That Still Small Voice

In the run-up to my birthday last year, life was pretty good. I’d quit my job and had most of the summer off until I started my current one. I was running, writing, and doing many of the things I loved to do. Two days before my birthday, I was out for a run when, afterwards, I started to experience a dull pain in my chest. I thought I pulled a muscle and didn’t think anything of it. The pain didn’t really go away, I just ignored it. I kept running. I went kayaking. And two days after my birthday, I finally listened to that still small voice and took myself to the Urgent Care Clinic at Toronto Western Hospital.

Letting Go of Stubbornness

In my early days as a runner, I was stubborn. I embraced—for better or for worse—the idea of running through the pain. If I was injured, I kept running as long as I could. It was, I told myself, a sign of my manliness (oh, I can laugh about that now!). To build my endurance, I tried to see how many days I could run in a row without a break to recover (24 in case you were wondering). Then later as I trained for my first marathon in 2019, and inspired by David Goggins, I pushed myself to run over (and overtrain) 300 km, or 186 mi, in a month. And in September 2019, I clocked over 400 km (248 mi).

I don’t really know what I was trying to prove to myself. Had I bought into toxic masculinity? Maybe. But after the 2019 marathon, and I ended up with more injuries—and a personally devastating result in the 2023 Toronto Waterfront Marathon—I started listening more to that still small voice. When I needed to rest, I did. When it was time to slow down, I did. And when I realized it was time to take myself to the hospital out of an abundance of caution, I did.

You Can’t Outrun Your Family History

At thirty-five, I started running because I was gaining weight and I didn’t want to end up like other members of my family. From obesity to diabetes to high cholesterol to cardiac disease, these were the health issues family members were dealing with and that I hoped to avoid by running.

Getting back to my trip to the Urgent Care Clinic at Toronto Western Hospital, I spent four and a half hours there and was told that they couldn’t find any signs of a cardiac incident. Great news, right? Given my family history, the cardiac nurse said she’d recommend me to their cardiac program for follow-up, but didn’t think I’d be accepted. Two weeks later, I received a notification of my intake interview with the cardiac program. Over the course of the next eleven months, I would complete a stress test and an echocardiogram. And because of that, I learned that you can’t outrun your family history, making me grateful for having listened to that still small voice.

That Still Small Voice

When I went for my follow-up appointment in July, I did not receive the ‘all clear’ like I had hoped. Instead, the doctor told me one of my ventricles was dilatated. The medical term is mild cardiomyopathy, and now I’m on a six-month treatment plan through medication. I’m also transitioning to a low-sodium diet. And I’ve decided, as a precaution, not to run a marathon this year.

Now that I have mild cardiomyopathy as a diagnosis, I’m grateful that I listened to that still small voice. Because if I had ignored it, things could have turned out a lot differently.

You know, I just want to take this moment to remind you that you are loved, you are worthy, and you matter. And, best of all, you do not need anyone’s permission to be—unapologetically—who you are.