The Injury That Changed My Summer
A week before, I’d ridden 230km across the Peak District.
Seven days later, I couldn’t walk.
A bit dramatic, maybe. But it wasn’t until about a week after the injury that I realised just how much it was going to change my summer.
I’m now six weeks into recovery, so let’s rewind to where it all started.
The weekend before, I’d completed the Tor Divide in the Peak District — 230km, over 5,000m of climbing, all wrapped up in just over 20 hours. It was a huge personal achievement and marked almost exactly one year since I’d started taking cycling seriously. A year of hard work, determination and countless hours spent in the saddle.
The following Wednesday, I dusted off my football boots for the first time in years to play in my son’s end-of-season dads vs lads football match. Nothing competitive, I told myself.
Fifty minutes in, we were somehow losing 3-2 to a very smug team of nine and ten-year-olds.
I found myself charging down the wing as a long ball dropped out of the air. I brought it down on my chest, turned, and then…
POP.
It honestly felt like someone had kicked or shot me in the back of the ankle. The sound was horrible. My first thought was that one of the kids had flown into a reckless tackle. I looked around… only to realise there was nobody anywhere near me. I was sat on the floor on my own.
The moment I realised I was alone, I knew exactly what I’d done.
Strangely, there wasn’t much pain. I hobbled back to the car, headed to A&E, and after a scan the diagnosis was confirmed: a complete Achilles tendon rupture with a gap of around 1.4cm between the torn ends.
A few days later, the specialist explained the recovery plan. At least 10-12 weeks in a boot, removing wedges every couple of weeks to gradually return my foot to a normal position, with an overall recovery time of around 9-12 months.
To say I was devastated would be an understatement.
Fast forward to today and I’m six weeks into recovery. Thanks to my physio, I was back on the indoor bike and in the gym after just three weeks. The rehab is going well. I’m off the crutches, walking in the boot, and one wedge has already been removed.
Looking back, it wasn’t really the injury itself that frightened me.
It was the thought of losing the thing that keeps me grounded.
Cycling and spending time outdoors have become my therapy over the past year. In those first few days, I genuinely thought all of that had been taken away from me, and that was the hardest part to deal with.
The biggest blow was accepting that our Scotland road trip wouldn’t be happening this summer. I’d been looking forward to weeks of riding, exploring new places, taking photos and documenting it all. But with my ankle still weak, spending hours behind the wheel just isn’t the right decision. Scotland will still be there next year.
Thankfully, I’ve realised adventure doesn’t always have to mean big rides or big trips. Recovery has given me the chance to slow down, spend more time with Dexter, take the camera out, explore closer to home, and finally build this blog.
The rides will come back. Scotland will happen. For now, this chapter is about recovery, patience, and finding adventure at a slower pace.
It’s not the summer I had planned, but it’s a chapter worth documenting all the same.
