What a Year of Injuries Taught Me About Running, Aging, and Acceptance
2025: the year I didn’t race.
There are years that sharpen you, and years that sand you down. This past one was a bit of both. It started with a back niggle that refused to explain itself. A low, stubborn ache that stayed just loud enough to remind me it was there, but quiet enough to leave every doctor shrugging.

Then, just when things seemed to be settling, I clipped my knee on the corner of a table — the kind of accident that should’ve been nothing. A one-second “ouch,” a shake of the leg, and move on. Except I didn’t. That tiny, stupid bump spiraled into a ten week rebuild that tested every ounce of patience I had.
The realities of aging as a runner
As a masters runner, I had to admit what I’ve been resisting: I don’t bounce anymore. I need to absorb, to settle. and to ease back in. Recovery takes longer, and the margin for error grows undeniably smaller. Patience isn’t optional.
I also had to face down some of my blind spots, the ones I always assumed didn’t apply to me. The biggest one? I was racing to train, not training to race. I wanted fitness faster than my body could give it. And I was chasing timelines I invented, acting like the universe owed me something for effort alone.
Revelations from the year I didn’t race
And somewhere in the middle of all that frustration, something unexpected cracked open.
I remembered running isn’t my identity. It’s something I do, passionately, but it isn’t me.
But there was something else too and something uncomfortable to admit: I had pulled away from my tribe.
Somewhere between the back injury that never explained itself and the knee that explained too much, I had drifted into this swampy, quiet place where I tried to handle everything alone. I left my coach, pulled back from the runners I usually banter with, and sat in my own head like it was some noble act of endurance.

Except…
It wasn’t noble.
It wasn’t tough.
It wasn’t even helpful.
I had to admit that I need people.
I need my coach who can see the blind spots I pretend not to have.
I need my tribe, the ones who send a message, share a laugh, or just remind me that running is bigger than one person’s struggle.
Above all, I need to stop disappearing every time things get hard. That silence… It’s not healthy for me. It never was.
By the time October rolled around, I quietly admitted what I already knew: 2025 was done. Not in defeat, more like acceptance. Like when the wind changes direction and you know the season is turning, whether you’re ready or not.
If I wanted a strong 2026, it wasn’t going to come from salvaging scraps of a broken season. It was going to come from how I carried myself now. Patient, grounded, willing to take the long road back, and willing to lean on others instead of hiding from them.
The obstacle is the way
This is where the Stoics walk into the story.
The obstacle really is the way.
Everything I tried to avoid — slowing down, asking for help, sitting with discomfort and letting go of who I “was” — turned out to be the actual path forward. Reality doesn’t negotiate: it just is. And the moment I stopped fighting it, the year I didn’t race subsequently shifted from feeling like loss to feeling like direction.
Acceptance isn’t quitting. It’s putting down the sword so you can finally move with the current instead of against it.
A better 2026 is built upon the year I didn’t race
So here I am, on the edge of 2026, no longer trying to resurrect the runner I used to be. I’m standing as the runner I’ve become with more humility, more clarity, as well as a greater appreciation for the people who walk (or run) beside me.
I didn’t get the year I wanted.
But I got the year I needed.
The year that stripped me down undoubtedly asked better questions, and handed me a different kind of victory, the kind you quietly carry inside your chest.
And honestly? That feels like the best starting line I’ve had in a long, long time.

Corey Turnbull is a Team RunRun Coach based in Ottawa. He works with beginners just starting out or with seasoned runners looking for a breakthrough. Above all, Corey helps athletes maximize the limited training time they have, prioritizing consistency, focus and fun.








































