Why I Quit Bodybuilding

 

Chapter 1: Hooked. 

 

I literally never thought I would (quit bodybuilding). I  thought I found a sport that I was going to do for life. Little did I know that I was causing myself such immense damage both physically and mentally and that I would eventually tire out, get injured, and lose my mind. It’s true what they say: bodybuilding is a mental sport. And boy, did it fuck with my head. 

I would first like to state that I have given the world the wrong impression of me. I became so consumed by this sport that I made it seem like it was the most important thing in the world to me. I posted my results on social media all the time, creating this image that this was all I cared about, and that I was a world traveling gym rat. I have come to learn that bodybuilding is a toxic sport that doesn’t forgive, and that I became consumed by all the wrong things, attracting all the wrong attention and caused a lot of unnecessary anxiety for myself. 

This is my tell-all story about how I took on a sport I thought I loved, only to learn that it was ruining my life. 

Now let me be clear. When I say “body building”, I mean Bikini fitness. The lightest, most delicate class of physiques. I was chasing those perfectly round shoulders, toned biceps, V tapered back and waist, horse-like quads and that round, quarter-bouncing ass that you could lay a coke bottle on. 

Finally, I found a sport that leaned into my genetics. I was never going to be a ballet-thin pilates instructor. I was never going to look like a marathoner or a modelesque creature. I ALWAYS had a bit more meat on my body and especially on the lower half. I never knew what to do with my body or what sport to choose, and when I moved to Miami, everything changed. 

I saw women with muscle who still looked feminine. Like power houses. Like Amazonian warriors. I was hooked. I wanted to achieve that look so bad that I became borderline obsessed and made it my daily mission to make it happen. 

“Fuck yoga,” I said as I traded in my mat for a waist belt and some whey protein. I hired Miami’s best personal trainer to terrorize me on a daily basis and I swear he found joy in my suffering. Sick fuck. But I loved him. He was the godfather of bootys and my worst nightmare all in one.

 

Lifting weights came natural to me and I picked up muscle fast. My body was like “Oh, is that Iron? Lemme give you some boulder shoulders. Oh, is that protein? Lemme thicken up your thighs”! I was loving the results. Eating, drinking, sleeping, and dreaming of the gym. My entire life routine drastically changed from late night bedtimes to early morning work outs and my sore muscles became my hangover. 

 

“You’re looking pumped,” People commented on my changing physique. “Holy shit, you’re getting bigger”. A serotonin hit I didn’t know I was missing out on. The comments were starting up and I was feeling a new level of confidence that no haircut could give me. Bodybuilding is a sport of art, science and precision. You build, you analyze, you chip and cut, you glamorize. It’s a sport that goes beyond the gym, into your kitchen, and then lives in your head rent free. It’s a sport that will force you to develop a commitment that will inevitably morph into a dangerous obsession and eventually, a slew of disorders that will be very hard to get rid of. 

Nobody warned me. Nobody told me to be careful. Nobody talks enough about the obsessiveness of this sport and how it can make you a slave. 

Chapter 2:  Competing. 

Competition season was coming up and my psycho trainer and I decided to give my first-ever comp a shot! It was time to get on a calculated starvation diet, do cardio twice a day, train for 2-3 hours 6 days a week, and lose another stubborn 10 pounds of subcutaneous fat. I was so hungry, I lost friends. 

Two hour back day sessions, chicken and broccoli, uphill cardio, plain rice cakes with tuna, angry ab session, contemplate smashing a cake and throwing in the towel. Then leg day, no carbs, fasted cardio session, watch your friends eat dinner while you get full on air, dream of pizza but don’t you dare. 

What was this all for? The challenge. The fact that about only 1% of the population can do this successfully (and steroid-free for that matter) and wanting to join that exclusive club. To be able to say yeah, I did that, take the pics, maybe win some hardware, and show off a bit. Because I had to know if I could do it. 

