Perceptions, Disparities, and the Weight of History

To truly understand injury in Black athletes, we must examine the systemic issues embedded in medicine, society, and institutions when it comes to the Black body. History is littered with examples of how Black bodies have been devalued and misunderstood, from the violence of transatlantic slavery, to unethical medical experimentation without anaesthesia, to persistent myths such as “Black people have a higher threshold for pain” or are “drug seeking” when reporting pain.

These misconceptions are not isolated; they permeate multiple domains, including maternity and the ongoing sickle cell health crisis, where conditions disproportionately affecting Black and ethnic minority groups are often minimised or misunderstood. The impact of these entrenched beliefs inevitably seeps into sports medicine. Many medical professionals, regardless of their intentions, are products of institutions where these biases can still influence clinical judgment.

The question is, how injured is injured when you are a black athlete?

Now I’m talking from experience as someone who has been asked, “Are you actually injured?” This period was around 2015. I was experiencing sciatica in both of my legs, and I was experiencing significant back pain, and it all stemmed from a competition in 2014. As I fell backwards, I was scared of landing on my back. I’d had a previous injury of breaking my wrists. I didn’t want any of that. I twisted out of it, catching my arm underneath the bar, but in that moment, I also caused what would be an injury that has stayed with me for a very long time, which is facet joint syndrome.

Despite significant pain, I was unsure how to proceed. I was on funding, seeing the available medical teams, yet answers were elusive because my symptoms would wax and wane, especially during lifting. There were stretches when I felt fine, only to be hit by periods of debilitating pain. During the World Championships in Houston, my back pain flared so severely that competing required tremendous resilience. My drive to perform, succeed, and represent was so strong that I was willing to repeatedly risk my health, even lying on the floor for massages between lifts, just to get through. It was a stark illustration of the lengths athletes often go to prove themselves, sometimes at great personal cost.

Eventually, I recognised that this pain had persisted too long, and I needed definitive answers.

Even as I sought medical help, the scepticism I encountered from leadership was palpable. I distinctly remember a performance director questioning, “Are you really injured? Do you really have back pain?” This, despite documented medical interventions and visible signs of distress, such as post-competition ice therapy administered by physiotherapists.

When I finally found an exceptional physio team who took my reports seriously, they quickly diagnosed the problem, implemented an effective treatment plan, and helped me manage the condition. Being believed was transformative; my symptoms were validated with MRI evidence and clinical reasoning. That moment underscored a critical point: questioning whether a Black athlete is “really” injured is rarely innocent.

It is often rooted in long-standing, systemic biases—like the myth of Black people’s higher pain tolerance that continues to undermine the care and credibility afforded to Black bodies, even at the highest levels of sport.

My experience is not an isolated one. Across sports, countless Black athletes wrestle with the dual burden of physical injury and having their pain questioned or dismissed. This is not just about individual moments of disbelief; it’s about the cumulative effect of a system that asks Black athletes to prove their pain, resilience, and even their humanity, time and again.

Change requires more than awareness; it demands action from sports organisations, medical teams, and society at large. We must challenge entrenched myths, improve representation in sports medicine, and foster environments where every athlete’s pain is treated with dignity and urgency.

As we move forward, the real question is not just “How injured is injured?” but “How do we create a culture where all injuries are acknowledged, investigated, and treated equitably, no matter whose body is on the line?”

By confronting these disparities head-on, we not only protect the health and careers of Black athletes but also move closer to a fairer, more compassionate sporting world for everyone.

Whether as a coach, manager, or healthcare provider, consider this an invitation to lead differently. Inclusive leadership isn’t just about representation; it’s about consistently challenging your own assumptions, creating space for every voice, and proactively addressing disparities that can cost athletes their health and careers.

Get in touch to learn more about my inclusive leadership and inclusive culture training.

Inclusion affects us all.

Too often, the conversation around inclusion has been framed as relevant only to certain groups, but the truth is, every single one of us is impacted. Early efforts to advance inclusion were sometimes perceived as divisive, largely because they sought to correct historical imbalances by advocating for equity and equality among those long excluded. However, it is essential to recognise that inclusion truly benefits all, not just a select few.

When we understand inclusion as a collective endeavour, we unlock potential and progress for our entire society. When I’m delivering training, I like to refer to the Equality Act 2010 as a great icebreaker. Illustrating how everyone is involved in the conversation. Everyone will fall into one of the groups and directly benefit from the systemic changes, solutions, and actions that affect their protected characteristics. That is the start of the journey for inclusion, being for everyone.

Today, inclusion means far more than simply inviting everyone to the table. It demands that we thoughtfully identify obstacles, address deeply embedded systemic pressures, and challenge the historically misplaced power dynamics that prevent people from showing up authentically. Whether that is in the workplace, education, or everyday life. Genuine inclusion is not an optional extra; it is a necessity that permeates every aspect of our experience.

We must also acknowledge that inclusion efforts without substantial, measurable change amount to little more than performance. Declaring inclusivity is not enough; we must foster environments where true belonging is possible.

Now what does that look like? For example, I created a media company called Uncovered. The reason is that I recognise a disparity in the way Black athletes are showcased, especially in the strength-sport and fitness space. Coverage, access to opportunity, marketing, and engagement with influencers and other groups consistently hold a minority stake for Black individuals. In creating something like Uncovered, my inclusion effort was practical. It was practical to design a space where Black people could show up authentically in their true form and showcase excellence in strength sports and fitness spaces.

When we’re looking at something like strength sport, which is my background in Olympic weightlifting, you find that the grassroots elements of the sport lack diversity. It’s not because there are no people from diverse areas or backgrounds who want to lift. It’s because these areas and groups are not being engaged.

When we are looking at inclusion, it’s not enough to have a policy. It’s not enough to say we are trying or we have tried. What you have to do is lead with action and really drive change forward. You need to be interested in understanding the barriers and in cultivating meaningful solutions that remove them and prevent exclusion.

If you’re thinking about how I want inclusion to look different within my organisation, let’s have a chat so we can understand the practical ways you’ll be inclusive, not just performative.