100 Days to the Start Line: My Road Back from a Sacral Stress Fracture

The Stabbing Pain That Changed Everything

February 21st started as just another easy Friday run. I was in a recovery week after three solid

training blocks. At 20 minutes in, I felt a sharp sting in my left glute. I thought it was a niggle — something that would ease up. But every step made it worse. At the turnaround point, I was as far from home as I could be, and with a student field trip scheduled soon after, I had no choice but to hobble back.

That day, the pain escalated. Walking became difficult. Thankfully, my physio Jordan came by and suspected inflammation around the sacroiliac joint. I started anti-inflammatories and took time off running. Swimming replaced my workouts, and even cycling was off the table due to pain pushing through the left leg.

A Diagnosis I Didn’t Expect

After a brief improvement, and getting off the anti-inflammatories the pain returned. Alarmed by the lack of progress, my coach and physio recommended an MRI to rule out anything more serious. I never suspected a stress fracture — not with my strength work, proper fuelling, and consistent training. But the MRI told a different story: a 4cm stress fracture in my sacrum. And just like that, it was déjà vu. Five years earlier, I had the same injury — on the opposite side — right after transitioning from rowing to running. Back then, it made sense. I overtrained, under recovered, and wasn’t adapted to the impact of 100k run weeks. But this time, the cause was less obvious. I had been building my run strength and mileage for five years now and was hovering at a very conservative 40-50k run weeks.

Searching for Answers

We were left with three pressing questions:

1. What caused the fracture?

2. How do we prevent it from happening again?

3. How can I return safely — and still race this season?

   
   

This is where the expertise of my friend Professor Olaf Uberschär came in — a biomechanics expert and researcher who had studied stress fractures in endurance athletes. I had taken part in his earlier research, and now he became part of the team guiding me through this setback. His insights pointed toward possible nutrient deficiencies — particularly in Vitamin D and calcium — and perhaps a period of compromised recovery. While we missed the chance to confirm deficiencies with a blood test, I began high-dose Vitamin D supplements and doubled down on rest and recovery.

Rewriting the Race Calendar

Olaf broke the hard truth: 100 days of no running. No Ironman South Africa. No 70.3 Venice. Initially, it crushed me. But it also created space — to heal, to reflect, and to reset my focus. Instead of race goals, I set a deeply personal one: to run a parkrun with friends on my wedding day in June. It became my anchor — realistic, meaningful, and just far enough away to give me hope

The Rehab Roadmap

Together with coach Grant and physio Jordan, we mapped out a phased recovery plan:

Month 1: Healing and Holding Back

• Focus: Swimming (especially pull work)

• No kicking, no pushing off walls

• Pain-free cycling only

• Daily check-ins with my body

I also travelled to South Africa — a bittersweet trip. I soaked in sea swims and family time but

watched my best friend Robyn race Ironman from the side-lines.

Month 2: Gaining Strength, Slowly

• Pain-free walking returns!

• Double-leg strength work resumes

• More structured bike sessions

• Swim tests and low-intensity bike tests provide benchmarks

I set a fun side goal: hit 10 pull-ups by the end of rehab

Month 3: A Glimpse of Running Again

• Single-leg strength work returns

• Intensity increases in swim and bike workouts

• Confidence grows with hiking and gym progress

At day 80, I visited NK Active and ran for 8 minutes on their Alter-G treadmill at 50% bodyweight. A few days later, 12 minutes at 60%. A small step, but monumental.

Now, I’m nearly back to full-weight running. And I’ve got just three weeks to build to that 5k

parkrun on our wedding day.

Lessons from the Layoff

The 100 days passed faster than expected. And in hindsight, this injury became an unlikely gift.

Without races, life got simpler. I grew in the pool, stayed fit, and rediscovered my hunger to

compete — but more importantly, I once again gained the so needed perspective.

Racing doesn’t define me. Health does. Strength does. Balance does. And on that start line — at parkrun or Ironman — I’ll stand not just as an athlete, but as someone who chose the long game.