Community in Seasons of Injury
How resilience, support, and the runner’s mindset carry us through setbacks and keep us connected—even off the trail.
If you’re a Run Build Grow listener, you likely remember some past episodes focused on injured runners and how they maintain emotional connections within their communities (This was an especially focused one with Caitlin Kirchoff). Many of us could feel the empathy when Morgan Corl shared her journey of returning to running after childbirth, a journey of patience, resilience, and self-compassion.
This resonates because if you’re part of a running community but not running, it’s hard—often, surprisingly so. Runners bond over shared challenges, whether it’s conquering the last miles of a race, getting up for early morning runs, or just the shared joy of movement. But when injury sidelines us, that sense of connection feels threatened. The rhythms of your daily life and social support shift, and so does your identity as a runner. It’s as if you’re suddenly on the outside looking in.
Listening (and in some cases re-listening) to these episodes where runners overcome the mental and emotional hurdles of injuries or time off the run, reminds me of the powerful role that supportive communities can play. This concept holds even more weight when we are the ones that are not actively participating. Especially as a run community leader, I take this seriously. My goal has always been to ensure that everyone feels valued, not just for their speed, distance, or ability to run, but for simply showing up as they are. Running (and walking is included in this too) is more than just a physical activity; it’s a mindset, and that’s something we can carry even when our legs can’t. I want people to feel celebrated for the resilience and courage it takes to be part of a community centered around movement, even when the journey gets hard and movement as we have come to know it is not possible.
Yet, I’ll admit—this commitment isn’t always easy to embody, when I am the one who is injured. I know my community has got me, and still I feel isolated (even though I know I am not). It’s one of those “do as I say, not as I (mentally struggle to) do” situations. It’s one of those lessons I am still learning, becauase of all the pig-headed things we do as runners, I am the worst when it comes to feeling like I need to run through injjury to continue to “feel included.”
So yea…surprise, surprise, I am dealing with another injury that has taken me off the run.
It has presented itself as a pretty bad case of achilles tendinitis, and it’s been challenging, to say the least. Frustrating is probably the more apt word to describe it, because while I struggled with achilles pain earlier this year, I thought I was past it. I thoguht I had given time for it to adequately recover, and was having a good end-of-summer season. Then it came back, with a vengeance.
The thing is, I want to keep running. It has felt like so long since I have been able to, what I would consider, “actively participate” in the running community. Between all of the various things I have dealt with the last year plus, it was more the mental perspective of feeling that I had failed those around me. I tried to push myself on the run, and I even considered ignoring the pain and pushing through it. We all know, rarely ends well. But then there’s another layer—because as much as I’m grateful for the support of my community, and as I have mentioned, there’s that lingering sense of letting them down, a nagging feeling that my absence on the run might disappoint others.
Of course, I could see a doctor, but the healthcare system often makes even that choice complex, and even then these sorts of injuries take time. Financial constraints and the time investment involved can be a deterrent, especially when co-pays for visits and physical therapy sessions pile up. All of this done to return to running as quickly as possible, and all of this neglecting to consider that I am a better community member when I care for myself, not by the number of miles I can do.
The running community, because of “shared trauma” of time with injuries can be a source of inspiration rather than a fear of judgement. In fact, this injury continue to highlight how the community I am a part of has helped me through the physical nature of this injury. Through conversations with knowledgeable friends and fellow runners, I’ve been able to pinpoint this achilles issue pretty accurately and have picked up some effective exercises that should help me in my recovery.
As frustrating as it’s been, this period has reminded me of the resilience within our running community, and how that support can overcome my fear of needing to feel productive on the run. The outpouring of advice, shared experiences, and genuine support from friends has kept me hopeful, even when I feel left behind (which of course I am not). This is why I can’t help but connect my mental struggle to the bigger picture. Running is more than exercise; it’s how I relate to others, to myself, and to the world around me. Being unable to run right now feels as if I’m missing out on more than just miles.
When runners are injured, we’re advised to “behave”—a word I’ve come to resent. We are told to take it easy, use cross-training to supplement cardio, and even strength-train. Over the past few years, I’ve realized how difficult it is to comply. The mental strain of staying sidelined brings on a FOMO like no other, a nagging feeling that I’m letting down the community or missing out on experiences we typically share together. For many of us, running is the one activity we’ve chosen as adults because it truly fulfills us. Swimming or biking are great, and they’re often recommended alternatives, but nothing quite replaces the joy of hitting the pavement or the trail and moving under our own power.
And that’s the crux of this mental battle. I’ve sought to be a part of a community that sees the value of movement and personal growth, and this experience has made me even more aware of the complex emotional landscape of being “temporarily out.” When I can’t join in, it feels like standing at the window, watching friends play outside and wondering when I’ll get to join them again. Yet, as challenging as it is, this enforced pause has made me appreciate the depth of connection we’ve built together. I’ve seen how friends check in, how people share stretches, offer encouragement, and reassure me that my worth isn’t defined by whether I’m physically on the trail or not.
Injuries will likely always be part of the runner’s journey, but they don’t have to isolate us. Instead, they offer an opportunity to deepen our sense of belonging, to share vulnerability, and to remind one another that running is about so much more than movement. As I look forward to healing and returning, I carry with me a renewed understanding of what it means to be a part of this community—not just in the moments of high-fives at the finish line, but in the shared resilience and support during times of rest and recovery.
So, when the day comes for me to hit the road again, I’ll be running with a deeper appreciation—not only for the movement itself but for the people who helped me stay grounded, hopeful, and connected through it all.