It was another dark winter morning as I struggled to drag myself out of bed. I’d woken up early, hoping to carve out a rare moment of solitude. Visiting family often means little time to myself, but on that particular morning, I needed silence. I was gearing up to do my yearly review — an annual ritual I always look forward to.

As I sipped my coffee and slowly began to wake up, I felt a twinge of euphoria while reflecting on what an incredible year I’d had — feeling all warm, fuzzy, and proud of myself.

The experiences I had were rich, and I accomplished almost every goal I set at the start of the year, along with a few unexpected surprises.

Among the highlights was completing a 120-mile endurance event — something I’d secretly wanted to do for years, but had always been too terrified to sign up for. I almost completed a draft of a new book, and I launched a business with a good friend, which thrived in its first year. I met an amazing woman and entered into a new relationship after being single for quite some time.

2024 was going to start off in Mexico. I’d always wanted to work remotely in a tropical place over the winter, and this time, I finally made it happen.

What could possibly go wrong? I thought.

“2024 is going to be an amazing year — even better than 2023”, I typed away in my journal with a big, dumb smile on my face.

Unbeknownst to my naive self, 2024 would turn out to be one of the worst years of my life.

Big Aspirations

I was ready to strive for new goals, chase bigger challenges, and tick off more accomplishments. “Another big growth year,” proclaimed my ego.

I didn’t get into the Hardrock 100 after entering the lottery, but I signed up for two 100-mile races I’d been eyeing for years, plus a 50-mile race in August. Some other goals included finishing my second book draft, creating a fitness course, contributing to my blog consistently, and hitting my seventh consecutive year of running (which, frankly, I didn’t even think I needed to write down because I was sure it was in the bag). I also had ambitious savings and investment goals, as well as growth plans for my business.

I trusted that my tried-and-true methods — brute force, a rigorous routine, and solid habits — would get me where I wanted to go. Why wouldn’t they? Sheer self-discipline and willpower had worked for me for years. Why would this year be any different?

Unfortunately, life had other plans in store for me.

The Spiral

It started in Mexico. The first week was lovely. Brandy and I felt like we’d made the smartest decision by escaping the rainy Vancouver winter to bask in sunshine, heat, and endless tacos. Our days were pure relaxation: workout and coffee in the morning, rooftop pool or beach in the afternoon, and dinner out in the evening.

I kept up with my morning runs to maintain my streak, but after a few days, something didn’t feel quite right. I started feeling weird pains in my calves, hips, groin, and lower back. My runs felt sluggish, which I attributed to the heat. Maybe my body just wasn’t used to running in such hot temperatures?

Our relaxing vacation soon took a turn for the worse. Brandy got extreme food poisoning and experienced a severe allergic reaction to gluten at the same time (who knew that the oat milk in Mexico contains gluten?).

About a week later, we made our way to Tulum, and then I got sick. Instead of resting, of course, I kept running. One morning while out for a run in Tulum, it happened. While it was still dark (thank god), my bowels decided the time was nigh. No amount of squeezing my ass cheeks could get me to the finish line: the extra half mile back home. So, I resorted to squatting in a bush. That experience pretty much summed up the end of our trip, and needless to say, we were both more than ready to come home.

Shortly after getting back to Vancouver, I dove headfirst into my training, ramping up my mileage quickly and ignoring the basic rules of safety and recovery when increasing weekly mileage. After all, I could run as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted, without repercussions — so why should this year be any different?

Historically, if I wanted to get up one day and run 30 kilometers or a half marathon, I’d do it and not suffer any consequences aside from some stiff legs and a bit of chafing. I felt like I was the exception to the rule — that my run streak was the shield that protected me from severe injury.

My body had acclimated to the daily stress I placed on it, much like it did during my first 10k/day, 30 day challenge and 74 consecutive half marathon challenge back in 2017. Consistency was my internalized narrative for why I would be immune to injury.

Needless to say, I was wrong.

The Injury

One day when our for a run, I started feeling pain in my left foot, which steadily got worse as the weeks progressed. Eventually, I started feeling pain in my right foot as well. The pain became so unbearable that I had to face the reality that I needed to end my streak and stop running altogether in order to prevent further damage and begin the healing process.

I won’t rehash the injuries that followed. I’ve written about them extensively here, here, here, and here, but suffice it to say, I went through one of the hardest mental struggles of my life.

