Show notes
You’re listening to Burnt Toast!I’m Virginia Sole-Smith, and today is the one year anniversary of my book Fat Talk: Parenting in the Age of Diet Culture.It both feels like yesterday and an entire lifetime ago. I am so, so beyond proud of the ride this book has had so far. Fat Talk was featured on NPR’s Fresh Air, it was on Good Morning America, I was profiled in The Cut, and went on dozens of different podcasts. The book made the New York Times bestseller list in it’s first week. And it was shouted out by Lucy Wainright Roche at an Indigo Girls concert, which will forever be known as the moment my career definitively peaked.But much more crucially than all of that, I continue to hear every single week from new readers who have connected with the book and found it helpful in navigating some small piece of diet culture or some experience of anti-fat bias. Sometimes that’s for themselves, sometimes that’s in support of a child in their life—their own children, kids they teach, kids they coach, kids they see in their health care practice.I’m not sure I’m ever going to have words for what it feels like to know that something I wrote helps people have better conversations with doctors, helps kids feel like they do belong on the sports team because their parents know how to advocate for them, helps us all find clothes that fit. These are the small—but not at all small—moments where diet culture and anti-fatness show up and you can feel overwhelmed.Instead, we’re starting to figure out a different way through. We’re helping make kids safer in their bodies. I just can’t imagine anything that feels more valuable to me.Last year to celebrate the launch of Fat Talk, we released Chapter One of the audiobook on the podcast. That continues to be our most downloaded episode ever.Over 20,000 of you have listened to that episode. And tens of thousands more have read the transcript and circulated it. So, thank you so much for supporting that episode, which of course supported the book.Today, to mark this one year milestone, we decided to share another audiobook excerpt with you. And I decided to share Chapter 11, because it’s spring, and we’re on the cusp of spring sports—soccer games and baseball games, and dance competitions and recitals and all of the things. Spring is big time for kids to be playing sports, dancing, and doing stuff with their bodies, which is so great. But it can also be really complicated.So this is Chapter 11, entitled “I Got Taller and Gymnastics Got Scarier.” That’s a quote from Camille, a 13-year-old former gymnast in Boise, Idaho, who you’ll hear from shortly. Camille and so many other kids talked to me about how youth sports and dance—these activities that should be entirely body positive and health promoting—can often end up being wildly unsafe environments for kids. Especially kids in bigger bodies.You’re also going to hear from researchers who are very aware of this problem and studying how messages around exercise in general and youth sports in particular, create these dangerous environments by teaching kids the mentality of “no pain, no gain,” of your body existing only in service of winning and the greater good, no matter how that feels to you. This leaves kids vulnerable to a lot of complicated feelings about their body, and even experiences of abuse.I want to be clear that I wrote this chapter not because I think we should all pull our kids out of gymnastics and soccer, but because I want to see those spaces become more inclusive, safer, and more welcoming for kids in all bodies.If you like what you hear in this chapter, you can of course check Fat Talk out from your library or purchase the audiobook, ebook, or hardcover editions anywhere books are sold. I will be the most delighted if you get the hardcover from Split Rock Books, my local independent bookstore, which hosts the Burnt Toast Bookshop. You can also support independent bookstores by getting the audiobook from Libro.FM and the ebook from Kobo.And stay tuned—the paperback edition of Fat Talk will be out later this year and we have a bunch of new material going into it, including a new foreword by Kate Manne!So here’s Chapter 11. And however you read or share this book—thank you so much for being here and supporting anti-diet, body liberation journalism.Chapter 11: “I Got Taller and Gymnastics Got Scarier.”“I started running when I was sixteen, because a girl called me Fatalie,” says Natalie, now twenty-nine. “But I kept running because I loved it.” She still does. These days, Natalie lives with her husband in Fredericksburg, Virginia, and works full-time in impact finance but also volunteers as an assistant coach for a local high school running team and runs on an elite team in Washington, D.C. Altogether, she spends at least thirteen hours a week running, cross-training, or coaching. Running is her main passion in life. And it’s complicated. Throughout Natalie’s running career, she has had to contend with the underlying anti-fat bias that motivated her into the sport in the first place.I should clarify here that Natalie is, and always has been, straight-sized. As we’re going to see repeatedly in this chapter, “fat” is defined much more broadly in running, and many other athletic pursuits, and “thin” much more narrowly. If the rest of the world is Old Navy, running is