The day everything changed

At age 20, my whole life changed. Without warning, I collapsed on 3 June 2017, later diagnosed with a complete spinal cord injury at my 10th thoracic vertebrae. After months of medical appointments, doctors identified a neurological condition called transverse myelitis that causes inflammation around the spinal cord. I was left paralysed, losing the use of my legs, most of my core muscles and control over my bowels and bladder. I couldn’t stand or sit unassisted. I couldn’t take myself to the toilet. I realised that there were so many of life’s simple pleasures that I had taken for granted. I was scared. I felt vulnerable, and, ultimately, I believed that I wasn’t worthy of living life anymore, often thinking the world would be a better place without me in it.

An undeniable purpose

What I didn’t realise was that my spinal cord injury was the start of an undeniable purpose, showing the world what is possible in the face of adversity. This purpose was born at the WheelPower Inter Spinal Unit Games (a competition that gives people the opportunity to try new sports following a recent spinal cord injury). Initially, I struggled with para-sports because I had such fond memories of playing sports before my injury. That was until I was asked to compete in the para powerlifting event on the last day. I won and instantly fell in love. Ultimately, para powerlifting saved my life. Not only did it allow me to go toe-to-toe with able-bodied powerlifters, but the entire able-bodied population. I could go into any gym in the world and hold my own. People could identify me by what I could do rather than what I couldn’t. I went on to become English and British Champion in my first year of competing.

The most gruelling period of my life

Everything was going well until I returned from my first World Championships in 2022. A month later, my left leg swelled to double its normal size. I was rushed to hospital, where scans revealed a fractured femur. It had clearly happened some time ago, as it had already started to heal. I had multiple surgeries to rebreak and repair the bone in the following 48 hours. This was the start of the most gruelling period of my life. I clocked 16 surgeries in 28 days, along with 5 months of bed rest. A cholesteatoma was found in my right ear, which resulted in me losing my hearing, and various holes were found in my bladder. The independence I’d worked so hard to achieve was snatched from me again. My mental health plummeted. I had an overwhelming feeling of guilt that I was letting people down.

The boom and bust of the Paris Paralympic Games

In the lead-up to Paris, I developed distal clavicular osteolysis and suffered five tears to my pectoralis major. I was in a constant cycle of injury. I couldn’t help but think that I was one of those athletes who were always trying to write cheques that their body couldn’t cash. Despite this, I achieved what was just a pipe dream. I qualified for the 2024 Paralympic Games. My performance wasn’t the best of my career, but it was the best that I had on that day (figure 1). One that I was immensely proud of due to what I was going through. To share the euphoria of that moment with so many people who have been by my side every step of the way was an experience I’ll never forget. In just 7 years, I had gone from paralysed to Paralympian.

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Figure 1

Liam McGarry celebrates a 228 kg bench press at the 2024 Paris Paralympic Games (photo credit: ParalympicsGB).

Post Paris, I reflected on the journey that got me there. My over-riding thoughts were of pain and injury. During the cycle, I was so scared to take a step back. I saw it as a weakness. A dent in my ego. Knowing I couldn’t repeat another cycle like Paris, I put full trust in my team. We met and decided that, while we had no competitions on the horizon, we would address the injuries that were holding me back. This began with a 2-week stay in the Intensive Rehabilitation Unit in Bisham. We stripped everything back to its core and started again. I felt vulnerable. As though I had put my whole career in other people’s hands. However, something inside me told me there was a light at the end of the tunnel. Stepping back is not stepping down, and, for the first time, I truly believed it.

What I want others to know

I have been fortunate to have great people support me along my journey. These people have allowed me to let go of pre-existing notions of what training hard should look like and move towards more sustainable practices. This support doesn’t always have to be a big motivational speech or a bombardment of education. I remember back to when my performance director simply told me that he was ‘proud of me’ or that he had never seen ‘minerals like it’ when I qualified for Paris. This had a much longer-lasting effect on me than any motivational quote would. It was moments like this when I realised we were in it together. After that, I felt like I would run through a brick wall for him. People who supported me as a human, not just a powerlifter, are the ones who were able to have the greatest influence on me.

Take-home messages for clinicians

I want clinicians who work with injured athletes to remember that we are humans first. We have good days and bad days, and you can have a big influence on this. Whether it is demonstrating vulnerability by sharing stories where you’ve walked the trenches I’m walking, making rehab fun through games or good chats, or acknowledging I’m in a dark place and addressing it directly with me. I value these interactions, and they go a long way in making me feel supported. And when I feel supported, I am able to give my all to my rehab. I recall times when clinicians have lost my confidence, and it has been where they are disengaged during these interactions. For example, a doctor once Googled my symptoms during a consultation and read them back to me. It’s fine not to know everything, just be honest with me and work with me to figure it out.

What the future holds

I know that my future in sport isn’t set in stone, but my outlook now is far more positive. As I look to continue towards the Los Angeles Paralympic Games, I hope I continue to look at the bigger picture. I’ve realised that being injured is not failing or letting people down, but instead a small part of a much bigger process. Injury, having a bad session, or not being at your best doesn’t make you a bad person; it just makes you human.