Penelope had always been a runner. 

The pounding rhythm of her feet on the pavement, the wind in her hair, the sense of freedom and accomplishment with every mile. It was her therapy, her joy, her very essence. And now, she was training for her first marathon.

But then it started.

A subtle ache in her knees. A whisper of discomfort, she brushed off without much thought. She was training hard, after all – a little soreness was to be expected. But it wasn’t soreness.

It was him. She named him Gnaw.

Gnaw was no ordinary ache. He was targeted. Precise. A spiteful, gleeful entity who had taken up residence in the delicate spaces between Penelope’s bones and cartilage, and seemed to delight in his dominion. Each step she took was an invitation for him to wreak havoc.

At first, it was just a twinge.

Push through it, Penelope told herself, digging into her inner grit. But Gnaw was cunning. He’d wait until she was miles into a run, when her body was warm and her endorphins were soaring… and then he’d strike. A sharp, searing pain that would bring her to a limping halt.

“Oh no, you don’t,” she’d growl, stretching and massaging her knees, trying to coax him into silence. And sometimes, he would settle. Briefly. Just long enough to lure her back onto the road.

But Gnaw grew bolder with every week, his power swelling as her mileage increased. He became a constant companion on her training runs – a malevolent whisper threading doubt through her mind.”

“You’re weak,” he’d hiss. “You’ll never finish. You’re a fool to even try.”

Penelope’s world narrowed. The joy of running was replaced by a grim determination to outwit Gnaw. She tried everything: ice, heat, stretches, painkillers. And eventually, a knee brace. It gave her a flicker of hope, some sense of stability, at least. But if she thought that would calm Gnaw down, she was sorely mistaken.

He hated the brace.

Furious at being contained, he ramped things up, stabbing harder, earlier, refusing to be ignored. The tighter the brace, the louder he roared.

Even sleep became a battleground. Gnaw, bored with inactivity, would send shooting pains up her legs, keeping her awake for hours. She’d lie in bed, her body throbbing, tears of frustration and exhaustion streaming silently down her cheeks.

The marathon loomed – no longer a dream but a distant, mocking finish line. Penelope was no longer running towards it; she was running away from Gnaw, each step a desperate attempt to escape his tyranny.

Then her coach suggested something radical: Listen to the pain.

Not as an enemy, but as a messenger.

Penelope scoffed. Listen to Gnaw? He was a sadist. But desperation has a way of opening doors.

So, she tried.

On her next run, when Gnaw reared up, she stopped. Not to stretch, not to fight, but to feel. She closed her eyes. Focused on the sensation. And slowly, she began to hear what he was trying to say.

It wasn’t easy. Gnaw was still sharp, still loud. But beneath the pain, there was something else: tightness. Weakness. Fear.

She realised she hadn’t been listening to her body at all. She’d been so focused on pushing through, on achieving, on proving – that she’d missed the warning signs. Gnaw wasn’t cruel for the sake of it. He was trying to protect her.

So, Penelope listened.

She pulled back. Cut her mileage. Swapped miles for mobility, speed for strength. She learned to distinguish between the pain of effort and the pain of injury. Gradually, Gnaw loosened his grip. The sharp stabs faded to dull warnings. He became less of a tormentor, more of a reminder.

And then, just when she felt like she was finally making peace with him, her coach made another suggestion: Karen Chappell. The Pain Detective.

The Pain Detective arrives and teaches Penelope to listen to her body

Karen Chappell arrived like a gust of fresh air – warm, grounded, quietly powerful. Her reputation preceded her: a specialist who could unravel even the most stubborn pain stories. Her method? The Bodylogiq approach.

“Pain isn’t the enemy,” she said in their first session. Her tone was calm, but firm. “It’s a language. Your body is trying to tell you something. My job is to help you translate it.”

Karen didn’t stop at knees or tendons. She looked at everything… Penelope’s posture, movement patterns, training, sleep, nutrition, stress, emotional state. She saw not just the pain, but the person behind it.

“Gnaw,” she said gently, “isn’t the cause. He’s the symptom.”

Through precise assessment and gentle, guided movements, Karen began to uncover what lay beneath the surface of the pain. Patterns of tension, imbalance and overcompensation – all pieces of the puzzle that had allowed Gnaw to thrive. Nothing dramatic, nothing forced. Just simple, targeted movements that helped Penelope reconnect with her body and bring things back into balance.

But Karen’s work didn’t end with the physical. She helped Penelope explore the emotional layers beneath the pain: the pressure, the perfectionism, the fear of failure. Together, they reframed the story.

Gnaw was no longer a villain. He was a signal.

And Penelope? She was learning to speak the language.

Peace, power and the finish line

Session by session, the changes took root. Her body grew stronger. Her confidence steadier. The sharpness faded, the whispers quieted. She wasn’t fighting Gnaw anymore. She was walking beside him – aware, prepared, unafraid.

The day of the marathon came. Gnaw was there, a faint murmur in her knees. But he no longer controlled her.

She ran with awareness. With respect for her body. With gratitude for the journey.

And when she crossed the finish line –  breathless, elated, tears in her eyes – she knew this wasn’t just a race won.

She had made peace with pain. She had reclaimed her power and her body.

And thanks to The Pain Detective and the Bodylogiq approach, she had learned the greatest lesson of all:

Your body is always speaking. You just have to learn how to listen.