Two years since back surgery, P.E.I. man will run in marathon
- Judith Mendiolea Lelo de Larrea
- May 7, 2025
- 5 min read
(Story oroginally published by The Guardian on March 06, 2025)
Chris Inman noticed the pain creeping into his lower back years ago.
At first, it was manageable — a dull ache after a long day, an occasional twinge when he bent the wrong way. He ignored it.
He had learned to ignore a lot of things, especially when addiction consumed most of his adult life.
By the time he got sober, the pain had worsened.
Sharp, electric jolts ran down his spine and into his legs. Sitting still for too long made his back seize up; standing for too long left him stiff and aching.
Then came the moment he could no longer pretend it was fine.
“I woke up one morning, and I couldn’t move,” he said.
Diagnosis
The 29-year-old man had already gone through months of treatments, but physiotherapy and injections weren’t working. Doctors finally ran tests and delivered a diagnosis: degenerative spinal disease.
The nerves in his spine were compressed, and without surgery, he could lose mobility altogether.
“I might not be able to do anything again. I don’t know if I can have kids. If I can move. If I can’t take care of myself,” he thought. “I’m in pain all the time — what kind of life am I going to live like this?”
He remarked on the timing of the diagnosis being so soon after he had gotten sober.
“I had just gotten my life back, and now I was being told I might never walk properly again.”
Painkillers not an option
On the day of his surgery, Inman lay in a hospital bed at Moncton Hospital, staring at the ceiling. The medical team had prepped him, explaining the risks. But there was one thing they couldn’t help him with — the pain.
“After the operation, they wanted to give me pain meds,” he said. “But I knew I couldn’t take them.”
For someone recovering from addiction, opioids weren’t just medication — they were a potential relapse. He had been clean for over a year, and he wasn’t willing to risk everything he had fought for.
So he made a decision: he would recover without them.
The first days were brutal. Pain came in waves, a relentless force that made every small movement feel impossible.
Sitting up felt like climbing a mountain. The simple act of shifting his legs over the side of the bed was enough to break him into a cold sweat.But he pushed through.
Inman was eager to move as soon as possible post-surgery. He forced himself to walk on his own the first day, refusing to stay in bed longer than necessary.
Rehabilitation was slow, agonizing work. His legs felt weak, and unfamiliar. He had to grip the walker just to stay upright.
But he kept trying.
“Every time I stood up, it felt like I was proving something to myself,” he said.
Standing turned into shuffling. Shuffling turned into steps.
“One day, I was at a friend’s house after surgery, and I felt the grass on my feet,” Inman said. “It felt weird, wet. Like I had forgotten how it felt.”
Road to running
On another day, on a routine walk, he tried running. Before he could talk himself out of it, he pushed off.
It lasted only a few strides before his body forced him to stop, but it was enough. Enough to remind him of something he had once forgotten: he could move.
“I was like, as much as I can do, let’s do it. And then if anything doesn’t work, you pull it back, slow down, and keep progressing,” he said.
Ten feet became 20. A block became two.
At first, he didn’t call it running — it was a mixture between walking and jogging. His feet slapped against the pavement. His breath came in uneven bursts. But each time he stopped, he made a promise: “Next time, I’ll go farther.”
And one morning, he did.
When he finally stopped, he checked his distance.
Five kilometres.
It wasn’t much compared to seasoned runners, but to him, it was everything.
“I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so big after something so simple,” he said. “It was mine. It was proof that I could do this.”
Finding his people
For months, Inman ran alone, setting personal goals, testing his limits. Then, he found the Coasting Run Club in Charlottetown and with them encouragement, acceptance and camaraderie.
“They didn’t care about my pace,” he said. “Everyone there is just really supporting.”
“I was definitely surprised because he seemed totally able-bodied,” said Matt Luther co-founder of the Coasting Run Club. “I wouldn’t have guessed that he was injured. It’s a pretty incredible journey that he’s been on.”
With the club’s encouragement, Inman now wanted to compete.
Signing up for his first half-marathon at the P.E.I. Marathon in October 2024 felt like stepping into unknown territory.
He pinned his number to his shirt, identified the three-and-a-half-hour pace bunny, and stood at the starting line.
He wasn’t racing against anyone but himself.
The course was gruelling — miles of pavement, hills that tested every part of his endurance — but he didn’t stop.
Then, suddenly, there it was: the finish line.
Inman crossed it in disbelief. He had beaten his own expected time by more than 20 minutes.
“It’s so nice to see people overcome hurdles, do the work, and move on with their life. That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
– Barbara Inman, Chris Inman’s mom
His family was there, watching him do something neither of them could have imagined a year ago.
“It’s so nice to see people overcome hurdles, do the work, and move on with their life,” said Barbara Inman, Chris’ mom. “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”
Chris had only one thought: “What’s next?”
Full marathon
Chris is now training for his first full marathon, planning to run in the Emera Blue Nose Marathon in Halifax.
This time, he isn’t just running to prove something to himself.
He’s running to show that no obstacle — addiction, pain, fear — can define him.
“If you had told me a year ago that I’d be here, I wouldn’t have believed you,” he said.
For years, Chris struggled with addiction, pain, and the fear that his life would never be his own again. Now, he is finishing his business degree at the University of Prince Edward Island and has been sober for four years.
“I don’t take anything for granted anymore,” he said. “I think I have an opportunity here and life is great.”
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