After a bad race two years ago for indoor track (I had binged terribly the night before and even a bit into that morning), my coach had come over to talk to me about the race.
“I’m mad because I know you’re mad,” he said, sitting down next to me against the wall. “What’s going on?”
I looked down at the floor.
You have to be more open if you want help. You have to be brave.
“It’s food again,” I said.