Hashtag Road to Riocovery

It is going to suck to write this. I’m going to shed some tears, struggle to put my emotions into words, and think about all the things that could have been. However, I’m at the point now where I feel it is necessary. Not only because I owe it to myself to begin to find some peace, but because I feel the need to be transparent with people who have followed and supported me during this entire process.

I have been diagnosed with a stress reaction in my left fibula and am unable to continue on with my Rio campaign. It has been more than eight years since my last bone injury, so the timing and unexpected nature of this has been devastating for me and everyone in my corner.

During my teenage years I was plagued with seven stress fractures — three in my foot, two in my ankle, one in my tibia and one in my femur. These were all due to a lack of strength in my left side — (I broke my femur skiing at age 9, and as a result my left leg has never seemed to work as fluidly as my right.) This is not to say I haven’t been injured over the last eight years, I’ve had my fair share of hiccups, but nothing has crippled me in the same way it did as a teen.

The first sign that something was off was May 10th. I just had one of the “best workouts of your life” days, but during the cool down there was some slight soreness in my lower leg. I wasn’t too stressed out, and like all the other hiccups I had dealt with, figured I would just need to keep an eye on it and it would settle down. Over the next week or so, my leg started to flare up, but not consistently enough to make me feel like it was something serious. I kept up with rehab and felt like it was under control. I had my sights set on racing for my first shot at the Olympic qualifier at the Hoka Mid Distance Classic May 20th. Two days before racing, my leg was noticeably worse after a workout on the track but I didn’t give it too much weight. I had a race to get ready for and I was excited to see how fast I could run after seven weeks away from racing.

The night of the race I taped up my leg, and even though painful during warm up, I pushed it out of my mind. The greatest races I have had are when I give no power to how I ‘feel’ and just trust the training I had put in place. Going into it I told myself “No matter how you race this, if you be aggressive and give it everything, you will do it.” I went out hard, pushed from the front, made decisive moves when I was uncomfortable, and was on pace until 120m to go. I completely hit a wall and fell apart and was 1.45 seconds shy of the A.

After the race I felt very confused. My first questions to coach were, “Why did I die like that? How did I fuck it up? I gave it everything, so why did I not run the time?” The last question to me seems like something a child would ask — A “Well, if I tried my best, why did I not do it?” sort of mentality. It seems like a silly question in a way, but it also makes me identify something in me as an athlete now, that for so many years I hadn’t been — confident. In my training, my strength, my health, my capabilities, my toughness. Looking back on the race now, I think the element I lacked that day was a sense of calm. I was never covering moves, but instead pushing when I felt like I may be slowing. I walked away knowing I left everything on the track, but not executing my goal left me feeling defeated.

The next week that followed was when the downward spiral really began as my leg was getting rapidly worse. I was cutting runs short, missing workouts, and trying to maintain a training schedule that I could handle. My next race was coming up at my home track (June 4th) and I had no other option but to try and keep my head above water (literally). The two weeks between Hoka and the Furman Elite 1500, I ran a total 35 miles and the rest of the time I was in the pool.

When race day came around every other variable couldn’t have been more perfect. Gorgeous weather, solid rabbit, great field of women, relaxed atmosphere, familiar track, and an abundance of people who knew me, and wanted nothing more than to see me succeed. Coach and I had picked this day a long time ago as the race where I would secure my Olympic A qualifier and every aspect of this day was put in place for me to do so. Leading into the race I was in a lot of pain, but there was that little bit of fire in me that thought maybe I could do something magical that night. The race ended up being incredible. Eight women under the Olympic A standard at a non Diamond League event is almost unheard of. Unfortunately I was not one of these women and the fear that I had been so afraid to face was now unavoidable.

I found out I had a bone injury alone in my car as I read the radiologist’s report from my MRI. Immediately after reading those dreaded words, I looked at the time: 2:31pm on June 10th. I told myself to remember this moment and how much it hurt. That this point in my life would be a catalyst for the rest of my career and will either break me or make me stronger. After seeing a sports doc it was officially diagnosed as a stress reaction, and it wasn’t long after that I knew this Olympic Dream was no longer an option for me. Well, at least for now.

