My busy, worrying mind makes me who I am

“I can’t coach Katie anymore”; words that no 16-year-old girl wants to hear. 

Had I been disrespectful?

Had I been lazy and not shown up for training? 

No. I had been a passionate, emotionally charged young girl who struggled with her mental health. 

Over my early career in athletics, I have had 3 male coaches who all struggled to manage my mood swings which resulted in them removing themselves as my coach. Even now, 10 years on, I look back with a sense of sadness at what could have been if someone had sat me down and tried to understand me. I was left wondering what I had done wrong and what I could have done differently. I was left trying to change myself. I was left punishing myself for who I was. 

Now, as a 26-year-old I am proud of who I am. Yes, I get emotional during training, and yes I throw tantrums when things don’t go well but that is because I care. I care so much. That is not a bad thing and should never have been punished. That care is what makes me try hard during the cold, wet, nights of winter training. That ability to care is what gives me that edge to cross the line first and fight into a gruelling headwind and battle through the lactic acid. 

My passion wins me medals. My busy, worrying mind makes me who I am.

Pain. That’s the word that comes to mind whenever I look back over my time in the sport. Growing up as a naturally talented athlete was difficult. People always expected me to do well, people always assumed I would win, and run fast times. Yes, I was gifted, but I also turned up to training, listened to my coaches, made the sacrifices necessary and put the work in. 

But nobody ever sees those parts, do they? Nobody ever seemed surprised because it was simply expected. I continued to run throughout my school career, picking up numerous Scottish titles whilst doing well in school. However, once I left school, I felt somewhat lost about what to do. All I had ever really wanted to do was be an athlete, I didn't think about another career path. So what better path to choose than a sports scholarship to the United States of America to pursue my dream of making it within the sport of athletics?

In August 2015 I moved to New Hampshire, USA. What I hoped would be the ‘American dream’ and the kickstart of my career as a professional athlete turned into a nightmare that still impacts my life today. 

That year of my life still hurts to think about and this will be the first time I have ever fully said these words. I was abused. 

Even writing those words there felt painful, but I instantly feel a sense of relief that I have admitted that to myself. While running and studying in the US I was fighting my own battle. Sport can be a beautiful thing, but it can also create a toxic environment where performance takes priority over health and well-being. Yet again I believe, looking back that I was completely let down and disregarded by coaches. I sought help and assistance during trauma and was met with a culture of victim blaming. I openly admitted to the coaching team that I was scared and helpless.

I got my confirmation that I wasn’t the one in the wrong and the perpetrator was excluded from the university. Finally, I thought, justice. 

However, quick contact with another sporting university who were talent hungry meant a simple transfer to a different state and a different university allowed this person to move on, leave behind the pain of what he had done to me and have the opportunity to continue on a paid scholarship with zero repercussions.

On my return, my mental health deteriorated and I stopped running. There was too much pain associated with an athletics track. I began to spiral and lost a sense of who I was. Without running, who was Katie? That year after my return, I was plagued with feelings of not being good enough, and fears of people not believing my story. It got so bad that I made plans to end my own life. I didn't feel like I deserved to be here. I didn't want to be here.

I reached rock bottom. Everything felt completely pointless. But here's the thing, when people have been through a deep struggle, when they've felt real pain, they have this internal resilience that is just waiting to come out. I looked at myself in the mirror one day and realised that if I continued down that path, then he had won. 

That’s the thing about me, I hate losing. So I grabbed my spikes, I grabbed my cheap, Argos stopwatch and I went to the track. I ran, I ran fast, I ran slow, I cried, I had lactic. What was the difference? I was running for me, nobody else. I wasn't running for a particular race or a particular time, I was simply running because it is something I love to do. It reminds me of the tattoo that I have on my ribs that says “I just felt like running” - Forrest Gump. That was just it, in the movie, Forrest runs whenever something goes wrong in his life, it was his way of coping, and so too it was mine. 

So, the simple answer to why I came back was that “I just felt like running”.

Those hours at the track paid off and when I decided to step back into competitive athletics I took my 100m time down from 12.7s to 11.95s. That year felt so meaningful to me because it showed just how strong I am. I have used my scars and the pain of what happened to me as fuel for those long, hard sessions in the pouring rain. That reliance and perseverance are something that he will never be able to take away from me. I am proud to say that I am still here fighting and that yes, my mental health sometimes throws obstacles in my way but I now know I am strong enough to overcome them. 

I’d love to win more medals in this sport, but regardless, I feel like I've already won.