From struggles to strides

How injuries made me an elite recreational runner

There’s an interesting paradox in life: the toughest circumstances tend to create the most amazing things. Atoms, when subjected to immense pressure, become diamonds. Grapes, when left to endure the harshest climates, produce the sweetest wine. My career and fitness journeys echo the same narrative: the greatest success coming from the greatest adversity.

I’ve been passionate about fitness for a long time. My proudest achievement is becoming an elite recreational runner. People ask how I got this far, so I want to tell the real story. It might not be what you think. Every inch of my fitness has come from years, even decades, of extremely hard work. Blood, sweat, and tears. Sometimes all three. Literally. There have been plenty of setbacks. But this is how I’ve come out the other side of each one better, faster, stronger, fitter than I was before.

  • The first wipeout

    Here’s where the story really starts.

    I was an active kid living in Canada. I’d been skiing since I was 3, so winter always beckoned me back to the sparkling snow.

    One sunny weekend, the snow rested beautifully and the powder ran deep. We’d skied all day and were packing up when something pulled us back for "one last run." Little did I know, that run would alter the course of the next third of a year.

    I pushed off and started down the slope. The next few seconds would change everything. I hit a patch of ice on the steepest part. I tried to regain my footing, but gravity had other ideas. I completely lost control and got swept down the mountain, doing literal somersaults. Skis are designed to release on impact. One did, but the other one never came off. After seconds of unintentional ski-acrobatics, I finally stopped myself towards the bottom, but it was too late. My leg was broken. It was a complex fracture that would almost leave me with permanent damage.

    Everything that came next was a blur. As the ski patrol swirled around me, their voices faded into the distance. My mind was still trying to catch up with reality. I was in a world of pain, and for the first time in my life, I felt so utterly helpless.

    When we got to the hospital, we got some good news. The doctors would be able to fix my leg without surgery. But they would need to get creative, and the healing time would take a while.  

    The next 4 months were filled with stillness as I recovered from the accident. This stark contrast to my previously ultra-active life was pure torture. I was sidelined, reduced to a spectator while life went on without me. When my leg finally healed, I couldn’t walk normally for a while. 4 months of immobility had taken a huge toll and it felt like a giant slap in the face.

    Though I eventually made a full physical recovery, the mental scars remained. I was never able to ski the same again. That fearlessness and confidence I once had was gone. A few years later, I gave up skiing altogether and switched to snowboarding.

    Snowboarding was freeing. It was a clean slate. It didn’t carry all the bad memories that rained on my experience every time I put on skis. And I don’t like rain. I’m not the band Garbage. I’m not happy when it rains.