Injury, running and the echo of impact

It’s just over a year since I went out running one cold, bright Sunday morning. I’d stayed overnight in a hotel in Gloucestershire and packed for the gym, not for any length of time outdoors. But the sky was clear, and I wanted crisp air and some beautiful countryside, so I headed to the car in shorts and a vest top, grabbed my spare lightweight jacket and set off.

A little after a mile and a half, I ran into a multi-use park full of walkers, dog walkers and other runners. I passed a lady with two small dogs, both on leads. She called them to heel and sat them down, and I thanked her as I went by.

Moments later, in a flash, I went from upright and running at a good pace to sitting cross-legged on the ground, nursing a strangely shaped wrist.

One of the dogs had slipped her grip, lead still attached, and come bounding after me. The lead wrapped around my legs mid-stride and I hit the ground hard. Physics had set a trajectory in motion.

The lady was mortified and couldn’t have been kinder. She drove me to the local hospital, where I was seen in record time. In under three hours I’d been triaged, X-rayed, introduced to the wonderful green whistle, patched up in a backslab and sent on my way.

There was one slight spanner in the works. I’d left my partner asleep in bed with no idea where I was or when I’d be back, and the car keys were in my back pocket. Not that I was driving anywhere.

A quick Costa for shock and caffeine, then an Uber back to the hotel, where John and the staff made me comfortable with breakfast (well past breakfast hours) and a late check-out so I could have a bath and put some proper clothes on.

Back in Salisbury, I was seen ten days later for a routine check-up, admitted the next morning and had surgery to fix a plate over the broken bone.

And this is where the story really begins.

Bouncing back (or so I thought)

I was running two weeks after surgery, starting with a mile or so and building gradually. I’ve run regularly for nearly 17 years and have learned a lot along the way. Apart from some repeated tightness on my right side, I seemed to have recovered remarkably well. To most people, what had happened was significant. To me, it was a slight inconvenience. I couldn’t have asked for a better outcome in terms of treatment and recovery, or so I believed.

Fast forward to April. I’d set myself a goal of running a half-marathon during my year of being 55, and I was building towards a 10-mile long run. I was well prepared, having already run two 8–9 mile runs, and apart from that short-lived right-side tightness, all was well.

At around 7 miles, my right side concertina’d. Muscle, ligament and tendon all locked up, and I could barely walk, let alone run home. I called John, my partner, and he came to pick me up. In 17 years of running, that had happened no more than three times.

The body keeps its own record

I booked in with my chiropractor that week. He had no idea where I’d hit the ground, apart from the purple patches still visible on my right knee, ankle and elbow. Yet he found misalignment through the joints of my right foot, ankle, knee, hip and shoulder - the exact path of the fall.

My body had remembered the impact and braced for it every time I went out running. The longer I ignored it, the louder it shouted.

Retraining, not just rehabbing

I stopped running for two weeks, then began strength training, focusing on unilateral exercises to unmask the imbalances where one side had been quietly compensating for the other. For nearly four months I combined strength work with long walks.

Then came the real work: retraining my body to know that it’s safe to run, that I won’t be side-swiped without warning and end up with an injury, an anaesthetic and an operation.

It’s now two months since I started running again, and the echo of that injury still reminds me to keep going. I ran for almost six months with significant muscular imbalances, and they won’t unwind overnight. My body lets me know whenever I don’t look after it, like when I sit curled like a prawn at my desk for hours without moving or stretching, or push on when I know I need to rest.

I’m back up to 6.5 miles and still on track for that half-marathon. Maybe not as soon as I’d hoped, but there’s always next year. The goal was self-imposed, so I can move the goalposts whenever I choose.

What I’m taking from it

I’ve drawn on brain-retraining techniques, kinesiology and my understanding of anatomy and physiology throughout my recovery. Looking back, I was perhaps a little overly positive in thinking I could literally bounce back within a couple of weeks of major surgery. This was a reminder that mind over matter doesn’t always win. Sometimes the body speaks louder, and the wise thing is to listen.

Listening differently

If this story has taught me anything, it’s that the body doesn’t forget*. It stores the moment of impact, the held breath and the bracing, and it carries them quietly into the next run, the next long day at the desk, the next time we push past what we know we need.

Healing, I’m learning, is more than the bone knitting back together. It’s the slower work of showing the rest of you that it’s safe now: that you can move freely, trust your stride and let your shoulders drop. That kind of safety can’t be forced. It’s built a gentle step at a time, through patience, curiosity and the willingness to rest before the body has to shout.

So I’ll keep strengthening, stretching and listening, and I’ll keep moving the goalposts when I need to.

Now I’d love to hear from you. Has your body ever remembered something long after your mind had moved on? Perhaps an injury, a shock or a hard season that showed up later as tightness, tiredness or a niggle you couldn’t explain. What did you learn from it, and what helped you feel safe in your body again?

Share your story in the comments or send me a message. Your experience might be exactly what someone else needs to read today.

*For completeness, there are differing views on whether the body literally “keeps the score”, or whether the nervous system simply runs learned, automatic sequences that respond faster than our thinking minds can follow. Either way, many people notice tightness, pain or other symptoms in the body long after the event itself has passed, and what helps is the same: patience, gentle movement and teaching the body that it’s safe now.