I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass)

I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass), i have been able to reach my goal and drop 20 prouds in two months. thank you Tasha king, Rosie Mascoli, Christina Shelley Maddox, Joe Joe P. Dubrow, and all of the other awesome trainers. You are all truly the best!!!


I wasn’t going to post this because i’m still not where i want to be. it’s been a week since i took these second set of pictures. i worked so hard.

I wasn’t going to post this because i’m still not where i want to be. it’s been a week since i took these second set of pictures. i worked so hard. i didn’t ship a day at the gym (ok maybe one.) i’m stronger, happier and healthier. so sure, it may not be perfect but i’m proud of how far l’ve come. here’s to finding out what happensin the next 6 weeks

Rosie’s Ramblings – Resilience

Preface: This is the second part of my story of my battle with anorexia. While the first section highlighted the physical battle (read it here), this story delves into the mental struggles that have to be overcome to fully recover from this disease. Part one ended on a high with running my way into two All-America awards at Nationals and my body humming with the excitement of what was to come in the future…


As I allowed food to enter my body, I couldn’t control my cravings and urges. All of what I shut out for a year, came back in full force. While my body became healthy, my mind deteriorated. I was cruel to myself. No one could be harsher in criticism. I stood in front of the mirror and ripped my body to pieces in my mind. I stood on the scale and loathed every pound that I gained. I berated myself for my lack of control to stop eating, to calorie restrict, to go back to my old habits.

I found myself swallowed up by darkness. I chanted my mantra “relentless courage” over and over again as my guiding light.


I ran, I cried, I wrestled with demons calling me fat, thunder thighs, and chubby cheeks. Going into the post-season of cross country, I was undefeated. I was someone to watch in the nation.

I toed the line as the gun went off on a chilly fall day at Regionals. I kept pace with the lead pack, ticking off the first mile. We made a turn, and then another turn and began a march up a hill. Lead filled my legs. I found myself being gapped. 2 miles. A girl passed me. I willed my body to cling on. No response. Another girl passed me. 3 miles. We turned into the final straight away. I begged my body to kick. No response. Two girls passed me in the long stretch to the finish. I crossed the line and crumbled into a heap of defeat. 8th place. One spot away from my Nationals bid. I put my sunglasses on and went for a long solo cool down as I mourned my shortcoming.

What did I do wrong? Why did this happen to me? Vicious thoughts swirled around in my mind. I found myself entering a black hole…


Days blurred. My heart ached for my failure, but I knew I had to pull myself together and get out of my funk. I needed to go back to my purpose of it all, my why. I found myself posting the reasons why I ran, over 50 of them on Facebook, as I tried to rediscover myself.

Some were simplistic: Reason #3 why I run: walking takes too long

Some were for reprieve from the real world: Reason #34 why I run: I don’t have to think about bacterial genetics!!

And others were about things that I learned about myself: Reason #38 why I run: because the terrible, hard days are the ones that make us stronger!

Every single one was tinged with positivity, as I tried to claw my way out of the pit of despair. But, I was a torrent of emotions. I studied my body’s reflection in every glass surface. I struggled to find a single nice thing to say to myself. I let my words use my body as a punching bag. I heard someone ask if “that was still going to fit me?” I cleaned out my closet of tight fitting clothes.

I kept trying to break through the negativity that had corrupted my once naive mind.


Track season led to another disappointing finish, one spot away from Nationals. My confidence crumbled under the weight of the defeat. I started to believe I was a fluke, a one-hit wonder. I second-guessed myself. I decided to try not to care too much about running anymore, it hurt less to just go through the motions. I couldn’t disassociate myself enough. It still hurt. I saw fat as the culprit to downfall. I still believed I was never going to be as good as I once was. I ran anyways.

Racing no longer was a test of will, it became a line of comparisons. It wasn’t about the 3.1 miles of strength. It was about the girl next to me who had skinnier legs. It was about the girl on the end with the flat stomach. It was me telling myself everything my contorted mind thought I wasn’t instead of telling me everything I am. Instead of trusting in my training, I fixated on body image. The races, once my favorite part of running, became dreaded.

I went from one of the top in the nation to barely placing in conference championships. That fact alone took it’s toll on me. What little confidence I had left quickly evaporated. I faked confidence. Again and again and again, trying with all my might to build myself back up.