Prada. For years, Natalie wanted running to make her thinner, but it also seemed like she wasn’t ever thin enough to be a runner. Intentional weight loss and disordered eating behaviors were common on her college running team. “My thing was bulimia,” Natalie says. But she didn’t lose much weight doing it. And that meant that Natalie didn’t take her eating disorder seriously for years, and neither did anyone else.But during her senior year, Natalie and her teammates did get worried about one runner whose eating disorder manifested in far more classic symptoms—namely, extreme thinness. “We knew she was having breakdowns in the middle of the night about how hungry she was and bringing her own food to restaurants and skipping meals,” Natalie recalls. “And she looked sick. You could see it in the hair all over her body, and how thin she was.” Natalie spoke to an athletic department administrator about her concerns, who relayed them to one of the team’s coaches—who gathered the whole team for a lecture. “He thought she had the ideal runner’s body, and so there was no problem,” Natalie recalls. “He said, ‘Maybe if more of you ate like Steph, you would be national champions, too.’”By 2015, Natalie’s running had been derailed twice by stress fractures. “I had a little bit of a ‘Come to Jesus’ moment of realizing that running and eating the way I was would not be sustainable,” she says. She found a therapist who took her disordered behaviors seriously and explained that eating disorders don’t have to result in emaciation to be severe. Two years later, Natalie had recovered enough to join her current running team, which she describes as an outlier in the running community. “They have a zero-tolerance policy toward eating disorders because they know how highly transmissible those behaviors are on a team,” she explains. “The messaging I get from this coach and the other runners is: Your body composition doesn’t matter. We have short, tall, big, small runners, and we’re all world-class athletes.”But that is not the message that the high school runners she coaches are getting from most of the adults around them. And the farther Natalie gets in her recovery, the more this disconnect frustrates her. “Our head coach writes off any kid who isn’t what he calls ‘long and lean,’” Natalie says. Last season, Natalie was concerned by how often one runner demonized food around her teammates. “There was a lot of ‘Ugh, I ate chips, I’m so gross!’” Natalie says. “She was a kind of a toxic presence on the team in lots of ways.” But the girl was also “long and lean,” and so the head coach treated her as the team’s star. “He would say, ‘We need to develop this girl, she looks the part!’”Meanwhile a talented member of another team, who Natalie sees often at meets, came back a few pounds heavier than she’d been the previous season and Natalie says the head coach’s disappointment was palpable. “She ran four seconds slower at a meet this season, and it was still the second-fastest time ever run at that meet. But he’s like, ‘Well, she’s in her head now,’” Natalie says. “It’s almost like, ‘We can’t be as proud of you, if you can’t perform at 110 pounds the same way you did at 105.’”Until a few years ago, I didn’t think of running as a sport with a ton of body pressure attached. Or rather, my own anti-fat bias led me to assume that most elite runners were naturally, effortlessly that thin. But in 2019, runner Mary Cain went public about her experiences on the Nike Oregon Project, which she joined at age seventeen, making her the youngest American track and field athlete to make a World Championships team. At the Oregon Project, Cain says she was coached to lose so much weight, she lost her period for three years and broke five bones. Cain had developed a disorder originally called female athlete triad, and now known as relative energy deficiency in sport or RED-S to acknowledge that it happens in athletes of all genders. In addition to lack of periods for menstruating athletes, the hallmarks of RED-S are low bone mineral density, which increases an athlete’s risk of injuries and future osteoporosis, and what doctors term “low energy availability,” meaning athletes aren’t eating enough to support their caloric output. Not eating enough can happen intentionally or unintentionally, but RED-S is often diagnosed alongside eating disorders, to capture their physiological impact. And both can have long-term impacts on health. “I joined Nike because I wanted to be the best female athlete ever,” Cain says in a video on the New York Times website. “Instead, I was emotionally and physically abused by a system designed by Alberto [Salazar, the team’s coach] and endorsed by Nike.” Cain quit the team after finally telling her parents that she had become suicidal.For decades, coaches and athletes alike have accepted the loss of periods and other RED-S symptoms as necessary prices for their sport, but Cain’s story exposed the lie in that “naturally thin athlete” narrative. In fact, dangerous body ideals and training goals are common in many physical activities, especially those involving women and girls. And it happens at every level. Camille, now thirteen, fell in love with gymnastics at age five and joined a team that had her on track for a Division 1 college team. But she quit just before the start of eighth