My Hair Transplant and Running III: Turns Out I Just Needed a Decent Hairline and a Shove

This is Part Three of a three-part series about how a hair transplant delayed my return to running by over a year. If you missed the part one and twqo of the journey, catch up here: Part One, Part Two 

By the time the hair finally came in, I had no excuse left.

The numbness was gone. The paranoia had faded. The hair looked great. I looked younger. People said so, including people who wouldn't normally say anything. Even in Tesco or Lidl, I started getting ID'd again buying a few beers or a bottle of vodka. At 38, that's not just flattering. It's hilarious.

But more than that, it was proof it worked. And that shifted something in me.

No More Side Combs

Confidence is a funny thing. It doesn’t arrive with a bang. It just quietly starts removing barriers.

Before the transplant, I'd be out running with my hair sprayed into place, trying to style it a certain way so you couldn't see the thinning. And the second a gust of wind hit, I'd be mortified. Exposed.

That all disappeared overnight. Now I could get a short haircut. No need for cover-ups. No fear of the wind. Nothing blowing up or out or off. I didn't need to worry about angles or lighting or mirrors. I could just go out and run, and not feel seen in a bad way.

Even if I wasn't fit. Even if I'd gained a bit of weight. That confidence made it possible to lace up and be visible again.

The First Run Back

I still remember it. A 12-minute mile jog. Nothing fancy. But it felt surreal.

When you've put something off for long enough, especially in your late thirties, it starts to feel like it may never happen again. You tell yourself you’ll get back to running, but deep down, you worry you’ll never leave the sofa.

So yes, it felt rough. But it also came with huge relief. It wasn’t demoralising. It was proof I could still do it. That I was no longer waiting. No longer hiding.

And honestly, who's even looking at you when you're out running

Slow Progress, Real Progress

I entered a 5K. It was the Féile 5K in West Belfast. My time was slow. Nowhere near what I used to run in my twenties. But I got through it.

That led to a half marathon. Just under two hours. At the time I wasn’t happy with that, but looking back, it was actually a very good run. Then came the long runs. I entered the Dublin Marathon. I even trained for it. Got injured a month beforehand. Ran it anyway.

It wasn’t easy. It wasn't linear. But the consistency came. Not from motivation. From stubbornness. From signing up for races, putting money down, and backing myself into a corner. Once you spend €150 on the Dublin Marathon, you kind of have to train.

Final Thoughts

The hair transplant didn’t make me fitter. It didn’t make running easier. It didn’t solve anything overnight.

But it removed one of the biggest reasons I wasn’t starting.

It gave me the confidence to get out the door again. And once I did, the rest, slowly, awkwardly, painfully, followed.