My journal became my outlet for dark thoughts as I kept pushing for recovery, for health, for finding myself again. I faltered, as I struggled with the deception that anorexia was telling me:

“I know I should be pushing these thoughts [anorexia] away. But instead, I’m welcoming the monster in, like an old friend. And now that he’s here, I want him to stay, get to know him again. I’m trying to fight, but he’s a charmer, he’s hard to fight against when he makes you feel so good. Monster, don’t go, stay with me for awhile.”

I began to have more good days than bad days. I stood in front of the mirror for an hour telling myself all positive things about myself. I cried as I tried to reword the thought process of my brain. I did this again and again, rebuilding myself. Every now and then, I would misstep:

“Again, I’ve slipped. I’ve woken the monster from hibernation. I’ve told it good morning and offered to make him the breakfast I won’t eat. He always gives me such an eerie sense of control.”

Coming back from a slip-up, began to take less time, from two weeks, to one week, to only a matter of days. I was healing.


I found myself on the doorstep of the Olympic Training Center. I was a mix of emotions: extremely excited and honored to have been given the opportunity I had been dreaming about since I was 12 years old; and extremely nervous with a twinge of feeling like I didn’t deserve to be there.

I worked hard, read positive quote after positive quote to continue to build back the confidence that I had lost and was working hard to regain. Slowly, I began to feel like my normal self. I began to hit new benchmarks. I got into a groove. I was starting to find my wings again. I began to believe.

Then, a bout of mono and a sinus infection later led me to be 10 pounds lighter and fighting my mind and body against the demons of anorexia. That high that I once had from losing weight was back. I confided in my dietician. She made a plan for me to gain weight. I refused to follow it. Deep down I knew I was walking on a dangerous thin line.

I confided in my coach. She spitballed it back in my face, screaming and yelling. With a huge stroke of courage and strength, I decided I needed to leave the place I had so desperately wanted to be. I needed to be healthy and I refused to go down the same road I had followed only two years before.


The demon became tangible in my mind. It was as if admitting it was there, made it something I could touch and feel, a black goo covering over the front part of my brain. I battled, trying to find some way to eliminate it from my body. Day after day, I visualized removing the tar from my brain. I noticed days went by without a negative thought. Then a week. Then before I knew it, I went from having consecutive bad days to having none.

Nothing tastes as good as freedom feels. The shackles and chains were gone. The scale was no longer my universe.

My dad asked me “was it worth it?”, meaning, was losing weight to become one of the best in the country, only to fight like hell for health and fall behind the pack in running, worth it?

My answer was (and still is) a resounding yes.

I learned willpower, resilience, courage, and strength. But more than that, I lived to safe a friend’s life. I lived to mentor others. I lived to be an inspiration. I beat a disease that has the highest mortality rate amongst any mental disorder.

Every year, during National Eating Disorder Awareness week, I share more of my story in the hopes that I can touch just one person’s life. This is how I overcame. Anorexia is of the past, it no longer has any grips on me. It is just something that happened to me and now I use it to give hope to others. Recovery is possible. Every battle can be won.

Rosie’s Ramblings – Vulnerability

Preface: This is a story about a battle fought and won. Everyone has fought different battles and it’s a matter of reflecting on them to see the beauty in the fight. While it makes me very vulnerable to share, it ultimately illustrates courage, resilience, and strength. I share this story to impart those attributes on others. This is a two part story, this first week being about the physical and the following week on the mental. It falls in line with National Eating Disorder Awareness Week (NEDA) which is a time of year that I always try to share a little more of my story.



Overwhelmed. From the moment I stepped off the plane at JFK, the obesity epidemic weighed on me. I had just spent a month totally immersed in South Korea, living and breathing another culture. Aside from two sumo wrestlers I saw, weight was hardly an issue. But this hit me like a ton of bricks. Everywhere I turned, I saw fried foods, greasy napkins, and empty soda bottles.

It’s not something I expected to experience upon my arrival back to the States. Instead, I anticipated the warm feeling of coming home. But I felt suffocated. And so, I made a list: things I could eat, and things I couldn’t. I rummaged through my parents’ cupboards and swore off one thing after another. I had already lost 2 pounds during my trip, but I wanted more.


