend, my comfort. I didn’t need anything else.
I would wake up early, put my running clothes on, eat half a banana or two mouthfuls of flapjack and run for two hours. No less.
Once back home, I would exercise for an hour before a shower and treat time – a big bowl of cereal followed by fresh coffee. Then the guilt sets in. Back to more exercise, then may be a couple of Ryvita crackers with peanut butter, but mostly, raw carrots.
By dinnertime I’d be famished. The first five minutes of eating would be enjoyable. Every mouthful thereafter was something to be worked off. The rest of the evening would be miserable, feeling fat and desperate to ‘run off’ dinner the next morning, to have the hunger back and earn that cereal and coffee.
You’ll notice the absence of a job in this routine. Work has been unsuccessful since I last held down a full time job. I have an accountancy degree and qualifications. At work, I would become increasingly anxious and hungry as I planned my exercise routine while avoiding eating too much – why on earth should I be hungry when I’ve just been sitting at a desk!
The winter of 2008–09 was particularly cold. Two hour daily runs in that weather with a malnourished body were pushing me ever closer to my breaking point. Many times I was close to giving up and returning home but the anxiety of needing to ‘run off’ my food kept winning.
The day it didn’t was the start of a very slow recovery. I was back home in twenty minutes, exhausted. My Mum was stunned. I was used to lying, forever presenting my running and my eating foibles as a healthy pursuit. It was time to be honest. I became increasingly open about what was happening to me and how long it had been going on. The relief! My parents could now understand why their son couldn’t commit to any job, contributed little to the expense of living at home and seemed peculiarly obsessed with exercise and food.
I had contacted the eating disorders charity B-eat in 2007, for the first time admitting to myself I may have a problem. The reply sympathised and said it was clear I was “entrenched within an eating disorder.” They advised seeing my GP. I was not ready and continued unsuccessfully to pursue change in my own misguided way.
When I did finally walk into the Surgery I was full of nerves. Once I started talking I couldn’t stop. I’ll never forget the Doctor’s initial response: “If a 16 year old girl walked in and told me the same thing that you have, I’d have no hesitation in diagnosing her with anorexia nervosa.” It fascinated me that she was hesitant purely because of my sex. I left with my diagnosis, a referral to an NHS mental health practitioner and a prescription for anti-depressants.
After an official diagnosis at an eating disorders clinic, I entered a day treatment programme as an outpatient. I was, and still am, the only man to have been treated on this specific programme. Others, staff and my fellow outpatients, did think this may be an issue for me. I have never felt any stigma as a male anorexia sufferer. I have felt shattered, low, frustrated and angry – not because I’m a man, but because I suffer from this horrible illness.
I finished my time on the programme in November 2009. On 9th November, I ran for what I hope will be the last time. As the days went by and a new habit was ingrained, not running has become easier, and an overwhelming relief.
My progress continued until my weight reached 59.9kg for the first time in five years. This provoked panic and anxiety. Food became a greater issue again. Instead of being a healthy exercise, walking was replacing running as my new obsession.
I couldn’t regain the mental strength to fight the illness until August 2010. I have now, with help, planned in detail how I will spend my time and what I will eat each day, and followed this routine to date. My weight has passed 60kg and I didn’t panic and retreat into old behaviours.
When I first told my closest friend, I was riven by nerves, but finally I could explain my erratic behaviour: why I had almost become a recluse; why I was withdrawn and desperate to get home when I did go out. Our friendship is now stronger than ever.
As I accepted my illness I became happier to trust others would accept it too, and have told more people. Reactions have been, without exception, positive. So many behaviours explained. No one showed surprise at the exercise addiction element. The word ‘anorexia’ did cause some shock, but seemed more to do with hearing this word linked to somebody they thought they knew well, and not because I’m a man.
Writing this article has been a cathartic experience. I hope it has highlighted how this illness can affect anybody, most definitely of either sex.
I hope to pursue my writing, qualify as a football coach, and begin working my way back to a structured, ‘normal’ life doing things I genuinely love.
In the short term, it’s time for a banana, a couple of biscuits and making sure my afternoon walk doesn’t go beyond 40 minutes. Every day of successfully achieving these short term aims is a step closer to saying goodbye to a friend I no longer need and bringing back the real me.
Paul McNamara is a sports fanatic with a passion for writing, and is rediscovering life after anorexia.
This story first appeared in the January/February 2011 edition of Open Mind.