“Race weight” was something I had never heard of until I went to college. Before that I definitely recognized that runners had very little body fat and that there was a certain body type (“runner’s body”) that was acceptable in the sport. But the idea of a specific weight or weight range that is optimal for running performance wasn’t something that had ever been discussed among my high school teammates or coach.

According to an article on Active.com, “Each runner has his or her own ideal racing weight. In almost every case, a runner’s optimal racing weight is the lowest weight he or she can attain without overtraining or consuming too little energy to support optimal running performance and recovery.”

Talk about pressure, am I right?

As I mentioned, I first learned about the idea of an ideal race weight when I went to college. I learned about it from teammates, coaches, and social media. Though I was very aware of body image and had teammates in high school who discussed it, being in college was my first experience with getting weighed regularly. And none of my teammates thought this was strange.

This is not at all a jab at my teammates and coaches. It is a widely accepted idea in the running community that being at the lower end of your healthy weight range is best for performance. And we were Division I athletes. So, I accepted that this was part of the sport and did what I had to do to find that “perfect” weight.

According to that same article mentioned earlier, “…the surest way to determine your racing weight and optimal body fat percentage is to get in the best shape of your life and then weigh yourself and measure your body composition on the day of a big race.” There are calculators out there to help you estimate it, too.

It makes sense, right? Less fat = a lighter body = less weight to propel forward = less effort to run faster.

I don’t doubt the logic that a leaner body can help you to cross the finish line quicker. But I think that living by the notion that the lighter you are, the faster you will be is dangerous, especially for female runners.

If you’ve been reading along with my blog posts, you can probably see why the idea of an ideal race weight was problematic for me. I never had a specific number in mind but I fell right into the trap of believing that if I could just be a little bit smaller, and then a little bit smaller than that and so on, I would be able to reach my true potential as a runner. I was testing that limit, but had no idea what I was doing.

As I lost body fat, I got faster. I was living proof of that “lighter = faster” logic. And because it seemed to be working so well I thought, “If I could lose a few more pounds, I’ll be even faster at the next race.” So I did. I continued to push myself to run more miles, burn more calories, and eat less. A lot less.

At the Atlantic 10 Championship meet in 2013 (my sophomore year) I surprised myself and everyone else with a huge personal record (PR) and a spot on the Atlantic 10 All Conference Team for finishing in the top 15. I was 13th with a 17:35 5k. I was so stoked, and I felt validated that my extreme “dedication” (which for me looked like obsession, restriction, and addiction) was working.

I was proud, my coaches were proud, and my family was proud. But none of us really understood what was going on in my mind and body. All I thought about was how if I kept working at this new lifestyle I could be unstoppable. So I did just that. I continued to weigh myself daily (sometimes more), counting calories, sticking to the salad bar in the dining hall, and for a short while I was crushing it out on the cross country trails. But that didn’t last long.

I got smaller, and smaller, and smaller. I couldn’t stop shrinking. I couldn’t stop myself from restricting more and more. I was feeling terrible during practice, I could barely make it through easy runs, I was exhausted, irritable, and in pain. I knew this was starting to become a problem but I couldn’t stop. I was addicted to restriction and to running. It was one of those things where I knew this wasn’t healthy but I could not stop. I was spiraling, and I was scared. But I felt like it was out of my control to escape this dangerous mentality.

The biggest wake-up call came when I had to stop running for a few months (as strongly recommended by my family, coach, and doctors), and I didn’t even mind. I was so exhausted and could barely drag myself out of bed, so being told to stop running actually gave me some relief. I took part of the spring and summer doing no physical activity.

During that time off I was able to put on weight (thanks to my mom who was my chef, my confidant, and my lifeline during recovery) and I got back to what I believe was my optimal racing weight (“the lowest weight [I could] attain without overtraining or consuming too little energy to support optimal running performance and recovery”). So I looked healthy enough, I felt a whole lot better, and I came back for a victorious season my junior year. I won more races, had more PRs, and that year at the Atlantic 10 Championships I came in 4th with a time of 17:53 (a much more challenging course than the year prior).

I was in a great place athletically, I was doing much better socially, and I was staying at that “healthy enough” weight. I realized that it is not necessarily true that lighter means faster, and was proud of the progress I had made. But then came my obsession with staying at that very specific weight without crossing the line into the underweight category or being above that “sweet spot.”

You may have read about my obsession with staying in perfect running shape in last week’s post, Running Addiction. If you haven’t, go ahead and check it out.

I was eventually able to give up that obsession with staying at a certain weight, and am finally at a place where I listen to my body and feel proud of the fact that I’ve gained some weight. And maybe it’s true that I’m not as fast in this new body as I was in my old one. But I am able to just be a human now. A human who still very much cares about running and is a lifelong athlete. But the next time I train for a race my focus will be on things like staying hydrated, getting enough sleep, eating a balanced diet, gaining strength, challenging myself during workouts, and enjoying the process rather than on the scale or what I see in the mirror.

Being healthy is essential, and when you are a competitive runner staying in shape is key. But it is so important for athletes and their coaches to be aware that striving for a specific weight and believing we perform best when we are as light as possible can be dangerous.

A big inspiration for me as I’ve recovered from an eating disorder and let go of my obsession with maintaining a certain weight has been Allie Kieffer who is a beautiful example of an elite runner who doesn’t live in a typical “runner’s body.” I high recommend listening to what she has to say in this podcast.

These are just my opinions formed from my experiences. What are your thoughts on “race weight?” Comment below and let me know!