A blog post by Elena, the Founder of Pepetoe.
The news I have to share today here on the new side of my website isn’t what I ever wanted to write. But my whole rebrand is about being more vulnerable and more authentic with you guys, to share all the bad and good parts of my days. So, I’m sticking to that, and here it goes.
I will not be running the Edinburgh Half Marathon.
And honestly? That sentence alone hurts more than I expected it to.
This isn’t one of those dramatic “everything happens for a reason” posts where I’m magically positive and enlightened by the end of it(!). Right now, it just fucking sucks. There’s disappointment, frustration, anger, guilt, relief, sadness… and honestly, all of it is sitting together at once. And this is all so new to me.
Because this wasn’t just a race to me.
And there’s a whole load to unpack here.
If you look back to November, for those who’ve been following my socials and/or podcast since then, you might remember me talking about how I believed I’d torn my meniscus. Turns out, I was right.
The problem is, I didn’t really do anything about it. Back then, I took about two weeks off. Or more accurately, two weeks of “reduced” exercise before carrying on as if nothing had happened. Because that’s what I’ve always done. Push through it. Ignore it. Convince myself it’s fine.
Then February came around, and everything shifted a bit. My ED team told me I had to stop exercising for six weeks because of other health concerns, and they also explained that those issues were likely contributing to the pain in my knee too. At the time, hearing that felt unbearable. Exercise had become so tied to my identity, my routine, my coping mechanisms. Everything. But I did it, and I am so grateful that I did.
After those six weeks, I slowly started running again. And then, surprise surprise, a couple of weeks later, I heard that same “pop” in March. That exact same feeling. My meniscus had gone again. And if you’ve never torn your meniscus (and I’m hoping none of you have!) you may not understand what I mean, but I’ll say that you do literally hear a “pop” as you’re running or twisting or playing hockey, whatever it is, and you feel like you’ve broken your bone.
And what did I say? “Fuck”.
So what did I do? Stopped running, yes. But did I fully stop? Absolutely not.
I still played the odd hockey match towards the end of the season. I still kept pushing through the pain. I still convinced myself it wasn’t that bad.
For the last couple of months, I really haven’t been training much at all. But I’ve also been scared. Because at this point in my ED recovery, I finally understand the importance of stopping and resting when something is wrong, especially after that health scare in February, and believe me – aside from the occasional hockey match where I’d play maybe 10–20 minutes – I have rested.
And honestly? I’m proud of myself for that.
Especially after that scare, where I was told it was genuinely dangerous for me to continue exercising the way I had been. That was terrifying. And I’ve spoken about that quite openly on here, on the podcast, and across my socials too. So, even though this situation is painful in every sense of the word, mentally, physically, and emotionally, there’s still a part of me that knows I’ve already handled this differently than I would have a year ago.
I think deep down, I knew Edinburgh wasn’t looking likely.
But I still had hope.
I’d trained for this. I’d worked so hard for this. And part of me believed that if I just rested enough until race day, somehow adrenaline would carry me through those 21 kilometres.
Last week, I tested the waters. I did two runs, one 3km and one 5km, just to see what it would feel like. It wasn’t good. But I came back from the gym and told my family “oh, it feels fine!”. My ED sneaking back up again to lie for me, as it does every damn time.
And then came hockey on Thursday evening… which, in hindsight, was probably one of the stupidest decisions I could’ve made. The pain throughout the game was horrendous. But we only had one sub rotating around, and I didn’t have the balls to say, “Nope, this doesn’t feel right.”
And truthfully? I didn’t want to stop.
I hadn’t played in months, and someone I really wanted to play alongside (if you’re reading this, hello 😉) was back after years away from hockey too. And for a little while, despite the pain, it was fun. I enjoyed it. I felt like myself again.
So I pushed through it. Again.
When I got home, I tried to hide how bad it was because I didn’t want the comments.
“You’ve done this to yourself.”
“Well that was stupid.”
“You should’ve stopped earlier.”
Blah blah blah.
And maybe they were right. But Friday morning, after six whole damn months, I finally went to the doctors to get it properly checked. And honestly? The second I hobbled into that room, I think the doctor already knew.
When she confirmed it was most likely a meniscus tear, I almost cried from relief. Not because I wanted to be injured. God no, but because I finally felt validated. I wasn’t being dramatic. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t imagining it. What I thought was a serious injury actually was a serious injury.
