Grimly determined, Peach Friedman would hit the ground running.

Her daily – sometimes thrice daily – jogs provided no joy or stress relief. They merely served as an unrelenting ritual to purge demons and calories in equal number.

Always, she would count her steps – 100 on each finger until she reached 1,000 – then begin anew.

Always, she would imagine that each step taken was a bite of food consumed.

What Friedman denied herself at the table she would indulge in running down the road.

"That's how I coped with it," she says.

Running, though, wasn't the extent of Friedman's pathology. Weightlifting. Treadmill work. Pilates. Yoga. Friedman was a gym regular and, at home, she would surreptitiously do squats in bathroom to counteract the calories she took in from a few almonds. She'd perform cartwheels in the backyard, run up and down stairs while cleaning the house, shake her limbs and purposely fidget – all to burn those demon calories.

Those days are long past now. But Friedman's struggles in early this decade with anorexia nervosa and, later, a form of bulimia that involves compulsive exercise, still make her shudder at the memory.

And the memories are fresh as the Nov. 4 publishing date for Friedman's memoir, "Diary of an Exercise Addict" (Globe Pequot Press, $21.95, 208 pages), nears.

Now, as a personal trainer, as well as an outreach coordinator for the Summit Eating Disorders Program in Sacramento, the 29-year-old Friedman hopes her story serves as both a comfort and a cautionary tale to others dealing with what she and some clinicians refer to as "exercise bulimia."

If you haven't heard of the disorder, that could be because, officially, it does not exist.

The Diagnostic and Statistical Manual of Mental Disorders (DSM-IV) does not specifically mention exercise bulimia, and no direct research has been published on the condition. Yet many therapists report treating bulimia patients who choose excessive exercise rather than vomiting as a way to purge.

Dr. Ron Thompson, of the Bloomington (Ind.) Center for Counseling and Human Development, said many patients see exercise to shed calories – even to extremes – as more socially acceptable than starvation or purging.

"There's far less of a stigma than vomiting," Thompson said. "The patient views exercise positively.

"There are still too many people out there who believe you can't get too much of a good thing."

Tony Paulson, Summit's executive director, says about 20 percent of his cases involve exercise bulimia.

"The denial mechanism is much more strict, and it's harder to treat," Paulson says. "You've got to get the person to see it's a problem."

Friedman knows from experience just how widespread compulsive exercise has become, primarily among women.

Several years ago, she was the subject of a spread in People magazine and chatted about her experiences on TV shows such as "The View" and "20/20." That exposure led, she said, to not only the book contract but also a flood of correspondence with people (overwhelmingly women) who felt they were compulsive exercisers.

Each case is different, of course, but Friedman says she can spot exercise bulimics at the gym, the grocery store, on the running trails … anywhere.

"They're there every day at the same time, not missing a beat. And so intense," Friedman says. "You see them on the elliptical (machine), and there's no joy there. They aren't doing it because it feels so good to move. They're doing it out of guilt, fear or punishment.

"Guilt for what they've eaten or who they are as a person. Or fear of truly being in their natural body or stepping outside their routine. Being disciplined in your routine offers you a lot of comfort. It's a control measure to make you feel safe and secure."

Friedman was a senior at Naropa University in Boulder, Colo., in 2000 when her illness began. She was nursing a broken heart after splitting with her longtime boyfriend. In three months, she dropped to 100 pounds from 146 (she's a willowy 5-foot-9). She consumed as few as 800 calories a day and ran at least 10 miles a day.

Call The Bee's Sam McManis, (916) 321-1145.