I had just started to feel like an Olympic lifter when my knee decided otherwise.

It wasn’t during a max attempt, or after a dramatic fall. No glory, no heroic story to tell. Just a small, ordinary movement, and suddenly my meniscus was calling the shots.

Starting over, then stumbling

I came to Olympic lifting late, after years of “bodybuilding”, more general (heavy) lifting at the gym. I knew my way around dumbbells and machines, but snatches and clean & jerks were a whole new universe. In my 40s, learning from scratch meant embracing being a beginner all over again: awkward, slow, humbled by technique. And strangely enough, I loved it.

Every training session felt like progress, even when the weights were light, and when my sessions ended with one tear or two. I was starting to see glimpses of what it might feel like to move with speed and precision. Just as I was finding that rhythm… my knee gave way. I torn my right leg meniscus.

The injury moment

I replayed the moment where my meniscus probably tore hundreds of times. I was in the middle of a series of heavy clean doubles. At some point, I saw my right knee drift a bit too far outwards.

I didn’t feel the pain right away – or at least not enough to make me stop. I pushed through, finished my heavy session, even added accessories. It was only later, under the shower, that the pain suddenly escalated and made itself impossible to ignore.

Since then, I’ve been stuck with another weight to carry: guilt. I keep asking myself if I should have stopped, if I trained too hard, if I should have noticed something earlier. Both my physio and my coach have told me it’s not my fault: these things happen, sometimes without warning, but it’s still a hard feeling to navigate.

A series of MRI pictures of my royally torn meniscus. Spot the torn(s).

Adapting, not quitting

The hardest part isn’t the pain itself, but the timing. Just as I was building momentum, I’ve had to pause, rethink, and adapt. Right now, that looks like:

• No squats or heavy leg drive
• Upper body and core work
• Single-leg training on the healthy side
• Technique drills I can do pain-free

It’s not ideal, but it’s not the end. And as much as guilt creeps in, I remind myself: injuries happen even to the most experienced lifters. The only real mistake would be to let it stop me completely.

That is the most I can squat at the moment. I take the 120kg single leg press as a consolation.

The real lesson

If Olympic lifting teaches anything, it’s patience. You can’t rush technique, you can’t rush progress, and you definitely can’t rush recovery.

This injury is another reminder that life is a series of restarts. IVF, motherhood, menopause, and now, training with a stubborn knee. Each has forced me to begin again in a different way. Every time, I’ve carried guilt, doubts, and frustration. But each time, I’ve also found a way forward.

What I have learned (again)

The barbell isn’t going anywhere. My coach isn’t going anywhere. And neither am I.

For now, the work is healing, moving in the ways I can, and practicing patience – with my body, with my mind, and even with that nagging guilt. The lifts will be there waiting when I’m ready.