The Darkside Of BodyBuilding

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I stepped out onto the stage, the hot overhead lights showcasing every inch of my body. Each muscle indent, vein and carefully chiselled ab was on show, thanks to a clever mix of heavily layered fake tan and dehydration, which ensured that all the months of hard work training for an amateur bodybuilding competition would be clear to the judges in front of me. The audience was a sea of darkness, but I could feel their scrutinising gaze on my skin. I sucked in my already pancake-flat stomach and turned. I knew all the poses; I’d been practising them in front of my bedroom mirror daily. I smiled. I waited for the rush of elation that I’d been promised – that thunderbolt of power and confidence – yet nothing came. I’d wanted to feel strong. Instead, alone backstage, the only thing I felt was failure. In that moment, four years of compacted issues around food crystallised, hardening inside me like a rock.

WHEN I FIRST DISCOVERED THE BODYBUILDING community I thought it was my salvation. I was 18 and had just been discharged as a Priory clinic outpatient after a long battle with anorexia. My BMI was back within the “healthy” range, so everyone assumed that I had recovered. But I still worried that when people looked at me, they could tell I’d been unwell. I thought if I bulked myself up it would be a way to further convince my friends and family that I was strong, not dancing with-death skinny.