Elated. A surge of dopamine released to my brain as I hopped on and off the scale, delighted by that number. Every pound lost felt like the greatest high. It was addicting, to feel that good. To see that number decrease day after day. The scale became an obsession. It was the source of my happiness and the cause of such internal torment. I would sneak a weigh-in at any possible time, trying to be quiet so no one knew this secret of mine.


Scared. Food was the enemy. I developed every excuse in the book to eat as little as possible. Milk made my stomach hurt, tomato sauce gave me acid reflux, the chicken was too salty, the apple was too sweet; my tastebuds were on high alert for anything to throw away.

And then I went back to college. Red flags went up in my coaches’ minds. Immediately, I was thrust into meetings, trying to stop this train from going downhill.


Determined. My legs felt like pistons as they pressed against the ground, my body responding as I willed myself to push myself a little bit faster. I felt hardened with muscle. I could do anything I put my mind to. Every run I envisioned crossing the finish line and earning a nationals bid. I was unstoppable.

Until I spent the night crying on the phone to my brother about a stomach ache that seemed to be tearing my insides apart. A trip to the ER and a huge shot of lidocane infused acid reflux medicine later and I was in my coach’s office, as he pleaded with me to eat more calories. Bargained with me that if I did, I would finish out the season better than ever before.


Euphoric. Tears of joy streamed down my face. All the hours spent working towards a goal paid off. I was going to Nationals! It didn’t matter anymore to me what my teammates whispered behind my back. I reached the ultimate stage in collegiate athletics. My coach begged me again to eat more. I listened.

Nervous excitement coursed through my veins. The gun sounded as snowflakes fell from the sky. In only a matter of twenty-one minutes, fate would be decided. Legs turned, arms pumped, and there was the finish line. All-American.


Emaciated. You could count my ribs, you could see every vertebra of my spine, I was a walking skeleton, but what I saw was fitness. It didn’t matter that I couldn’t sleep because of my hip bone pressing against the mattress caused the skin to turn red, go numb, and ache. It didn’t matter that sometimes lifting my legs felt like a knife lodged in my quads. It didn’t matter because I was “fit.”


Embarrassed. The water was excruciatingly cold. My body shook as it rejected the chilly temperature. In forty-five minutes, I was being pulled out, feet completely numb, lips an icy blue, as the athletic trainer feared any longer risked hypothermia. How were all the other girls fine? I hobbled to the locker-room, turned up the heat on the shower, and stood there, shivering for another 20 minutes.

My coach made me buy a wetsuit. It was a complete and utter embarrassment. Without it, I would get pulled from practice. Depression sunk in. I went from being on cloud nine to my all time low.


Relieved. At the end of the season, what felt like the longest two months of my life, I quit swimming. I hung up the towel and peace filled my body. Something shifted. I was determined to get healthy and gain weight back.


Shocked. On the day I hit triple digits on the scale, I managed to eat an entire peanut butter and jelly sandwich for the first time in months. While it took me a good hour or so to do, it’s a benchmark that I will always remember. On that same day, I demolished the school record set over 20 years prior and placed 2nd at Penn Relays in the 10k. I began to understand the importance of food as fuel.


Excited. Every pore in my body felt alive as the California sun beamed down. As the sun sunk low into the sky, the gun sounded. I found my rhythm, my breath matching my stride. I felt invincible. The lap counter clicked lower and lower. The bell rang and I gave it my final kick. I stepped off the track amazed. The scoreboard lit up with my name in third place with an Olympic Trials provisional qualifying time. The next two days were a daze, another podium in my second event and my sophomore year was my most successful year to date. Excitement for what was to come coursed through my body.

Rosie’s Ramblings – A Day In The Life


The alarm clock blares, breaking through your dreams and pushing you towards consciousness. Stumbling out from under your covers, you silence the shrilling sound. You quickly turn off your second alarm and slip out of your bedroom. You take three deep breaths as you wipe the sleepiness from your eyes.

Your mind starts turning. Your workout that you started thinking about the night before takes shape. Excitement rises up from the pit of your stomach as you come up with the perfect finisher.

Once that’s done, you set a stopwatch. You have 10 minutes to fold laundry as fast as you can. You break out a little sweat as you put things away. You check your watch and pick up the pace to beat your “score” from last time. Time.