grade because, as she puts it: “I got taller, and gymnastics got scarier.”At five foot one, Camille, who lives in Boise, Idaho, isn’t particularly tall to the rest of the world, but the standards in gymnastics are different. “I always wanted to be four foot seven in gymnastics and stop growing and never get bigger at all,” she says. Her coaches began to comment on her growth spurt, though mostly in a friendly way. And Camille knew exactly how she compared to her teammates. Then, she started to fall more often or hit her feet on the bars. She was sure her changing body was to blame. A month before Camille quit, one of those falls resulted in a concussion. And while she was home recovering, she realized something: “I was kind of happy about it.” Not going to practice for a few weeks gave Camille a chance to notice how different she felt without gymnastics looming over her. “It had gotten to the point where, whenever I had practice, I spent the whole day feeling stressed and anxious about how it would go,” she says.In addition to worrying about their height, Camille and her teammates often talked about how their stomachs used to be smaller before they hit their sixth-grade growth spurts. “You’re in a leotard, and it’s just very uncomfortable,” Camille notes. How kids’ bodies look in uniforms turns out to be one of the most common ways that anti-fat bias manifests in kid sports. “We’re auditioning for summer ballet sessions, and one studio’s application asked for height and weight on a program for eight-to fourteen-year-olds,” says Helen, mom to thirteen-year-old Edith in the San Francisco Bay Area. Edith is in a larger body and has been dancing since she was three years old. “I just wrote ‘This is concerning’ on the application, so I don’t think we’ll get in,” Helen says. “Honestly, without a long, lean body type, I doubt she’d get in there anyway.”Helen also grew up in a larger body and played fullback and goalkeeper on her high school soccer team even though those uniforms didn’t come in her size. “I remember having to shop in the men’s section to find a goalie shirt that kind of fit,” she says. She’s determined that Edith be spared the same stigma, so she pays to have custom leotards and dance skirts made for Edith because the standard options don’t come in her size, and she recently started designing her own line of plus-size kids’ athletic clothes. But she knows it’s a privilege to have that option; the added expense of custom uniforms keeps many more kids from participating.Katie, a mom of three in Pennsylvania, ran into the same issue when shopping for a softball uniform for her then eight-year-old Luna. “Why are they only selling ‘slim-fit’ softball pants for kids?” she asks. “When did softball become a sport that you have to be skinny to play?”The answer lies somewhere between “in the last twenty years” and “maybe it always was.” Many parents think of participation in dance or sports as an essential rite of childhood. We see these activities as a chance to make friends, learn about collaboration, develop healthy habits, and get good and sweaty. And sure, maybe we also hope to discover that our child has what it takes to become the professional dancer or college scholarship–winning athlete we dreamed of becoming ourselves. But pursuing youth sport and dance in our larger culture of fatphobia means you are very much also pursuing thinness. “Weight stigma is normalized and embedded into every part and every thread of youth sport,” says Eva Pila, PhD, an assistant professor in the School of Kinesiology at Western University in Ontario.Pila, who directs Western University’s Body Image and Health Research Lab, is one of very few exercise scientists studying the impact of anti-fat bias on kids’ experiences of sports and other physical activity. She says we don’t have good data on the prevalence of weight stigma in these spaces both because “that literature is still almost nonexistent” and because so many sport and exercise researchers don’t identify their own thinking about weight and health as stigmatizing. But Pila has traced how often experiences of weight stigma come up in the past twenty years of qualitative research on athletes and coaches. “We see fatphobia happening constantly, we just weren’t able to recognize it for what it was at the time.” Too often, we still aren’t. “If you want to be a good athlete, the expectation is you will train hard and that means you will maintain or control your weight,” Pila explains. “This is normalized to the point that kids may not even recognize that they are experiencing stigma.”But we need to start to grapple with the reality of anti-fat bias in kids’ sports and the harm it causes. “Sport is one of the most amazing opportunities for kids to have positive, health-promoting, high-quality experiences in their bodies,” says Dana Voelker, PhD, also a kinesiologist and associate professor of sport and exercise psychology at West Virginia University. “But right now, it’s also one of the greatest risks to children’s health and development because of how we have constructed the environment and experience for kids.”Competitive athletes are more likely to engage in excessive exercise and to meet criteria for an eating disorder, according to a 2018 survey conducted b…
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