Me, my spine, and 26.2 miles

It’s a bizarre thought to consider that I’ll be running the London Marathon in April in aid of Spinal Research. I’ve always considered myself to be an active, generally fit person. The only aches and pains I’d experience were usually a result from a previous workout. Before learning I had a spot in the marathon, I’d run occasionally, but it was more of a spur-of-the-moment activity than a planned routine. However, in the summer of 2023, that all changed.

I injured my spine during a trip to the Yorkshire Dales with my mum and our dogs. It happened while we were out with dogs (bear in mind each of my dogs individually weight about 9KG). We had to put the dogs on their leads to cross a field of sheep, and as we walked, a rabbit darted across the path. My dog lunged after it, yanking me forward. Immediately, I felt a sharp, burning sensation in my lower back - think hitting your funny bone feeling. At first, I thought nothing of it and assumed I had just pulled something that would ease once we kept moving.

But over the next few days, I couldn’t shake the discomfort. Sitting and lying down became painful, as I constantly felt this tingling and burning sensation. On the last morning of the trip, I woke up to the pain radiating down my left leg, feeling it whenever I wiggled my toes. From then on, the pain only got worse; every bump and jolt in the car ride home and train back to London made it flare up.

A couple of weeks later, my mum and aunt came down to London to visit, which is usually my favourite excuse to go out for dinner. I couldn’t sit for longer than 30 minutes without needing to stand and walk around. My mum insisted I go to the GP, who told me about the likely situation of the discs in my spine pressing against my sciatic nerve, causing the pain, and I was referred to a physio.

The injury was impacting my daily life. I was in constant pain, crying most days, unable to sit comfortably, and struggling to sleep. The thought of sleeping made me weep. As someone whose eyelids are usually closing by around 10PM, I was now desperately trying to stay awake, and would cry when my boyfriend Bradley suggested going to bed. At work, I had to keep getting up to walk around, doing my physio stretches in the bathroom, who I’d also sob to every Friday morning while he tried to massage the area.

Mentally, I reached my lowest point. I feel like my days were just spent either crying or being in a state of delusion. I would pace my room at 1AM with a hot water bottle pressed against my lower back, sobbing, manically saying ‘this isn’t worth it’ over and over again.

I had a planned trip to Malta with my mum and sister - a trip to celebrate my sister’s engagement, though she didn’t know it at the time. Unfortunately, it became probably the worst holidays I’ve ever had. I couldn’t enjoy any of it. I spent my days standing in the pool, unable to drink because of my medication, being in the tears each night while my mum and sister tried to soothe me, massage the area, and search for any way to help. I’d get up at 5AM, walk laps around the hotel’s indoor pool for a couple of hours until my sister texted me saying we could head for breakfast.

After an MRI, I was diagnosed with a bulging disc in L5-S1 pressing on my sciatic nerve. One of the bones in my spine had cracked - an old injury I hadn’t known about. Although it wasn’t serious by itself, the bulging disc had become trapped, and I needed a surgery (discectomy).

I decided to have the surgery in Wakefield, so I could recover at home with my parents. I began weaning off the painkillers and sleeping in my parents’ room so they could keep an eye on me. At this point I was practically sleeping in a makeshift fort - one pillow under my head and back, one under my lower back, and two or three under my knees to keep them elevated. My parents, bless them, were true saints. I was extremely bad company those ten days before the surgery, but they did everything they could do to help.

When Myan asked how I coped during the tough moments, the truth is, I didn’t cope at all. For four months, I was just miserable, unable to cope. I was constantly sad, and the pain took over everything. Even laughing made the pain worse, and I hated it.

This injury has shifted my perspective on resilience and mental strength. While its undoubtedly the worse thing I’ve been though, I’m grateful I made it through. But, in a maladaptive way, I now compare all pain - physical, emotional, and mental - against this experience. It’s become my benchmark for what pain feels like.

On the positive side, the four weeks after my surgery, while recovering at home, were some of the best I’ve had. It felt like a summer after finishing school / university. I was my parents’ shadow, going with them on deliveries, walks with the dogs (but never actually holding their leads), weekday trips to the beach, and cooking all the recipes I had saved but never had the time for. When Bradley came to visit, I especially felt like 'your unemployed friend on a random Tuesday.'

The hardest part of all this, however, was seeing my dad go through something similar last year. This wasn’t his first rodeo dealing with spine issues - he’d had surgery years ago - but watching him go through it again hurt my heart. I’m incredibly close to my parents, and it hit home when my dad came back from his annual bike trip and said he could only manage five miles for the whole week. He started losing feeling on his left side of his body, staggering as he walked. Seeing him unable to sign my sister’s wedding certificate because he couldn’t hold a pen, and hearing that he needed surgeries immediately or he’d end up in a wheelchair, was harder than anything my injury has caused me. But after a few surgeries, my dad walked my sister down the aisle last October - a huge moment for our family. And now, he’s weeks away from his annual bike trip with his friends.

In a strange, almost tragic way, this experience has brought us closer. We now compare scars, share tips on how to sleep (always on your back!), and complain about the new exercises we did in our reformer pilates. In this respect, I truly am my fathers’ daughter.

My journey inspired me to sign up for the London Marathon with Spinal Research. After surgery, I was terrified to get active again. The thought of straining my body made me anxious. But three months post-surgery, when my surgeon gave me the green light, I enlisted a personal trainer (shoutout to Otis - love you forever) to help me ease back into things, and who was incredibly patient and constantly reassuring me whenever I panicked about the pain and whether I’d overdone it.

Before surgery, I’d always been an average runner, and I’d never run further than 15K. But after my experience, I decided to enter the marathon ballot, knowing the odds of being selected were slim. But here I am - running in support of Spinal Research. I’m honoured to be raising funds and running on their behalf, and throughout the 26.2 miles, I’ll be thinking of my spine and my dad’s.

I’m not entirely sure what message I want people to take from this, but I suppose it’s this: 1) always take care of your spine, 2) a solid support system can make a huge difference, and 3) physical pain is (hopefully) temporary, but mental struggles and fear will persist as long as you let them. Knowing that I have 26.2 miles ahead of me has shifted my focus from constantly worrying about my spine during each run and fearing I might overdo it, to feeling confident in my strength and ability.

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If Annabel's story resonated with you, you can support her by donating to her fundraiser for Spinal Research here.