The Unbelievable Broom Heist of 2007

I just recorded a podcast with Selene Yeager (former pro mountain bike racer, cycling journalist, host of the Hit Play Not Pause podcast, and all-around amazing, powerful woman). Among oh-so-many gems, she reflected on the joy of eating not one, but two slices of toast with breakfast. 

Where she’d previously limited herself to one piece, at some point she asked herself where that limit even came from and whether it was serving her. (Spoiler: it came from diet culture, and no, dear reader, it was not serving her. Shameless plug: Subscribe to Real Fit so you don’t miss the full interview when it airs.)

Our toast conversation reminded me of the time I got robbed. It was the winter of 2007, I was living alone on the second floor of a three-family house in Pawtucket, Rhode Island, and I was perplexed because the only thing my burglar took was my broom. I knew it sounded crazy — a thief broke into my home, presumably while I was at work or maybe on a bike ride, and took, of all the things, a five-dollar broom my mom bought me at Job Lot!? I felt a strange mixture of violation and confusion. 

Before calling the cops, I called my best friend. “Are you sure it was stolen?” she asked.  “If it wasn’t stolen, where would it be? I’ve looked everywhere.” I’d thoroughly searched all 800 square feet of my apartment. 

Since there was no sign of forced entry, the next person I called was my mother. While I couldn’t discern a potential motive, as the only person I’d given a spare key, she certainly had the means. 

My mom asserted her innocence. “Pammy, I don’t have your broom. Are you sure you didn’t misplace it?”

I was sure.

The only person left to call was my Russian landlord. While he undoubtedly had a broom of his own, he too, had a key to the unit. We weren’t exactly friendly, but I liked him and sensed he was a good man. Surely, whatever reason he had to enter my apartment unannounced and take my personal property was justified. 

I imagined us sharing a chuckle over what we’d someday refer to as The Great Broom Debacle of 2007 once I got over the awkwardness of asking him if by any chance he’d borrowed my broom without asking. 

But before I had the chance to dial his number, I walked into the second bedroom/office/auxiliary workout clothes closet and shut the door behind me. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of something green and distinctly broom-shaped. 

Time stood still as I turned to face the shiny object that had been hiding between the wall and the (previously) open door. Before me was the broom I was positive had been confiscated by my landlord. I tried to make sense of what I was seeing.

Had he perhaps borrowed it and returned it in the space of a few days, without my ever seeing him come and go? Or… had it been there, lurking in the shadows all along???  

My best friend and I still get a laughing-so-hard-it-hurts-belly laugh out if this story, which could be proof that one should put things back where they belong. It could also mean life would be easier if you never did boring tasks like sweeping. Or it could be evidence that I’ve consumed too much true crime content.

Whatever it is, it’s a testament to how easy it is to believe the story we tell ourselves. Once I convinced myself that my broom was stolen, I turned every piece of “evidence” into a clue that would help me crack The Case of the Stolen Broom. 

I was so sure that my story was true that I forgot to be curious. Just like Selene spent years eating just one slice of bread because that was how she thought she was supposed to eat, not knowing how much more energy she’d have if she ate more carbs, I was turning my apartment into a crime scene and rounding up suspects when my time would have been better spent tidying. 

As humans, we need stories to make sense of our experiences. But when those stories don’t serve us, we have a choice — we can keep on believing them and living with the pain our stories create, or we can write new ones.

Which stories are interfering with your ability to experience peace with food, exercise, and your body?

Here are a few of the stories I’ve heard from my clients lately: 

• I need to lose weight
• The salad is the good choice
• I’ll be more confident when I’m smaller
• My workout only counts if it’s at least 30 minutes
• Bikinis aren’t for bodies like mine
• No one needs to see me in a tank top
• Bagels have too many carbs
• I can’t be hungry, I just ate! 

If any of those sound familiar, or if you can think of a few of your own, I have an invitation for you: Carve out ten minutes to reflect on the story.

Ask yourself:

• Where did it come from?
• Is it serving me? 
• Is it true? 
• What is a statement that would be more true and — and wouldn’t make me feel bad about myself? 

We are not here to spend our precious time on earth loathing our bodies and second-guessing our appetites. Food is a vital source of pleasure, movement can be an expression of joy, and you have unique, valuable gifts to share with the world.

If obsessing about food and your body is dimming your light and muffling your voice (and I promise you, it is), it’s time to drop some of your old stories and write some new ones. (And if you need 1:1 support, I can help.)