03.24.25
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How a Running Injury Showed Me How Strong I Really Am
"It was important to let myself feel all the feelings."
I woke up one Sunday in August 2021 feeling like I had done at least a thousand crunches. Never have I felt so sore, so deep in my core the day after a long run, I thought, sipping my coffee as the morning light streamed into my Brooklyn apartment.
At first, I wasn’t mad at it. The hurt felt like a good sensation. After all, the day before I ran 23 miles, my longest training run for the London Marathon. I had spent the last 13 weeks training for what would be my 11th 26.2-mile race. I had already gone through a lot of chafing and at least six different pairs of sneakers, but this pain was unexpected. Still, I went about my Sunday routine—errands, podcast things, prepping for the week ahead.
Monday: Still sore. And now a little concerned. Within moments of starting the 5K recovery jog I had on deck, I felt a deep ache in my stomach. I stopped, did a few stretches, and tried again. It wasn’t happening. The discomfort was real, and I knew this wasn’t normal. I texted my physical therapist Luke who suggested I take a few days off from running. With another five weeks until race day, I wasn’t too alarmed just yet.
Later that week, when the pain still hadn’t subsided, I went into the physical therapy studio so Luke could get a closer look. There was a lot of stretching, pressing, and question-asking. A considerable amount of yelping. Then, some tears. Something inside of my abdomen, perhaps my psoas or an adductor, was definitely strained. Luke gave me a slew of exercises to do and recommended I take another couple weeks off from running.
My mind spun thinking about all the unexpected bills in my future—physical therapy, MRIs, etc. The nerves began to pile up. To make matters worse, running was the thing I leaned into in good times and bad to sort through my feelings and decompress. When that suddenly wasn’t an option, I was left scrambling to find another way to move my body and process. So, I swapped my sneakers for cycling cleats and biked over 140 miles that month.
When I went to lace up again a few weeks later, I felt apprehensive. There was a glimmer of hope that I wanted to hold onto with all that I had. But, within seconds, there it was, that familiar discomfort.
My hope faded. I knew what I needed to do. I couldn’t run this marathon.
I was gutted. Actually, that’s a massive understatement. I called one of my best friends who listened as I sobbed. I was devastated about giving up the opportunity to run the London marathon, one of the world majors on my bucket list. And I knew that even if I deferred my entry, there was no guarantee I’d get to run the race the following year.
As someone who shares her training on social media, I remember how overwhelmed I felt when I opened Instagram to update my followers. I remember the uncontrollable emotions, the waterfall of frustration. After crying on camera and ripping off that Bandi-Aid, I went to the marathon website and officially deferred from the race, tears stinging my cheeks as I read the confirmation.
The next morning, I woke up hoping it had all been a bad dream. But then, after journaling and coffee, I felt more capable of showing up for myself. Like so many others, I’ve had disappointments in the past that have taught me to embrace the good moments and make the most of the bad ones. However, I had never had to pivot on a goal that involved so much opportunity cost before.
It was important to let myself feel all the feelings.
I knew that two things could be true: I could feel disappointed, and I could also be proud. Yes, I was frustrated that I had worked this hard to come up short and get injured. But I didn’t regret the training I’d put in. I enjoyed the journey up until that point. And I knew, with time, I’d heal. I’d get back to running eventually—faster even than I would have if I had persisted through the pain.
Sitting on the couch that day, I asked myself two questions. The first: What’s next? I made the conscious choice to accept what I couldn’t change. I told myself, This is how it is now. Through radical acceptance, I had an opportunity to choose how I progressed.
The next question: What’s my goal? I know that by taking a step back and evaluating where I want to end up or what I want specifically, it’s easier to get intentional about the next best choice for Emily. And zooming out made the answer clear…
I wanted to find some joy in the midst of things that felt bigger than me.
Within the next few hours, I changed my London plane ticket to an entirely different destination: Italy. I decided to add a stopover in Paris. I bounced the idea off my oldest friend, who told me he’d actually be in Florence at the exact same time. It felt like a sign that this was the right move.
My plans were officially changed. I was ready to make lemonade out of lemons, accept the things I could not change, and graciously move forward in a way that no longer felt forced. I felt good. I was, indeed, proud.
And, thanks to that pivot, I can now look back on the experience fondly. I don’t look back on the fall of 2021 with disdain. The trip was fantastic, and I’ll cherish the memories of my dear friend and I eating raviolis and tiramisu on a small Italian side street for the rest of my days. Oh, and the cherry on top: I did get to run the London Marathon the following year.
Now, whether it’s an unexpected injury or another frustrating hurdle, I know I have the tenacity to show up for myself when life feels challenging. I respect my body. I’m grateful for my strong heart—one that both dreams big and has grace for each and every pivot.
Four years later and a total of 14 marathons in, I can’t guarantee I won’t get sidelined again in the future, but I do know one thing to be true: I’m prepared and more than capable of handling whatever comes my way.
Wondermind does not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. Any information published on this website or by this brand is not intended as a replacement for medical advice. Always consult a qualified health or mental health professional with any questions or concerns about your mental health.
