One of the biggest lessons I’ ve only truly learnt after four years of being an amputee is that rest is actually necessary.
I’ m not a superhuman. I’ m not going to feel okay every single day.
Sometimes my leg is going to force me to spend a day or two in bed. Sometimes my body is going to demand that I slow down. These are things I should probably have known a long time ago, but somehow I pushed them to the back of my mind. I allowed myself to live in a little bit of lala-land where I could do everything, all the time, with no consequences.
The reality eventually catches up to you.
The build-up to the London Marathon honestly could not have gone better. No injuries. No niggles. No sickness. Just constant progress, consistency and pure happiness. I got to that start line feeling ready- not just physically, but emotionally too.
And the race itself? It was everything I could have dreamed of and more.
I felt strong the entire way. For 42 kilometres I truly allowed myself to soak in the atmosphere, the unbelievable crowds and the emotion of what I was actually doing. London is one of those races that feels bigger than running. It feels like a celebration of human spirit. Complete strangers scream your name like they’ ve known you your entire life. People hold signs that make you laugh one second and cry the next.
For the first time in a long time, I let myself feel all of it. I felt emotional, proud and genuinely happy. And crossing that finish line felt surreal because for once, my body had worked with me and not against me.
Even the few days after the marathon felt surprisingly good. I was slightly stiff, obviously, but nothing crazy. In fact, I felt so good that I went for a run two days later. I walked nearly 20 000 steps a day sightseeing around London.
Until one tiny thing changed everything.
I woke up one morning with what looked like a small pimple on my leg. No big deal, I thought. I put on a plaster to protect it. What I didn’ t realise was that I was allergic to the plaster. When I removed it, it ripped skin off the back of Stompy.
And suddenly I was hit with the biggest wake-up call.
Nothing makes you feel more disabled and stranded than being in a foreign country, unable to use your leg properly. One moment I was walking around London like nothing could stop me and the next I couldn’ t even get around my apartment properly because it wasn’ t accessible.
It was awful.
I felt completely sorry for myself. There’ s a specific kind of helplessness that comes with not being able to use your prosthetic because it affects every single thing you do. Walking and showering become difficult. Carrying a coffee suddenly becomes impossible. Your independence disappears almost overnight.
But then, as moms somehow always do, my mom stepped in to save the day. She drove all over London trying to find crutches for me. It meant everything to me.
Yes, I was still in pain, but at least I could move around and make the most of the trip instead of sitting inside feeling sorry for myself.
After about a week of resting and letting the wound heal, I decided to try running again.
Bad idea.
Almost immediately, I felt a blister forming on the side of my leg. At this point I was one week out from the Cape Town Marathon. My body was aching. I was exhausted. Everything hurt and I could barely walk properly.
And yet somehow my brain still kept saying:“ You’ re fine. Just push through.”
I think sometimes as amputees and honestly probably as humans in general, we become so determined to prove we can do hard things that we ignore when our bodies are begging us to stop.
There’ s a very fine line between resilience and denial.
I know I need to rest, to slow down.
But I also made a promise to myself that I would run the Cape Town Marathon. And when you’ ve worked hard for something, when you’ ve mentally committed yourself to it, letting go of that goal feels impossible.
So if it meant bum shuffling into work and not running at all until race day, then so be it.
Because the truth is, this journey has never really been about running perfect races or pretending everything is easy. It’ s been about figuring things out as I go. Learning my body. Learning my limits. Learning when to push and when to pause.
And apparently, I’ m still learning.
One thing this experience has taught me is how important preparation actually is when you’ re an amputee travelling and racing abroad.
So here are my biggest packing tips: Pack for the“ just in case”.
Pack your preferred plasters because not all adhesives are your friend, your crutches, even if you think you won’ t need them, your barrier cream, and anything that helps your leg survive long distances and long days.
COLUMN
Do not pull an Erin and end up feeling stranded in another country.
Something else this experience reminded me of is how important it is to have the right people around you.
Before Cape Town, I went to see Terence just to make sure everything with my leg was okay. For those who don’ t know Terence, he is my prosthetist and truly my lifesaver. The reason I chose Terence is that from the very first moment I met him, right after I lost my leg, he changed the way I viewed this entire journey. I still remember walking into his room absolutely terrified. I had no idea what my future would look like. I didn’ t know what being an amputee meant. I didn’ t know if life would ever feel normal again.
And somehow, within one conversation, he made me feel calm.
That’ s who Terence is.
Every single time I leave his rooms,
I feel lighter. Anything that scares me suddenly feels manageable. He has this incredible ability to make everything feel under control.
Honestly, the best way I can describe him is that he’ s like a human Panado.
Comforting. Reliable. Calming.
And sometimes that reassurance matters just as much as the actual prosthetic advice.
So now the plan is to listen to my body.
Because at the end of the day, running is something I get to do. It’ s not something I should force my body to suffer through. It shouldn’ t feel like punishment.
Maybe real strength is also knowing when your body needs kindness. Maybe strength is adapting and resting without guilt.
The truth is, some days are just hard. Your leg hurts, your body is exhausted. Some days you cry from frustration because something as simple as walking feels difficult again.
And that doesn’ t make you weak. It makes you human.
I’ m still incredibly grateful that I get to run at all. Four years ago, I couldn’ t imagine running marathons across the world. I couldn’ t imagine London, Cape Town. I couldn’ t imagine any of this life.
So even on the hard days, I try to remind myself how far I’ ve come.
And maybe back-to-back marathons as an amputee were always going to humble me a little bit. But maybe I needed that reminder.
I may run differently, recover differently and struggle differently, but I still get to stand on the start line, and that will never stop being my greatest privilege www. modernathlete. co. za 43