Before this injury, this year had been wonderfully different. It challenged me, surprised me, and changed me as an athlete. I had checked every box, crushed every workout, and could see all my dreams coming to life in front of me. It was so refreshing to be succeeding in so many areas of training that had always been hard for me. I didn’t view myself as a one dimensional athlete anymore and I was experiencing the type of momentum you dream of as a runner. In a discussion we had when trying to make sense of this injury, coach described this rapid progression in training as charging up a steep mountain. Perhaps the ‘lows’ in training I had in previous years allowed me to reset, and created the ebb and flows that are crucial for adaptation. Mountains in previous years had rolling hills on the way up, this year there was no such terrain holding me back and I was conquering an exciting new territory. Unfortunately, I just wasn’t quite prepared to fall off the edge when I made it to the top.

When reflecting on the year as a whole and trying to take a step back, I still can’t figure out the ‘mistake’ that lead to this. As an athlete you are always looking for things you could have executed better or should have done differently, but I don’t have the answer this time. Maybe I should have held back in training a little, but in hindsight that is so hard to recognize when you feel strong and know that you need to be working your ass off to earn a spot on the Olympic team. Because of the absolute worst timing of it all, it feels like an unfair, deliberate test. A test that I didn’t study for, and ultimately ran out of time leaving so many tasks incomplete. One of the reasons this has been so difficult for me is because I was unprepared for failure. I wanted this so bad that I didn’t allow myself to acknowledge any other alternative.

“I am deathly afraid of almosts. Of coming so very close to where I want to be in life that I can almost taste it, almost touch it, then falling just a little short.” — Beau Taplin

These ‘almosts’ are my nightmare and right now it feels like I am in the thick of it. But if I could do it again, would I be more reserved and guarded? Absolutely not. Despite my Olympic campaign being cut short, there are still things I have accomplished this year that can never be taken from me. Becoming national champion for the second year in a row is something I am deeply proud of, and would not have happened if I didn’t truly believe I could be the best. Half the time people miss out on achieving something not because they were inherently incapable, but because they never genuinely thought it could happen. Like I’ve always been with anything I love, I’m all in.

So where do I go from now? The last couple of weeks I haven’t thought much beyond the daily decision on whether to cross train like a mad woman, or drink a large bottle of wine while watching a trashy TV series. Personally, both choices have been helpful in their own ways, but keeping myself shut off from everyone has not. Moving forward the only thing I can set my sights on for now is getting healthy again. In the meantime I will do what I can to be there for Jeff and the rest of the Furman Elite crew as they approach the height of their own Olympic pursuits. I have a feeling that I am not quite done with the emotional tears just yet.

I’m still trying to figure out if there’s anyway I could sleep through the entire Olympic Games, but I also know I won’t stay this bitter forever. Just like with any heartbreak, time will help it heal and along the way you will discover new things about yourself that you had never known before. I know I am not the only one who has dealt with heartbreaks like this, and hearing similar stories and advice from other runners during this time has helped me a lot. I hope that by sharing this I can do the same for someone else out there who is going through something similar.

Separate to my own struggles, it’s been encouraging to see so many Aussie athletes make huge leaps and bounds this year on their own ‘road to Rio’ and I look forward to seeing this success carry on throughout the Games. As much as I believe I deserved to have the full opportunity to establish myself on that team, the 1500m women who will fill the places are also more than worthy. It feels special to be part of an amazing year for distance female Aussie athletes and I can only see bigger and better results escalating in the years to come.

To everyone who has reached out and supported me this year — thank you, from the bottom of my heart. To those who know me personally and have been with me through the highs and lows, and to those who just follow my career and took the time to send me kind words of encouragement, it has truly meant the world to me. There are also many people behind the scenes who work so hard for me who need a shoutout — my sponsor Asics for all their support, my physio/massage therapists and chiropractors holding me together, my agent Nic Bideau pushing for the best opportunities, and the Furman community who have made Greenville feel like a second home. And lastly, to Furman Elite, my coach, my family, and my wonderful husband. You guys are my unwavering team and the driving force that keeps my passion and dreams alive. All the success I have had, and hope to have moving forward, are just as much yours as they are mine.

What I’ve learnt so far from all of this is that the struggle is actually real, the work is relentless, but the rewards are second to none. I’ll just have to wait and see what else I discover along the way, confront my challenges head on, and then get back to doing what I do best.