Life as a Recovering Plant-Based Athlete
“We should be vegan.”
My husband greeted me with this bombshell as I walked through the door after a long run. He was just finishing a documentary about the benefits of a plant-based diet. My initial response was “no.” Then training for the Chicago Marathon, I always had something big around the corner and knew the importance of daily nutrition. I finally felt like I was eating a well-rounded diet after years of restricting grains because of my misguided interpretation of metabolic efficiency, and I wanted to stay on that trajectory.
“Come on, let’s do it,” he persisted. “It’s supposed to be good for mental health.”
Wanting to be supportive, I relented. “Fine, I’ll try it. But the second I start feeling bad or if I don’t like it, I’m giving it up.”
We phased out the animal products in our fridge. Trying new recipes naturally increased our veggie consumption, and I felt great as a result. I sat down with a pencil and paper to calculate how much protein I was getting in a normal day so I could respond defiantly to the inevitable, “But where do you get your protein?” inquiries. Tofu and tempeh eventually became staples. I had to eat more frequently and be conscientious about including plenty of nuts, quinoa, and other plant-based protein sources, but it was possible, so I stuck with it.
Months after we started this nutritional adventure my husband returned to eating his typical diet. We’d eat plant-based together at home, but out in the wild, he felt he needed the convenience of grab-and-go options. Partially because I felt good and partially because I had immersed myself in the plant-based diet-sphere, I stubbornly held on for another 6+ years. I felt good about not eating animals for ethical reasons and took to heart the impact that concentrated animal feeding operations (CAFOs) have on the environment. My conscience and my body felt in harmony … for a while.
I stayed committed to plant-based eating as I moved from my mid-30s into my early 40s, transitioning from running to triathlon and back to running. In my two years as a triathlete I even earned my pro card and competed at the front of the pack for a few Ironman and Ironman 70.3 races. I let my tri career fizzle out amidst the pandemic-induced challenges of early 2020 and replaced it with trail running, completing lots of demanding adventures and a 50-miler the following year. I stuck with plant-based eating through pregnancy and new motherhood, sporadically including eggs but mainly staying true to not including animal products in any meaningful way. I don’t need to, I thought. Athletically I’d done so much powered by plants, and I had created a perfectly healthy human. Why should I change?
I know as well as anyone how obnoxious it is to be judged on the basis of dietary decisions. Something about being an athlete seems to make others feel they have a right to both understand and approve of the way I fuel my body, and veganism seems to be especially divisive. Any outside pushback on my eating habits made me that much more committed. Add to that the constant barrage of information available about nutrition, ranging from qualified to complete BS, and it’s no wonder it took me as long as it did to understand and acknowledge both the pros and cons of my dietary approach.
Yes, I felt good about not eating animals and loved doing my part for the environment, but the cognitive cost of a strict plant-based diet accumulated over time, and eventually the physical cost was noticeable. Over the first few months of 2025, eating habits that once felt nourishing and exciting started to feel confining. I wasn’t able to engage with plant-based eating in the same ways I could pre-baby. My daughter was nearing 2 years old, and the strain of long, busy days was undeniable. I didn’t have the time to meal prep that I once did, nor did I have the time to eat as frequently as I needed to. I found myself wanting easy and more satisfying snacks, craving a little bit more convenience through the hustle bustle, and, in resisting that urge, I was becaming a martyr for my diet.
Over a few weeks of increased mileage in February, I broke. Looking back at those weeks and the months that preceded them, I can say now that I was in a constant state of hanger. I had eliminated so many potential options from my menu and didn’t have the energy or desire to prepare anything that some nights I just wouldn’t eat dinner, then wake up the next morning to run and do it all over again. One can only do this for so long, and I reached my breaking point when slow, easy days felt like I was wading through molasses. Lackluster workouts aside, I was irritable and exhausted, regularly losing my patience with my daughter and my English Springer Spaniel, who is the goodest girl on the planet. I wasn’t myself and something needed to give.
Wanting to rule out iron deficiency, I ordered an anemia panel that revealed surprisingly stellar results. The next most obvious explanation was a general lack of calories. I reached out to a dietitian I’ve worked with in the past. Typing up a “normal day” of food intake was the last in a series of wakeup calls I desperately needed. I had strayed so far from a balanced, healthy diet, and it was no wonder I didn’t have the energy needed to thrive in my life. The next time I texted my husband our grocery list, I included, “Oh, and if you see any salmon that looks reasonably good, grab it.” He did.
Veganism and plant-based diet culture did not dig the hole I found myself in; I did that on my own. I believe there is a way for people, even busy athletes, to live a life fueled entirely by plants. The mental and physical cost of restricting all animal products made it evident that I am not currently one of those people. I’m only a few weeks into including eggs nearly daily and salmon a few times per week. Though I do notice an increase in energy, the more striking observation is how much less mental space my diet is taking up. Life is challenging enough without adding the extra burden of voluntarily restricting my menu. Having a few more easy options on hand, like breakfast burritos loaded with eggs or crackers with cheese, has been unexpectedly liberating. Deciding what to eat doesn’t feel like such a chore. Lest anyone worry about lingering deficiencies or health issues, I intend to get more bloodwork as well as continue to work with a highly qualified dietitian who will help me chart a path forward. In the meantime, I’m loving having more energy and my family appreciates that I’m much less hangry.
Disclaimer:
Don’t take nutrition advice from someone who chose a frowning plate as the visual representation of her eating habits. Unqualified coaches who stretch their scope of practice are a huge pet peeve of mine. Unless someone has a degree in nutrition science they shouldn’t be prescribing detailed meal plans. Aside from generic recommendations of grams of sugar per hour or commonly accepted ranges of electrolyte replacement, an endurance coach can’t replicate what a sports dietitian has spent years studying. We can all benefit from a semi-regular check-in with a qualified expert. Here is my go to: Nutrition Mechanic.