You finish packing up your computer, apple, and water. You head out the door, phone flashlight in hand to find your way to your car.


As you drive down the highway, you put soft music on the radio, clearing your mind. You find peace in the early morning when few are awake. After a couple miles, you come back from your reverie and begin to think of all the things you want to accomplish that day. You recite that list a few times, adding a thing here or there. And then you arrive.


You quickly jot your to-do list down and begin to set up the workout. You feel your body loosening up as you continue to move around. You tweak a few things in the workout as the first person walks in.


The first session starts and you find energy pulsing through your body. You quickly begin cueing and motivating the Tribers. You jump up and down with excitement as someone begins to grasp the concept of a kettlebell swing. You feel electric. Time flies and before you know it, four sessions have gone by.


You gulp down a water as you grab some cleaning supplies. The hum of the vacuum drowns out the music as you make your way down the turf. You multitask, as you text a client in one hand and wipe down equipment with the other. You finish and catch up on other messages before the next sessions.


You find yourself having a heart to heart with a client, helping them through their frustrations and encouraging them to make adjustments. You motivate them and when they leave, you can tell they are walking with a positive bounce in their step. You gather up your papers and head downstairs to do backend work.


Other coaches arrive and a dog or two. You discuss some clients, goals hit, and struggles. You work together on projects. Music plays in the background and you talk about You reach out to clients to provide encouragement. You play tug-o-war with a pooch.


You and another coach decide to do the workout that you had craftfully concocted. You blast some Britney Spears and work it. Twenty minutes of sweat later and you grab an Energy Grille meal and some Wawa snacks.


You head home, happy and tired. Hours go by and you get a text from a Triber about a huge goal they just accomplished. You smile as your eyes tear up with joy for their achievement. You feel content. This is why you do what you do.

“Coaching is the universal language of change and learning.”

Rosie’s Ramblings – Criticism

Doling out criticism can be daunting, knowing that you are responsible for telling someone else that what they are doing is broken. You’ve been there, on the receiving end, and it’s disconcerting. So you fluff it up just enough to be constructive rather than destructive.



There’s an art to criticizing. The goal should be to give someone areas to build upon while still keeping their core foundation. Likewise, there is an art to receiving criticism. It’s looking the person square in the eye, rather than dropping your chin. It’s acutely listening to what the other has to say. It’s reflecting on the words and ultimately, taking action on them to improve in whatever capacity necessary.



Living without criticism is like walking through a child’s playroom in the dark, one false step and you find a lego block lodged on the bottom of your foot. Criticism is the light needed to guide you to your goals. Acting positively upon it, could be the game changer. It could be the difference between you getting the promotion or losing your job. It could be the difference between losing the weight you always wanted or staying stuck where you’re at. It could be the difference between changing your life or feeling like life is passing you by.



Criticism is important. You may need to be knocked down a few pegs in order to work your way back up, but you don’t want to be shattered beyond repair, so don’t let it tear you down.



My coach at the Olympic Training Center was notorious for being nagging and nit-picky about the tiniest little things, while the compliments were few and far between. While her critiquing style certainly needed some improvement, I knew that I would much rather have her dishing it out over and over again and grow a thick skin than to hear nothing but crickets. I knew that the moment I heard silence, would be the moment she had given up on me. So I took the criticism, relentlessly, and picked out the most common deficits and worked hard on those areas, knowing that I was working towards my main goal.



Keeping that North Star always in your vision helps you realize that what needs to be worked on may be the catalyst to bridge the gap between where you are and where you want to be. So, the next time you find yourself on the receiving end of a critique, take from it, learn from it, grow from it, and become a better you from it!

“Butt down, chest up!” – Fit Tribe Coaches


I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass)

I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass), i have been able to reach my goal and drop 20 prouds in two months. thank you Tasha king, Rosie Mascoli, Christina Shelley Maddox, Joe Joe P. Dubrow, and all of the other awesome trainers. You are all truly the best!!!


I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass)

I want to take the time to thank all of my Fit Tribe trainers! Becaise of they’re motivation, encouragement, and kick ass workouts (they literally kick my ass), i have been able to reach my goal and drop 20 prouds in two months. thank you Tasha king, Rosie Mascoli, Christina Shelley Maddox, Joe Joe P. Dubrow, and all of the other awesome trainers. You are all truly the best!!!