The night before my first Bikini fitness competition, I cried like a hangry baby while practicing my posing routine. “ I quit! I’m still fat and I don’t look good” I spat at my trainer. “Shut up and go again.” He was used to his athletes losing their minds pre-comp. Carb starving is a real thing guys. You don’t know hunger until you pick up body building. It’s not “oh, I’m hungry I could use some lunch”. It’s more like: 

 

1. AM.  STARVING. AF. I. MIGHT. ACTUALLY. WITHER. AWAY. AND. DIE. 

I pranced around the studio like an abused pony, wearing my clear competition heels (also known as straight up stripper heels), and posed to the side, to the back, to the front and to the side again. “Pop the glutes more. More… Moooore…MOOOOOORREEEE”

I felt my glutes burst through my skin with all the pressing and twisting. I needed a medal just putting up with myself. We closed the night on me complaining some more and I went home to eat some fat free cubes of beef and slam down some more instant poop tea. 

Good times. 

I placed 2nd in Novice, 2nd in Masters, and 5th overall. It wasn’t bad, it wasn’t great, but it was motivating. While I was so bloody proud of myself for doing what I thought was the impossible, I decided that competing wasn’t for me. I was going to enjoy the sport and keep maintaining my physique, but lose the pressure of being a show pony. 

Chapter 3: The Comments 

I took this sport around the world with me. I posted my journey on social media (and now I regret doing so) and made the gym life a part of my travel routine. I hunted gyms as much as I hunted the coolest beaches and I’ve probably eaten more versions of sweet potatoes than anybody ever should. 

But do you know what else I took around the world with me? Pressure. The pressure to constantly keep up a certain look, that “perfect physique” (which I never achieved anyway) and that anxious, desperate need to maintain my body for fear of losing my identity. I BECAME this sport. I identified deeply with it. I only felt good about myself if I was lean enough, if I had lines and veins, if I had a pump, and I constantly shamed myself for NOT having those things. 

The mirror was my enemy and the dysmorphia was real. Every pound or kilo caused me great distress and it didn’t help that people at the gym had the audacity to comment unsolicitedly:

“You look bigger, you look smaller, you lost muscle, you gained muscle, you looked better back then, I prefer you more this, I don’t like that, I think you should do more, I think you should do less” was what I heard on a daily basis, mostly from men who mistook my friendliness for an invitation to dissect my physical appearance and completely disregard my feelings. 

The so-called compliments coupled with backhanded opinions drove my confidence to the floor. Sometimes I made a point to wear a bitch face to the gym and make sure my headphones were on so that I wouldn’t get a tap on the shoulder from some dude who wants to tell me if I’m good enough or not. 

Was it nice to be told “Hey, you look awesome” or “You’ve got a great body”? Sure! Of course! But those people dishing out those fast compliments are just as quick to put you down the second you lose an ounce of pump because god forbid life gets in the way. 

I trained like a beast from 2016 up until 2019. When Covid hit, I tried my best to keep it going but I lost the urge and passion. The truth? I think I was always lying to myself about my passion for this sport and realized during the lockdowns that I was only motivated to lift weights to look a certain way rather than the joy for the sport itself. The lockdowns gave me a much needed break to step away and realize that this was hurting my mental health and that I might need to rethink things. 

I gained a bunch of weight (who didn’t) and found myself dragging my feet to every workout. I was more disgusted with my physique than ever before in 2020 and figured the only way to feel better about myself is to… taadaaaa… keep fucking training. 

“Hey, you gained weight, you don’t look as good as you did a few summers ago” was a consistent comment (again coming from men who hold no place in my life) I got in Greece and South Africa. It was clear to me that my value to these people was the sum of my body fat percentage. Never mind that I speak 4 languages, have more passport stamps than a cartel mule, run a successful business, and plan to write a book one day. No. None of that matters because now I have love handles?

When I confronted these people about making snide comments about my body, their response was, “But you seem so confident and you post your body so much on social media, so I thought I could tell you anything and you would not be so sensitive”? This was eye opening for me. 

