There’s an old parable often referred to as the “streetlight effect,” that goes something like this:
A policeman comes across a drunkard searching for his car keys under a streetlight. Neither can kind the keys. The policeman asks the drunkard if he lost his keys in this spot. The drunkard replies, “No, I lost them in the park.”
“The park?” The policeman responds. “Then why are you looking here?”
The drunkard responds: “This is where the light is.”
When dealing with a problem, we often do the same thing. We look where the light is because it’s the most obvious thing we can see. But sometimes the light is misleading.
As I described in part 1 of Anatomy of a Pain in the Ass, the “light” was coming off my back in waves: I had a bulging disc in my lower back. I had signs of arthiritis in my back. The pain was in my back. Stands to reason that I, and all of the health professionals around me, were focused on my back.
But the true origin of the problem was not under the streetlight. It was in the dark, obscured nether regions of my ass (and hamstrings, to be precise). Continue reading “Anatomy of a Pain in the Ass: Part 2”
As I have mentioned in previous posts, my journey to strength training at Ludus Magnus began with back pain. Chronic, limiting, debilitating back pain.
I lived with it every day. Some days it was a low-level ache, a kind of white noise that lingered in the background of my daily movements. Other days, I would have recurring spasms in my low back, accompanied by sharp stabbing pain in my ass cheeks that radiated through my hips and down my legs.
In hospitals and doctors’ offices they have pain rating scales such as this where they ask patients to assign a number to their pain level:
I lived between 4 and 9. Even with chiropractic care and massage therapy 1-3 times per week, daily ibuprofen, regular stretching, and multiple icing sessions per day, it never got better than 4. Continue reading “Anatomy of a Pain in the Ass”
I just recently had a birthday, and I am now officially 39 years old. I received many warm birthday greetings and messages on my Facebook page, but one in particular stood out to me:
“39 is the new 29!”
I appreciate the sentiment, and I get what they mean by it. For most people, they remember their younger years as a time of greater energy and vitality (and typically a smaller waist).
In this respect, I’m not like most people. You couldn’t pay me to be 29 again. No way.
I’ve been enjoying old episodes of The Golden Girls on Hulu, so please indulge me as I channel my inner Sophia:
Picture it: Columbus, Ohio, 2007. Continue reading “39 Feels Fine”