I wanted to work out every ounce of anger, pain, and sadness I had inside me. And at that moment, I had enough to work for hours. So we did. Every time Rhodes tried to end the training session, I begged him for more. I was exhausted, I threw up, my legs and arms were cramping but I didn’t stop. Every drop of sweat seemed to take a tiny ounce of my frustration with it as it rolled off the tip of my nose. When I worked my body, my mind was silent — and that’s exactly what I wanted.
Working out until you puke is no healthier than binge eating. It's not a morally superior option.