And I think part of me had convinced myself that if I could just hold on until the end of May, somehow complete the half marathon, then I could collapse afterwards and finally deal with it later. Even though realistically, after those 21km, I probably would’ve been crawling around Edinburgh for the rest of the weekend, at least, or taking a ride in an ambulance.
The thing is, this diagnosis brings up a lot more than just disappointment. As someone still recovering from an eating disorder and exercise addiction, this is hard. Really hard. Like today, for example. I was supposed to be running a local 10km race with my friend, the same friend I was meant to run Edinburgh with.
And the FOMO I felt? Honestly unreal. I wanted so badly to be there. To get the medal. To prove to myself that the training had paid off. To feel accomplished. To feel proud. Instead, I stood and watched.
And even standing there hurt my knee so much.
There’s another side to this too. One I think a lot of people might relate to. I feel like I’ve let people down.
My friend, who now has to do Edinburgh alone (although let’s be honest, she’ll absolutely smash it considering she’s already done about 12 half marathons before!!)
My family, who booked an Airbnb in Scotland and took time off work for the weekend.
Everyone who donated over the last six months towards Beat Eating Disorders. And honestly, thank you doesn’t even cover how grateful I am that we reached the £1,000 mark. That support means more than I can explain, and I promise I’ll still do everything I can to make this worthwhile for everyone who donated even a penny.
And then there’s myself. That one hurts the most. Because this challenge meant something huge to me.
I was someone who used to only run the occasional 5km during hockey season training. Then suddenly, earlier this year, I was completing 15km and 18km runs. I was proving to myself that I could do hard things.
I was so ready for Edinburgh. So excited. So unbelievably proud that I even got the opportunity to give something back to a charity that helps so many people.
And now it feels like it’s been ripped away right at the last second. Thanks again, anorexia!!
I’m taking this hard, if you couldn’t tell! But equally… did we really think I was going to get away with this injury forever?
It’s been there for six months. Ignoring it was probably the worst thing I could’ve done. I think if I’d just gone to get it checked back in November, maybe I’d have had some physio, rested properly, and been absolutely fine by now.
Instead, here we are. Six months later.
And I’ll say it again, despite everything, there was relief in finally getting diagnosed.
Not because I wanted bad news, but because my mind and body could finally stop fighting each other. I delayed getting it checked because deep down, I knew what they’d say. I knew they’d tell me I couldn’t run. I knew they’d tell me to stop. Even the doctor said she was surprised I was walking on it, let alone trying to train for a half marathon and continue playing sport.
So, hearing those words almost gave me permission to finally let go. To stop masking it. To stop pretending. Because honestly, one of the hardest parts of this whole thing has been people joking that I was “milking it” or exaggerating the pain.
And when you already struggle to trust your own body, comments like that really stay with you.
I know a lot of these emotions come from my overachieving, people-pleasing personality. I hate failing. I hate setbacks. I hate letting people down — especially myself. And I feel this a lot more deeply than other people do, due to my ED, which has controlled all that side of me for years, and made me the villain in the story.
I got so close to this goal, only for it to disappear right at the last hurdle. And yeah… I’ve cried about it. A lot. I’ve only just had this diagnosis, and realisation, so believe me when I say there’ll be A LOT MORE crying.
There’s also another layer to this. After years of pushing my body to absolute extremes during my eating disorder, somehow I never got injured. And now, when I’m actually trying to recover, trying to look after myself, trying to challenge myself in healthy ways… this happens?
It feels cruel. It feels like another thing my eating disorder has taken away from me. Another fucking thing. And honestly? I’m angry.
At myself.
At my body.
At my ED.
At the world.
But despite all of this, the disappointment, the frustration, the sadness, there’s still something I’m genuinely proud of.
I’m proud that I’m letting my body rest. I’m proud that even though the ED thoughts are creeping back in, I’m not ignoring this. Because, you know what? A few months ago, I never would’ve gone to the doctor. I never would’ve allowed myself to stop. I would’ve forced myself through the pain until my body physically gave up. And that’s the difference.
That health scare back in February changed something in me. Being told that exercising the way I was had become dangerous genuinely terrified me into realising that my body is not invincible.
I have come so far. And even though this feels like a massive setback right now, maybe recovery isn’t always about finishing the race.
Maybe sometimes it’s about finally learning when not to run it at all.
And for that, despite everything, I’m proud of myself 🤍
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