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.