Nine years ago this month, I was diagnosed with Crohn’s disease. I always knew there was a small chance of developing a related condition—but I pushed that thought firmly to the back of my mind.

A few months ago, my joints became swollen and painful. I blamed the gym, blamed running, blamed stress—blamed anything except what it might really be. I’d been seven years in remission; anything Crohn’s-related wasn’t an option.

But things progressively worsened, and after weeks of struggling, I reached out to my IBD team. Cue tests, appointments, and a lot of waiting.

Then, just a day before Christmas, I found out I’ve joined the unfortunate group of IBD’ers who go on to develop inflammatory arthritis. My markers don’t fully meet the criteria for a firm rheumatoid arthritis diagnosis, so I fall into the category of seronegative rheumatoid arthritis—where joint inflammation is clearly present and the symptoms are very real.

I had my wobble. Shed a few tears. Felt sorry for myself. Then I remembered how I handled my Crohn’s diagnosis: head fucking on 👊

Running has been my passion for the last few years, and only now do I realise that the pain I felt while chasing my PB at this year’s Cardiff Half Marathon was my body telling me enough was enough. Knowing when to stop has never been my strong point.

My goal for next year was to run a full marathon. Running has been pretty impossible these past few months—but with a treatment plan finally in sight, and support from rheumatology, I see no reason why I can’t lace my trainers back up.

So… I’ve officially signed up for the Palma Marathon, Mallorca — October 18th, 2026 🏃‍♀️

I’ll be raising funds for Inflammatory Arthritis UK.

Any sponsorship to help motivate me would mean the world. 🙏