My Road to Recovery: Patience, Teamwork, and the Power of Belief After Injury

Sometimes, life forces us to stop running — not because we want to, not because we need to, but because the world interrupts our path. I learned this on April 7, when a moment I never saw coming changed everything. Someone cut me off at an intersection. My motorcycle slipped, and I hit the pavement. In that instant, months and years of preparation, plans, and expectations were thrown into uncertainty.

For runners, losing the ability to run feels almost existential. It’s more than training that halts — it’s a rhythm, a routine, a part of your identity. The body pauses, but the mind keeps racing, replaying what could have been, what might still be.

The Accident and the Unexpected Pause

The crash left me with a knee bursa — a small injury on paper, but one that carried enormous consequences. It was more than pain; it was the sudden absence of movement, of freedom, of purpose. I had to withdraw from multiple races: pacing the BMO Marathon in 3:30, Survivorfest 24h, Lost Soul 100k, and the one I had waited two years for — representing Canada at the World 24h Championships in Albi, France. The disappointment was crushing.

Every time I thought I was ready to train, my knee reminded me that I wasn’t. Each setback brought a wave of sadness. Watching other runners move freely, feeling the rhythm of their feet on the pavement, reminded me of everything I had temporarily lost. It was hard physically, but even harder mentally.

The Physical Challenge

Recovery is a quiet, relentless process. My team was everything. Deanna, my physio at Aveeva Physio in North Vancouver, has worked with me for eight years. She’s more than a physiotherapist — she’s my confidant, my motivator, my reality-check when sport gets tough. Together with my RMT, doctor, and strength trainer, we mapped every step of my recovery.

Months of physio, RMT sessions, swimming, and gradual strength work followed. Each session was deliberate, each exercise purposeful. There were times when progress felt imperceptible. Yet with every carefully guided movement, my knee slowly regained its function. The teamwork behind recovery is often invisible to outsiders, but it is critical. Without my team, I would have faced frustration without direction.

The Mental Battle

If the body is a machine, the mind is the engine. And when your legs won’t run, the mind can become your toughest opponent. For me, the hardest moments weren’t the therapy sessions — they were the empty streets, the quiet tracks, the reminders of races I couldn’t join. Watching other runners, knowing I wasn’t one of them, tested patience and resilience like nothing else.

But coaching my athletes during this time became my anchor. I went to local races, called or texted them before their starts, tracked their progress, and shared in their excitement and challenges. Living through their journeys reminded me why I love this sport, why I dedicate myself to it, and why setbacks are never the end of the story. Focusing on their progress gave me hope for my own recovery.

The Spiritual and Mental Renewal

Faith was quietly at the center of my recovery, though not in the conventional sense of religion. It was a belief that there was a reason for this pause, a purpose in the waiting. That patience and resilience, even when I felt I had enough, would be tested and strengthened.

It kept hope alive. It reminded me that while my knee was healing, my mind and heart could continue growing. Strangely, as I approached the final months of rehabilitation, my knee began to feel almost normal — just in time for a new chapter, one that coincides with my upcoming trip to Mount Athos, marking a fresh spiritual journey. Recovery, I realized, is more than physical — it’s an evolution of mind, body, and spirit.

Rebuilding and Looking Forward

With the green light to run again, the first steps back were humbling. The body remembered, but the mind needed reassurance. Gradually, I increased distance, intensity, and confidence. Every stride reminded me that resilience is earned, not given.

Now, my eyes are on a horizon that has inspired me for years: Dolihos 2026, a 255 km ultramarathon in Greece with a 48-hour cutoff. This race has one of the highest DNF rates in the world. The challenge is immense — the terrain is demanding, the time limit relentless — but the timing feels right. My knee is ready, my mind is ready, and my heart is ready. Starting training during my trip to Greece feels like more than coincidence; it feels like grace.

Dolihos represents more than a race. It is a testament that setbacks are cycles of life, not endings. It’s proof that with time, focus, teamwork, effort, and dedication, we can overcome challenges and grow stronger than before. I want to show my athletes that injuries, pauses, and disappointments do not define us. Recovery is possible, and strength can emerge from waiting.

Lessons Learned Along the Way

1. Patience is not passive — it’s an active choice to keep moving in small ways, even when progress is slow.

2. Teamwork makes the impossible achievable — the combined guidance of a physio, RMT, strength trainer, and doctor transforms the recovery process from daunting to manageable.

3. Mental resilience is cultivated daily — setbacks test more than muscles; they test the heart and mind. Coaching others and sharing in their progress can provide light in dark times.

4. Faith and belief fuel endurance — whether spiritual, philosophical, or personal, believing there is purpose in struggle sustains hope and motivation.

5. Goals transform setbacks into opportunity — Dolihos 2026 is more than a race; it’s a symbol of persistence, dedication, and living proof that recovery is a pathway to growth.

Closing Reflection

Recovery is rarely linear. It is a series of small victories, quiet adjustments, and moments of self-reflection. Looking back at the past months, I see the invisible threads that held me together — the team behind me, the athletes I coached, the belief I clung to, and the slow rebuilding of strength.

Now, as I take my first true strides since the accident, I carry gratitude and determination. Recovery has taught me that every setback is an opportunity to grow, and every pause is a chance to prepare for something greater. For runners facing their own challenges, know this: you are not alone, your strength is real, and your journey continues — one careful, deliberate step at a time.