Going from believing I could run forever to not being able to run for five minutes without pain, almost broke me.

This year became a grieving process — grief over the possibility that my long-distance running days might be over, or will never be the same again.

A hard lesson was learned: I’m not the exception. All those years of pushing through pain signals caught up with me.

The warning signs started in August, after the Fat Dog 120-mile race. At first, they were a quiet whisper, but slowly quickly grew louder until they became impossible to ignore. I was forced to stop running entirely.

My body was always soft spoken, gently prodding me that something was amiss, but I consciously ignored it for so long, that it was forced to speak louder, and louder — until it was as if someone at a quiet coffee shop was having a conversation, completely tone-deaf, unaware that their voice was at least ten octaves higher than everyone else’s.

Screaming at me became the norm, and the screams began to occur when cycling, walking, and even standing for short periods of time.

I had more imaging done this year than anyone should ever need. Three bone/CT scans, an MRI, and three ultrasounds later, my diagnoses were contradictory and confusing, which only seemed to worsen my symptoms. Among the extensive imaging, this was the long laundry list of the structurally determined sources of my pain:

• Plantar fasciitis (left foot)
• Cuboid stress fracture (left foot)
• Calcaneal-cuboid stress fracture (right foot)
• Calcaneal stress fracture (left foot)
• Partial plantar tear (left foot)
• Tendinopathy (both ankles)
• Bursitis (both feet)
• Stress fracture in my fourth metatarsal (right foot)
• “Ongoing fractures or degenerative changes” in my pedal bones (both feet) — still not sure what this means

How does one begin to accept and treat such a long list of injuries? I spent almost as much time in doctors’ offices, physiotherapy appointments, and treatment sessions as I did working this year.

Whenever I got results back, I’d panic — breathing heavily and almost shaking as I tried to understand each diagnosis. The fear became obsessive: pain, then fear, pain, fear, pain, fear. I was trapped in what Alan Gordon calls “the pain-fear cycle,” where fear itself exacerbates pain.

Treatment and healing became my full-time focus. I was in a constant state of waiting: waiting for my next appointment, the next scan, the next treatment plan. I was waiting to be pain-free again — to eventually run again. To get my “old life” back.

Not only did all my fitness aspirations go through the window, but my injuries severely crippled my creative energy. Running had been so integral to my creative process for years that I began waiting for my motivation to write to return too.

I’ve spent much of the year caught in a cycle of feeling better, then getting worse, leaving me with a sense of hope and despair. It’s been demoralizing and soul-crushing.

My Year of Zero

While it’s obvious that I didn’t achieve any of my running goals this year, I didn’t accomplish much of anything else, either. I’m leaving 2024 with a carnage of unfinished projects:

• A 100,000 page manuscript thrown in the trash (lost the plot)
• A fitness course which is 85% finished but abandoned.
• Over two dozen blog posts that were started but never completed.
• I dropped out of all three races (obvs)
• My seven year run streak ended
• I didn’t do any of the hikes I planned

If I judged 2024 based on this list of failed accomplishments, I’d consider myself a miserable failure.

Nothing went as planned, and I felt a lot of guilt and shame for not finishing what I set out to do. I lost a core part of my identity: the idea that I always do what I say I’ll do and finish what I start. My confidence in myself and my body was at an all-time low.

But, despite the lack of outward achievements, I did accomplish one thing: growth. This year has been one of my biggest years of personal growth, even though it came through in a backdoor sorta way.

Despite all the suffering I went through, I’ve finally found peace and self-acceptance.

I’ve realized that what truly matters in my life is not constantly setting ambitious goals to prove myself to others, but embracing my core values: enjoying quality time with important people, being agile and willing to move with change. Oh, and that I will be okay without running. I will survive, and can even thrive, without it.

Circumstances Matter

Last week, I was driving my partner, Brandy, to the airport. She had come with me to Ontario to visit my family over the holidays, and now she was heading home to spend more time with hers. On the way to the airport, we began discussing our accomplishments this year.

Brandy said something that resonated deeply with me: “When I set my goal in 2022, I didn’t accomplish any of them in 2023,” she said. The film strike had put her out of stable, full-time work, and she’d faced a lot of other life stresses. It had been a really tough year. Fast-forward a year, when reviewing that same list, Brandy realized something that shocked her. She had, in fact, accomplished everything — just not within the time-frame she had originally set.

