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This piece is from the CU Independent’s opinion section. Any opinions or views do not represent the CU Independent.
I was the “runner girl.” Then I fractured my tibia and became the girl who couldn’t run.
For four weeks, I was a familiar sight on campus, crutching my way between classes with a blank expression that could rival any college midterm stare. But beneath that dazed look, a quote echoed endlessly in my mind. The “Finding Nemo” line, “Just keep swimming,” had been replaced with “Just keep crutching.” Like a scratched record syncing with my awkward steps, the phrase kept me moving—though admittedly, it brought me dangerously close to reenacting a scene from “The Silence of the Lambs.” If that reference goes over your head, first of all, you have homework to watch it, and second, it’s just my dramatic way of saying the annoyance was extreme.
Life on crutches came with its own set of revelations.
First, people are incredibly kind to the injured. Doors were held, smiles were exchanged, and there was always someone nearby eager to help with simple tasks like cooking or carrying things from one room to another. You don’t realize how often you use both hands until it becomes a whole production just to grab an apple from the fridge. That’s when I realized my “do-it-myself” mindset had turned into a full-blown aversion to being helped and a reluctance to ask for assistance, no matter how creative I had to get.
Second, being in a boot seemed to unlock a strange social phenomenon. Everyone had a story about their own time on crutches or in a cast and felt compelled to stop me mid-crutch to share it, usually followed by the inevitable question, “So what happened to you?” I didn’t mind; in fact, it became one of the things I enjoyed most. Those conversations introduced me to countless new faces and reminded me how connection often begins with curiosity.
And finally, in the stillness that comes from being slowed down, I realized something unexpected: my world didn’t fall apart. Without my usual pace, I found space to reflect and discovered that I’m far more multifaceted than I’d given myself credit for. I was also forced to confront the danger of not listening to my body and to face the repercussions of underfueling.
Running was one of the first things that made me view the impossible as simply something I hadn’t done yet. It made me feel invincible and proud of my discipline and drive. I became addicted to self-improvement and the “health and wellness” mindset. And in theory, that sounds great, until you’re waking up at 5 a.m. to run for an hour, following it with a two-hour lift, and eating only “healthy” foods. I was training for my first marathon, running more than 75 miles a week, burning thousands of calories, and definitely not consuming them back.
As a society, we love to label and categorize. Sometimes those labels feel like borders that separate who we are now from who we can become, or who we’re expected to be from who we actually are. For a while, I was “the runner girl.” I loved that title because it reflected my passion for running. But what happens when the “runner girl” can’t run?
Well, it’s quite simple: nothing. Nothing happened, even though I truly believed there would be some earth-shattering, Chernobyl-like explosion. But nothing exploded. And once I got over my stubborn self-reliance and let people help me, I realized that sometimes slowing down isn’t so bad.
I was terrified that this period of rest would strip me of my proud title of “runner girl.” But even though I couldn’t run, I was still the runner girl. I was also a writer, a college student, an employee, a teacher, a daughter, a sister, a friend—an ever-evolving collection of identities that make up who I am.
There’s also the question of how I got the fracture in the first place and how, if I’d realized a few things sooner, it might never have happened.
A stress fracture is a small crack in a bone caused by repetitive loading and inadequate recovery. Normally, bone is constantly being broken down and rebuilt in a process called remodeling. With proper nutrition, rest and hormonal balance, the rebuilding process can keep up with the micro-damage from training. When that balance is disrupted, the micro-damage accumulates faster than the bone can repair itself, leading to a stress fracture.
Endurance athletes burn thousands of calories, making them prone to developing RED-S (Relative Energy Deficiency in Sport). Stress fractures can occur anywhere, but when they appear in large weight-bearing bones like the femur, pelvis, sacrum or tibia, it often signals something systemic. It’s not just overuse or bad form. Chronic under-fueling, low energy availability, hormonal disruption, cumulative fatigue and poor recovery almost always point to deeper metabolic stress.
Biologically, women have different needs than men. We experience a 28-day cycle in which each day brings unique needs and emotions due to hormonal changes. Our hormones need to be consistently regulated, or we feel the effects of deregulation in all aspects of daily life. Men, on the other hand, operate on a 24-hour cycle, which gives them more flexibility and tolerance for stress in certain ways.
I didn’t think I was underfueling that badly. Yet I was consistently exhausted, managing daily migraines, and felt as though I couldn’t start my day without first finishing my run. Especially for women, there isn’t just pressure surrounding performance; there’s also pressure around appearance. For some patriarchal, mind-twisting reason, we were raised to believe that how we look while doing something is just as important as actually doing it.
I ignored the obvious signs my body was trying to show me, trying to validate that it needed rest. I kept going even when I felt like I was breaking down because I thought discipline meant ignoring my needs. But when you constantly ignore your body, a disconnection occurs. Your nervous system and hormones suffer, and when you refuse to rest, your body eventually forces you to, whether that means getting sick or developing a grade four stress fracture.
Whether you identify as female or male, we live in a fast-paced world that often neglects the importance of slowing down. We praise the grinders and have cultivated a culture built on productivity and constant improvement. But when will it be enough? When will we be satisfied? A better question: what is your definition of satisfaction, and does it mirror your definition of success?
I’ll admit I like tangible evidence of success. I look at how the statistics society has created as markers for achievement: grades, running times, extracurriculars, how many clubs I can balance, work validation, friend validation—all the external signs that can be seen and recognized. But what’s the point of looking great to other people and surrendering to their definition of success if you feel like you’re in a constant state of performance? My injury forced me to reevaluate what I believed success to be and how it differed from satisfaction. I realized that satisfaction and success can intertwine, connecting to reveal what truly fuels personal fulfillment.
I’ve already signed up for my next marathon. This will be a comeback, not just of my ability to run, but of my ability to heal, both internally and externally. It will be a race grounded in gratitude: gratitude for the ability to move, to overcome, and to find balance. My peace will no longer be sacrificed in pursuit of perfection, and “perfect” should be removed from our vocabulary altogether, as it represents an impossible standard that too many have fallen victim to chasing.
You don’t have to be the best at everything. In fact, you’ll exhaust yourself trying to meet everyone’s perception of perfection. You just have to recognize that your best is good enough.
Contact CU Independent Staff Writer Sophia Neckin at sophia.neckin@colorado.edu.
