Runner's Thoughts: The Mental Side of Injury & Retirement

All photos can be found on @ashleycorco.ran

One of my favorite pages on Instagram is Ashley Cochran's @ashleycorco.ran. I found her account a few years ago when I was just discovering the health and wellness social media community, and she's been one on my biggest inspirations since -- both in running and in life. For those of you who don't follow Ashley's page, (1) you should, and (2) you probably don't know that she's recently retired from college running. Thus, as of late, she's been posting content relating to the often underrated and difficult transition from college athletics to a newly retired athlete. It's been refreshing to hear her honest and realistic reactions in starting this new chapter of her life, and it also had me reflecting on my own running journey over the past couple years.

Let me preface this by saying that I took an unconventional track to competitive running: I'm not a college athlete, and I only truly raced in one competitive high school season. I was a biggggg soccer player growing up and played it through both competitive travel club and high school through the fall of my junior year, when I made the difficult decision to give it up and pursue my love of running. But that was at the start of 2020; aka, right before the start of the COVID-19 pandemic. Our season was obviously cancelled, and I was then virtual for the first 2/3 of my senior year. Long story short: I came back in-person just in time to run one season of track the spring of my senior year. My point in telling this story is to show that I didn't have the long, tenured careers of many competitive runners, but I fell in love with the sport instantly.

I loved everything about it, even the parts that most people would objectively say suck. (I'm looking at you 1k repeats.) I loved pushing myself to be my best, the feeling of adrenaline before a race, the unmatched joy after you achieve your goals.

Don't get me wrong -- It was hard, like really hard, and pushed me both mentally and physically more than I could have ever imagined. But it was also undoubtedly one of the greatest highlights of my entire high school career.

I ended up qualifying for the WI State Meet in both the open 1600 and 4x800, the latter of which ultimately earned a 4th place podium finish. Having had a taste for competitive running, I knew that I wanted to continue some form of racing in college as well. Club seemed like the perfect mix of competitiveness and fun without the pressure and high-level of commitment that comes with college athletics; I was so excited to join this new team and continue racing during undergrad.

Spoiler Alert: Things turned out a little (okay, a lot) differently than expected.

Early into the winter quarter of my freshman year, I started having really bad ankle pain. I thought it was just from increasing my mileage too fast and started doing more cross-training, but the pain only persisted and even got worse. I'll save you the details of my entire injury story [if you're interested, I have a whole blog post on it HERE], but the SparksNotes version is that I'm now working to address lingering nerve pain that affects various parts of my body, including my feet, back, neck, etc. It sucks. And while I'm recovering from this injury, my exercise and daily activity have had to obviously adjust as well. As a distance to mid-distance runner, I went from running 5 miles with ease to being careful about going on too long of a walk. This means that my movement has largely been yoga/pilates-based, with a big emphasis on rest and stretching. It's definitely been a bit of a struggle adjusting to this change, especially since I still can't get that dang downward dog pose. I mean, whose back actually moves like that??

All joking aside, I am in a lot better headspace now than I was when this journey first started. I'm no longer trying to "fight through the pain" when working out (something that's a natural instinct for runners), stopping when my body tells me to do so. I've accepted that this is where I am at right now and know that, while difficult, this is only a temporary time in my life. I'm learning to embrace the type of movement I can do right now, even if it isn't my preferred type of exercise. I've learned and grown from this experience, and I know that I'll come out of it a better and stronger person.

But, in truth, I think one part of this journey that I've been neglecting is accepting my feelings of grief from losing running. I hadn't realized how much I relied on it not only as a sport, but also as an outlet and form of reprieve from the chaos of daily life. It wasn't until running was no longer an option that I truly appreciated all the ways it enhanced my life and had become part of my identity. I hadn't realized that the WI State meet would be the last race I'd compete for the foreseeable future, nor that I wouldn't be able to do think that I love for months on end.

I used to think that ignoring these thoughts was the right answer, that I'd feel better if I just focused on the positives and stop reminiscing about the past. And while, to a certain extent, it is true that having a glass half-full mentality is important, it is also just as important to honor your feelings, all of them: the good, the bad, and everything in between.

I think that's what I appreciate most about Ashley's posts. She's not sweeping her feelings under the rug and pretending that her experience has been all "sunshine and rainbows." She's acknowledging the fact that she's going through a big transition in her life, and that, in doing so, has experienced a lot of different emotions while navigating that process.

Her story's reminded me that it's okay not to be okay, and that part of moving on means honoring what you've lost. And that's a lesson that can be applied to so many things beyond just sports.

So running, thank you. Thank you for all the memories, laughter, and friends. Thank you for pushing me to be my best, and for showing me the value of hard work and commitment. Thank you for giving me somewhere to turn to when life felt out of control. Thank you for everything.

Until we meet on the sidewalk again,

xoxo

Nicole