RED-S and me

Rowing was my silver medal – I should have been a high-jumper.

People know me as a rower. I rowed for Team GB and bagged a couple of medals but it wasn’t my sport-of-choice, not really. My first love was athletics, particularly high jump. I was good too; it suited my build. I was focused, driven and got a few lucky breaks.

A PE teacher spotted my talent early and took me to trial for the local club. I made the grade, began training, and improved. I won events and lost events. And I found my tribe. I was onto something.

Gearing up

By my mid-teens, as my tribemates began to drop out, I was as focused as ever. I trained even harder; I ate even less.

At uni I kept it going. I joined new coaches and a new group of dedicated athletes. They were machines and soon I was lagging behind. It was drilled into me what I had to do: train even harder and eat even less. My target weight was put at 60kg – a moonshot at best for my build and genetics.

Miserable, struggling, I kept up the ‘Sporty Baz’ façade for anyone who showed concern. My coaches rammed it home too, I was lucky to even be in the team, they said. I was young enough to feel indebted. I had to repay their faith, right?

I trained harder; I ate even less.

What changed?

Inevitably, my body rebelled. My periods stopped. No one talked about RED-S then but, mentally and physically, I was spiralling. I was so worn from a constant cycle of under fuelling and overextending.

It wasn’t fun anymore. I bailed.

The story is way too familiar. It happened to me over 20 years ago but it’s still repeated at more or less every level of sport. It’s not just the elite or endurance athletes, it transcends.

When Emma, Bella and I talk with athletes at various stages and levels, often in private, they’ll tell us their periods have stopped. In some cases for years. Coaches rarely seem worried; few seem to mind. It’s often couched as normal. Or even a positive.

It’s not. Most women know it’s not. And I have to be grateful I trusted my instincts. Even if it cost me my first choice-sport.

Regrets?

No. I’m lucky. I love sport, always have and probably got out of high jump at the right time.

At 22 I discovered rowing and rowing was good to me. A few years older and wiser, by the time I jumped in the boat I knew my body’s normal. I could see where ‘best practice’ didn’t square with reality, and where cultural norms were off-key.

But sad to say, I don’t think the majority get that second chance. A negative experience in sport and too often it’s curtains for an aspiring athlete or sportsperson. The misinformation, the bad science, the cultural norms, they hit women in sport at that crucial developing stage. It leaves a horrible taste in the mouths of would-be champions before they get near their potential.

Advice for my teenage me

Like many, growing up I had zero knowledge what was body normal. What happened, happened. Had my younger self been educated and aware of good hormonal health, and where to go for info, it would have been a gamechanger.

Similarly, I’d always seen what I had naturally – determination, resilience and focus – as my biggest assets. I wish I’d had the awareness, or the counsel, to understand how ego, drive, and blind-determination, channelled incorrectly, can be just as damaging.

Perhaps above all, I wish I’d challenged my coaches. Or at least that I’d confided in my mum instead of brave-facing it. Asking for help was something I struggled with then, less so now.

With a united front we could have raised concerns or questioned methods. If the culture was such that we’d be flat-out ignored, well … there’s other coaches, clubs, opportunities, and sports out there.

I found my other, but most don’t

From the high-jumper that never was I’d like to end by asking two questions:

• How many aspiring female athletes dropped out of sport due to similar experiences?
• How many re-entered the sporting fold?

Subtract the second from the first and it’s a glimpse at the talent the country, hell the world, missed out on.