Let’s break this down into four simple truths:
1. I let my race schedule dictate my fitness, which worked wonders for short-term glory but led to long-term bodily betrayal.
2. I ignored my own common sense, and raced through injuries to avoid disappointing others. Spoiler: I ended up disappointing myself instead.
3. I completely forgot to listen to my body, which is ironic considering I’m usually the one reminding everyone else to do exactly that.
4. The British Medical team is great, but they’re not magicians. Turns out, they can’t magically fix stupidity.
Now, let me take you through my series of unfortunate decisions.
It all started two weeks before the European Championships at the Inter Counties Event on August 6th. I ran a mediocre 400m and chalked it up to the four-hour drive that morning. My adductor started complaining after the 200m, but naturally, I blamed it on Lane 3, because it’s never my fault. After the 4x100m relay, someone kindly pointed out I was “carrying my right side.”
The following night, I noticed a tightness in my groin but thought, “Why stop now?” So, I raced in the local Master’s League relays. And of course, we broke records in both the 4x100m and 4x400m, because that’s what you do when your body is subtly hinting that it’s about to give up. I limped back to the car, because nothing screams “athlete” like hobbling after a race.
Cue the routine: ice pack, ibuprofen, a shower, supper, and a restless night wondering why I’m like this. The next day, the groin pain eased slightly, but my back apparently wanted in on the action and went into a spasm by lunchtime. Perfect timing, as the British Masters Championships were a mere three weeks away.
Naturally, I sought the help of two physios, a sports therapist, and anyone with a massage table and a sympathetic look. The result? The back pain eased, but the groin stayed in protest mode. I was basically running a relay with my own injuries, one would flare up, hand off to the next, and the cycle continued.
Race day came, and I grudgingly pulled out of the 100m and 200m. But because I can’t help myself, I decided to run the 400m. From a standing start, of course. Midway through, my back predictably spasmed, and I somehow dragged myself to a silver medal. Because if you’re going to self-destruct, you might as well do it with a bit of flair.
After the event, my back pain intensified, because why stop at “mild agony” when you can go for “excruciating”? The British Masters Medical Team worked their magic, and I was able to drive home, although my body felt like a patchwork quilt of injuries. And with the European Championships only three weeks away, I was in fantastic shape, if your definition of “fantastic” includes being held together by tape and sheer denial.
Arriving at the Europeans, I was still nursing the groin injury, so I made the wise decision to withdraw from the 100m. The Medical Team patched me up for the 200m, applying enough tape to qualify me as a minor art installation. Three seconds into the race, my adductor finally snapped, putting an end to my championship dreams in record time.
Was I upset? Yes. Was I shocked? Not even remotely.
After my early exit, I stuck around to support my friends and fellow athletes, though missing the 4x100m relay, an ambition of mine, was a tough pill to swallow. The M60 GBR team went on to win gold, which was bittersweet since I could’ve been a part of it if I hadn’t been too busy breaking myself.
So, what’s next? A long stretch of rest, rehab, and maybe a bit of reflecting on why I insist on ignoring my body’s very clear signals. Hopefully, next time, I’ll listen before it’s too late.
But let’s be honest, I’ve said that before. 😉
Stuart Lynn - Masters Athlete 