Pain on the Brain

A finger gets slammed in a door. A knee scrapes along a sidewalk. The blade nicks a chin or ankle. Or, like me, without the proper bend in the knees, the lower back responds to the hand picking up the dumbbell off the rack. Maybe the manufacturers of these weights that fit in your hands knew what was likely to happen when they named them dumbbells. Like me, you think it is the finger, knee, chin, ankle or back that feels the hurt. Again, the manufacturers of those trillion dollars worth of pills from Tylenol to Vicodin know where the pain lies. It’s in the brain. That’s why for those who result to this form of relief they provide drugs to block signals to the brain. This also may explain the popularity of zombies in books and movies—brain-dead beings feel no pain.

A dumbbell--greener and lighter than the one at the gym,
but no smarter.

The Monday before Thanksgiving I reached down to pick up the thirty pound weight with my right hand and a muscle above my left buttock decided either it had not been properly warmed or was too tired to stretch with enough elasticity to make the lift without first signaling my brain. My brain responded with a slight jolt to the top of the head that may have stimulated tear ducts to secrete a few drops and vocal chords to emit a slight utterance. Gathering from the lack of response from other members of the gym, it can be assumed these blended in with the more virile sweat and grunts of those whose backs remained spasm free.

Pool Vac Robot
Poor fellow was caught on thick leaves.

For two weeks I toughed it out and stuck to my daily routine of either working out at the gym or attending a yoga class. While I was more cautious with each lift, I never lightened the load, and I found taking a little longer with each stretch loosened the muscle and provided greater flexibility. I was determined to make it to my regularly scheduled monthly adjustment at the chiropractor, and avoid an emergency run. Then, the Santa Anas blew last Monday. These winds swirl off the mountains from the East bringing warm air and a ton of leaves that swoop to the bottom of my pool clogging up the small robot whose job it is to vacuum up debris. Naturally, it stalled and not only did I have to rescue it, but shovel the heavy soaked leaves off the bottom with a net on the end of a long pole. Even with plenty of bend in the knees, the muscles in the back are stretched beyond capacity—and it doesn’t require a brain to figure this out, but you can be sure the brain will let you know.

Long handled net--good for getting leaves
at bottom of pool--not good for back.

Somehow, I managed to get enough sleep that night, but when I attempted my usual stretches in yoga class Tuesday morning one of those utterances escaped my lips. A few of those in the class were alarmed. A little massage helped, but I sat up in a chair to get whatever sleep I was able to muster that night, stayed in my pajamas and robe the entire day on Wednesday, and slept on the floor last night.

Today, I went to my regularly scheduled monthly adjustment at my chiropractor. He said it had been quite awhile since I had this problem. His comments made me recall when I first injured that particular muscle. It occurred twenty years ago coming out of the water on a slalom ski behind my brother-in-law’s boat. Again, it’s a matter of the proper bend in the knees. Deaf deer in the Wisconsin woods heard the utterance that echoed across the water, fifty miles to the north.  A short while later an emergency room doctor gave me my only prescription for Vicodin. All it did was make me nauseous. My brain was not to be blocked.

Over the years the injury has recurred numerous times. Ice, heat, massage and the proper stretch and adjustments help, but mostly it takes time. Meanwhile, I’ll try to do what I’m learning to do in yoga; shut off my brain.