Estimated reading time: 5 minutes

It started with a podcast question, posed in the Morning Chalk Up article written by Ben Bergeron and Patrick Cummings: “Is it okay to use fitness as a filter when dating?” This is what I wrote about in Part 1.

But here’s what I didn’t say, maybe what I wasn’t ready to say: I know what it’s like to be on the other side of that filter.

I’ve been the woman reading dating profiles that say, “Must take health seriously” and “Looking for someone into fitness and clean eating.” Even though I coach CrossFit, I’ve bled, cried, and rebuilt my life around health; I still read those lines and wonder if I should respond or just sit back.

Because when you’re in a larger body, (it doesn’t matter how far you’ve come), you know exactly what those words mean. I remember reading a profile once that said, “Looking for someone who lives and breathes CrossFit.” And I thought, so do I! Another guy listed, “No offense, but I want someone who clearly takes care of herself.” And I sat there staring at my screen thinking, I meal prep, lift five days a week, coach athletes, and still might not pass that test. Those words aren’t neutral. They’re coded, and we know the code.

They mean: not you, prove it, or you say you care about fitness, but your body says otherwise.

And the thing is, I didn’t make that up. These aren’t stories I created in my head. I didn’t twist harmless words into pain; I lived it. I learned the dating game the hard way.

Since my last relationship ended, I’ve set up dating profiles here and there. I tried to write about who I really was, what I valued, and the kind of connection I hoped to build. And then came the messages.

The men who said, “I thought you said you took health seriously?” after I sent a picture.

And the part that hurts the most is that I knew it was coming. Not because I’m cynical; I’ve been conditioned to brace for it. It’s like flinching before the slap; you don’t need to see it land to feel it coming. It’s made me question whether honesty is safe and whether I can ever just show up without needing to defend I value these things as well. That’s what it means to date in a world that still thinks health has a look or a size.

I’ve had jaws drop when men find out I’m a coach. I’ve had the slow, awkward pause when they realize I’m not who they pictured. I’ve seen the recalculating look; it looks like their brain is trying to make the math work.

I haven’t seriously dated in years. Not because I didn’t want love, but because I didn’t know how to navigate the emotional minefield of showing up in dating spaces (especially when fitness is important), where the assumption is that if you look like me, you must not be serious about health.

But I am.

I take finishing what I started very seriously, healing very seriously, and becoming a woman I’m proud of—who leads, teaches, lifts, writes, and fights for others—very seriously.

And yet, I’ve cried over this. Hard. Because nothing slices deeper than being called a liar about the thing you’ve given your life to. To have someone look at you and decide it can’t be true. Your body doesn’t match their idea of discipline, so your truth must be false.

But what does that mean to someone reading my profile? What size do I need to be to finally pass the test? What number on the scale will convince them I’m not lying about my commitment to health? What version of me is enough to be believed?

“I want someone who takes care of herself.” I shower daily. I can check these boxes. I own my own home, I’m financially responsible, I take of myself and family.

I’m called a liar because I am not thin. Why can’t people just be honest about aesthetic preference and call it what it is?

“I want someone who values health and fitness.” “I want someone who…” fill in the blank with whatever vague standard is floating around that day.

I could answer every single one of those honestly. I could point to the gym hours, the meal prep, the therapy, the journaling, and the grit. But would it be enough for them to believe it? No, because it’s not what they are looking for. Say what you mean!

Those men don’t matter. They never did, not really. Because I’ve always known who I was. I’ve always known the fight I’ve shown up for.

It always came down to one quiet, gut-check question: Are you up for defending yourself on your dating profile today, Athena?

And most days, no. No, I don’t want that today. Most days, I just put my head down and keep doing the work. That’s all I do.

I finally gave it up. And when I say gave it up, I mean I handed it up.

“God, You know what matters to me. You’ve seen the work, the war, the weeping. You’ve seen what I’ve sacrificed to stand here”.

So I’ll wait. I’ll wait for someone who can see the whole damn picture.

And to the “Joes” of the world, if this somehow lands in your inbox, let me say this directly: Women need to feel safe. That’s the starting line. Awkward? We can handle it. Shy? Not a deal breaker. But cowardice? That’s where we draw the line.

Say what you mean and own what you feel. Stop trying to sneak past judgment with polite phrasing. If you want someone who “lives and breathes fitness,” just say it. If a particular body size matters to you, name it. You’re not an A-hole for having preferences. You’re an A-hole if you pretend not to.

Be clear. Be real. We’re not looking for perfection; we’re looking for honesty.

I wouldn’t swipe left because you weren’t attractive. I’d swipe left because you were too scared to tell the truth. Cowardice isn’t just unattractive; it’s nauseating.