Injured

Being injured is, to put it very mildly, rubbish. From the little niggle that makes you think you should miss a run to be on the safe side, to the stress fracture that leaves you out for months, it’s all immensely frustrating and depressing. As I write this I am recovering from what we think is a stress fracture (no one seems to be 100% sure, but as everything else has been ruled out that’s about the only diagnosis left). In many ways the timing has been as good as it could possibly be, we’ve just had another lockdown, my husband has been at home throughout, and for over two weeks I haven’t left the house and have rarely left the sofa.

So I’ve been a very good girl. I’ve rested, I’m looking after myself, and as people who aren’t runners keep telling me, at least it isn’t anything worse. I’m still healthy.

Healthy?! The less I’ve done the more tired I’ve become as I’ve veered between wanting to scream in frustration at my lack of movement, and the next minute being overwhelmed by complete lethargy. Rarely has there been a time in my life when I so desperately needed to run, as we all try and find our ways to cope in this pandemic, and I can’t do it. I’m having to face up to quite how reliant I am on running. I use it to control my anxiety levels, to keep my mental health on an even keel, and over the last few years it’s become a crucial aspect of my social life. All gone. I should probably be using this time to find alternative strategies, but to do that would suggest that I might have to curtail my running, or even stop, and neither of those are even close to being options.

Perhaps it’s that last thought that has kept me on the straight and narrow throughout this period. I had always thought that I’d really struggle to stop if I found myself properly injured, but I’ve been lucky enough to have an amazing physio who was prepared to be blunt with me. He told me that if I didn’t listen to my body now I ran the risk of reaching a point where recovery became increasingly difficult, with a worst case scenario of having to stop running entirely. That prospect was such a terrifying thought that it simply hasn’t occurred to me to do anything that might risk this recovery.

I’m going to leave the house later, for the first time in 17 days. And later this week I can try a very short walk around the park at the end of our street. I can’t think too far ahead, that’s when the fear starts to overwhelm again, so one day at a time and slowly, very slowly, I will make my way back to running.