I learned at that moment that because I was posting my gym results on my social media that automatically allowed people to give me their opinions and relentlessly compare me to different versions of myself. It felt like I wasn’t allowed to ever change and I was literally told that if I gain weight or become less “fit”, that I am now deemed “less attractive”. 

I was a female in a male dominated world, learning very quickly that this is a hyper-sexualized sport that has nothing to do with athleticism and everything to do with vanity. 

One night, I broke down. 

Chapter 4. The breaking point. 

If the comments from the peanut gallery wasn’t enough, the constant need to consume an ungodly amount of calories sure was. “I’m hungry” became my catch phrase and my friends were sick of it. So was I. The hunger that bodybuilding type workouts cause would turn any metabolism into one of a race horse. I think it’s fair to say that I lost business and a good amount of financial opportunities because I was too busy eating. 

Train, chew, sleep, work, chew, work chew, chew, chew, chew, sleep. 

Does that sound like fun to you? 

So yeah… one night, I broke down. The rude comments, the insatiable hunger, the crappy results compared to the amount of effort, the social pressure and the negative thoughts all steamed up like a pressure cooker. I started to cry as if I was at a funeral because I knew…

It was time to kill this hobby before it kills me. 

What have I become? I lost myself to a vain sport filled with people who gym at 3pm on a Tuesday? Has this sport taken up so  much of my time and resources that I forgot to pay attention to my business goals, financial goals, and even spiritual goals? Have I become so obsessed with trying to obtain a physical appearance that I could never reach without the help of Clenbuteral and Anivar? Yes. Yes I have. And it’s time to stop. 

The summer of 2022, I injured my spine, and in the summer of 2023, I decided to officially end my relationship with weight lifting. 

It’s now 2024 and I am committed to not returning to this sport. 

Chapter 5. My final thoughts 

Bodybuilding is a toxic sport, especially for women, that causes borderline eating disorders, mental health issues, and intense anxiety with no freedom and no forgiveness. And while many will disagree with me (and you are welcome to), I stand firm when I say that it’s a sport filled with fake wellness and nasty hidden secrets like steroid abuse, fat burners, and chemicals used to achieve a look that they will say is “natural” when it is not. 

If you are looking to be fit and healthy, then I think you should run in the opposite direction of body building because there is nothing healthy about it. 

I believe that a fitness journey should be holistic in mind, body and spirit and not just in appearance in order for you to stay committed for life. 

What do I have to say to those people who constantly commented on my physique and shamed me for gaining a few kilos and not being starvingly ripped? To them I say, get a fucking life. I achieved something most people never could naturally, I am proud of what I have done and it’s now in the god dam past. 

I like to eat real food now.  I am a woman, not a machine. I am an athlete, not a model, and I am not here to please you. While I posted my fitness journey on social media, this was not an OnlyFans page and if I gain or lose weight, your opinion of it is as important as a mouse’s fart. 

 

Chapter 6. What’s next in my fitness journey? 

I have been and always will be an athlete. I would like for all my friends around the world firstly, to PLEASE STOP COMPARING MY BODY NOW TO WHAT IT “USED TO BE” and get used to the fact that I am not the sum of this sport. Currently? I am falling in love with fashion again, updating my wardrobe and playing with girlie things like makeup and hair! 

I am excited to start a new journey that involves functional fitness, Hiit cardio, yoga, pilates and circuit training. I am excited to be older, wiser, and more elegant and sophisticated. I am looking forward to a well-rounded wellness routine with a holistic approach, training my body along with my mind and spirit and to attack a new physique that is maintainable, healthy and feminine. 

I have no regrets. I deeply loved weight lifting. It served me until it abused me, and when I saw that it was consuming me too much and attracting the wrong attention, I knew things had to change. 

Thank you for letting me vent! Leave a comment and let’s start a thread about your experiences in the gym! 

Love always, 

Sally / Saliet Golan