Karianna L.
Photography by Cassie E.
If you’re reading this, I want you to know that I am not just a number.
When I was a kid, I hated math. I never understood why we needed to learn addition, subtraction, multiplication, and division when there were calculators that could do everything for us. I told myself I would never do math in my head and make good use of a calculator instead.
But then, numbers took over my life. The number on the scale and the Body Mass Index (BMI) number that the doctor told me was unhealthy consumed me. Numbers became part of my daily routine. I would workout for 45 minutes–no wait, the scale is 0.5 pounds more than yesterday, make that 50 minutes.
The calorie calculator told me I should eat this much, so I looked at every number on every label. If food was presented and I couldn’t log it immediately in my app, my mind made use of all the math I learned. “This apple looks to be around 150 grams, which is considered small according to my app, so that’s 80 calories I need to remember to log because I can’t accidentally consume 80 extra calories or else the number on the scale and the BMI number will go up.”
I calculated everything. The minutes spent walking from class to class to see how many calories it burned. The grams of unsweetened almond milk I put as a splash in my coffee. The calories burned on the elliptical instead of the exercise bike. The amount of weight lost each week. I should’ve tried out for Mathletes with all the mental math I was constantly doing, but chances are the time wouldn’t be worth it to me if I wasn’t burning calories.
Numbers could’ve killed me. It wasn’t until my parents started looking at the numbers–why was their daughter 30 pounds lighter and why was her heart rate so low? Why was the number of times she “wanted to cook” so high? Why was she smiling less each day?–that things started to change.
The numbers became larger. Doubling my portions, the number on the scale steadily increasing, the BMI reaching a healthy range, the heart beating more times per minute. Larger numbers were scary. They still are. But letting numbers take away every gram of happiness is scarier.
I still have numbers. But they are better numbers now. Numbers consisting of running times I want to achieve because my body is strong enough to have athletic goals now. The number of times I want to go out and enjoy food each week. The number of times I want to smile. The number of moments I want to cherish with family and friends.
I think the calories of some foods and the burn of certain activities will always be memorized. It has been ingrained for far too long. Numbers and math have caused me some permanent damage–not from staying up late working on algebra, but from staying up doing sit-ups in my room alone to burn off the burger and fries I ate at my mom’s birthday dinner.
The beautiful thing about damage though is that it can be patched up. My eating disorder was a pothole in a mountain road. They filled the pothole. You can still see some signs that it was there, but it is patched and now leads to a wondrous place full of a better life and the ability to share smiles, laughter, and food with those I love.
Karianna L. (she/her), Arizona State University
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