I had a similar conversation with my cousin, Sara, at our family Christmas dinner. We talked about how we often think in terms of yearly increments. When we reflect, we judge whether the year was good or bad based on a society-imposed timeline. We forget to consider how much circumstances influence our ability to achieve things.

In 2021, I wrote a book in four months while living at home with my parents during COVID after a bad breakup, and was bored as shit. Circumstances matter.

Oftentimes, important accomplishments take years, not just months. If you didn’t get everything done that you wanted to, it doesn’t mean those goals are forever out of reach.

Maybe, we should all learn to let go of our timelines a little bit more.

2024 Reflections

When you lose everything that once defined you, what’s left? Who are you, really? I found the answer to that this year.

My friends still wanted to spend time with me. My family still loves me. The little community I’ve built on my blog and Instagram still wants to hear what I have to say. I’m still me — without running. What a liberating thought.

I’m still challenging myself with new hobbies, even if some of them are short-lived due to fluctuating limitations.

This year, I’ve become a more well-rounded person — open to trying new things, experimenting with various recovery techniques, and maintaining a hopeful mindset. I’ve softened, become more humble, and flexible.

I’ve learned so much about bone stress injuries, soft tissue injuries, and the mental hardships of chronic pain, which has given me immense empathy for others going through similar struggles.

While I don’t quite know what the new year will bring and when (or if) I will fully heal from these injuries in the foreseeable future, I do know that I have control over my happiness and fulfillment.

From never fathoming stopping running for even a week to taking almost a full year off, I’ve come a long way. Once the shock wore off, and the waiting to get better subsided, a new phase emerged — one of potential and new direction.

Sometimes we choose our new paths — moving across the country, leaving a marriage, quitting a career to start something new. But sometimes life chooses for us.

The space between sudden change and the path we choose is a decision only we can make. Do we acquiesce and live in misery, or do we use this moment as an opportunity to reinvent who we are?

While 2024 was truly shit for me (I’m not going to sugarcoat it at all), I’ve changed in ways I never expected. I’m no longer as reliant on my “healthy habits.” I’ve become more adaptable, and I’ve spent much more quality time with friends and family. Sure, I haven’t read or written as much, and I haven’t been as physically active, but I’ve still grown and experienced so much this year.

So, when reflecting on your year, perhaps it’s not about what you accomplished, but how you’ve changed as a person, how much you’ve grown, and what you’ve experienced.

Looking through that lens, I had a far better year than I thought. I got engaged, went on so many amazing getaways, learned to truly relax and go with the flow, and tried countless new hobbies — even if none turned into big accomplishments. I learned to embrace the joy of doing things for the sake of doing them. I enjoyed more quiet creativity — doing introspective work through my journaling practice.

Final Thoughts

This month, I had another bone/CT scan, which showed a third stress fracture in my fourth metatarsal. It also indicated that my “pedal bones” in both feet were showing a lot of metabolic activity, meaning they’re still healing. I guess? I’m still not sure what that really means.

Despite this huge setback, I’ve come to a place of acceptance. 2024 has been a year of growth — though not by choice. When life disrupts our routines, takes important things away from us, and shifts our lives completely, we can either resist or accept and adapt.

Giving in to fear and catastrophizing only caused me more suffering and anxiety. Acceptance, however, lead to adaptation and, eventually, peace. Peace opened up the opportunity to shift gears and embrace new things that life can offer at different stages.

Instead of setting more races on the calendar and hoping to heal by then, or setting outward goals, I’m going to focus more on the process. I’ll continue healing — both mentally and physically from this injury. I’ll try new things (I’ve finally caved and am going to start water jogging), and I’m going to try to settle into a new creative process without running. I’ll still save and invest — maybe buy a house, maybe not — but I’m going to let life take me wherever it leads, towards the activities and endeavors that fulfill me.

As we head into 2025, I encourage you to reflect on what’s truly important to you. Instead of just listing goals, try an experience log. What really matters? Is it outward accomplishments, which make up only a small fraction of our time, or is it the process — our experiences, the people in our lives, and contributing to something larger than ourselves?

I wish you a fulfilled 2025, even if you’re facing health issues, injuries, or losses. Be easy on yourself and remember what my cousin so aptly said: when it comes to goal attainment, “circumstances really matter.”

We truly are so much more than what we accomplish.