Breaking Point: The mental and physical toll injuries can have on an athlete

In my head there’s a different version of me. A different, invincible athlete. One that doesn’t know what Biofreeze is, how to find a stress fracture on an X-ray or how to decipher an MRI scan. 

Someone who got to finish her freshman season of cross country and didn’t have to try and hide a limp during track. She wasn’t unevenly walking around the Rim Rock cross country course during the league meet to support her team — she was running it.

That girl isn’t me. I’ve had three stress fractures in my legs in the span of a year. I know far too well how to numb the pain of injuries, how to limp through the last couple of weeks of a season.

If I just stopped running that would fix all my problems… but I can’t.

I need to run. If I’ve had a hard day, at least I have practice after school to forget about it. The feeling of pushing my body to its limit drowns out everything else and I can just run.

It’s not always fun, it’s not always easy. But it’s the daily run debriefs with my friends saying, “OK you get the first two miles to rant and I get the second two,” that make it all worth it.

That’s why I ignore the pain shooting up my legs with every step during cross country season. That’s why I tell myself it’s just shin splints and I need to suck it up. That’s why I use an obsessive amount of Biofreeze to numb my legs, take ibuprofen in math class and wear gray compression sleeves from my dad. If I don’t talk about it, if I don’t acknowledge the fact that I’m injured, it’s not real — I can keep running, keep improving. 

—

It’s nearing the end of my freshman cross country season. I sit on the exam table in room 6 in the doctors’ office. The lights are off and a black-and-white X-ray of my left shin shines from the old computer screen.

Please don’t let there be a fracture. Don’t let it be bad.

My doctor moves the picture down and my eyes trail along my tibia — I see it before he does.

No. It’s not real. I was going to cry.

Finally he sees it — the small bump on the bone indicating a healing fracture. “So, it looks like there’s a fracture here…” Yeah no kidding, I saw it 10 minutes ago. I’m mad. Mad at myself. Why is this happening? Why me? Why can’t my body handle it?

He tells me I have two options: stop running and start physical therapy or keep training. The risk of it getting worse is low but I’ll be in pain and my performance will go down. 

If I stop, it means spending every day cooped up inside, in a boot. I can’t see my friends as often, I can’t compete. But if I keep going, what if things get worse? I’m in so much pain and I want to stop and I don’t all at the same time.

So of course I go with the “smart” option. I don’t stop. I keep running, even though my bones are literally breaking and I can barely walk without pain.

Two weeks. That’s how long I last before I can’t handle the pain anymore. I stop running and start physical therapy. My left leg is nearly healed but for fear that the right might be broken as well I get a boot, meaning six weeks of hobbling around school and excruciating physical therapy sessions until my legs shake. Finally, I’m cleared to run again. I’m healed.

—

My bright orange racing spikes pound the blue, slanted track during an offseason meet. I pass another girl and another keeping a close eye on the clock after every lap.

After I cross the finish line I step off the track attempting to stay up right and give the girl next to me a high five. My vision is blurry and white and my breath comes out in short gasps. But it doesn’t matter that I can’t breathe or my legs feel like jello. I just destroyed my time goal by 22 seconds. My parents, my coach and my friend all rush over, giving me hugs.

That’s what sports should be. Competing, succeeding — maybe failing, but not being in excruciating pain the whole time. There’s a line between being sore and being in pain. I love my sport but there comes a time when it’s not worth it. But I clearly didn’t learn that during cross country.

—

After track season a visit to the doctor, two x-rays and three MRI scans confirmed that I’d spent the past season running on not one, but two stress fractures. My left shin was re-fractured, my right foot was also fractured and had a bone bruise. All at once. And I thought one fracture, seven months ago, was bad enough.

Medical scans. Boot. Physical therapy. Repeat.

Now I’ve learned my lesson. When something hurts, acknowledge it. I can’t cover it up with Biofreeze or KT-tape or sneak ice packs so no one sees how much pain I’m in.

It hurts, losing progress. Knowing that after recovery I won’t be as strong or as fast. After my second round of recovery — through this cross country season — I’ve improved cutting minutes of my time but I can’t help but compare myself to where I would have been without the injury. 

Sure maybe I cut off over a minute from my time last race, but the other girl — the version of me that never got injured — would be running 4 minutes faster.

I’m jealous of her but I’m also stronger because I’m not her. If I can handle three fractures, a half hour of physical therapy a day and excruciating strength training, I can definitely pull myself through 1K repeats and 10-mile long runs.