Life in the slow lane

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I stood from my chair and felt a little pop. Like the sort of small creak you might hear when you stretch your neck or step on a loose floorboard. That was it. My back had gone out yet again. I say "gone out" as though my spine had left my body for dinner, a movie, or maybe a night at the theatre. No, my back was not enjoying light entertainment. My back had stiffened and contracted to the point where I was now shorter. I bore a comical resemblance to Tim Conway's shuffling old man. It may have been funny if it didn't hurt so much. Lightning strikes of pain in my lower back lose their punchline, but never their punch.

After a couple of days of back pain, one of the odd things is how the area feels bruised as if I had been slashed across the back by a hockey stick. I don't remember being in a playoff game against a Florida-based team, but then again, that's something I might like to forget anyway. The worst of it was knowing it would be days, or a couple of weeks of stretching, heating, cooling, and strengthening before it would feel something like normal. I'm not saying I'm a busy guy, but even I have things to do. The quicker the recuperation, the better. It also meant that my attempts to get back in shape were again delayed.

So it was that I headed to the pool. It may strike some as odd that while standing and walking are uncomfortable in this position, riding a bike is thankfully easy. I always think of my bike as a two-wheel rollator. I get on. I roll away. Once at the pool, I join the old men in the slow lane. More like logs bobbing in the water than swimmers, we oldies float quietly back and forth letting the water's buoyancy force correct our spines and relax our joints. I find it comforting to know that if I roll over on my back, the likelihood of drowning is greatly reduced. I can stabilize myself with gentle arm movements and transport my body from one end of the pool to the other with a moderate and dignified kick. It's not an exercise for fitness, but it is highly therapeutic.

Then came the thought of a very light workout, which, surprisingly felt alright and in fact, very helpful. The odd thing is that years ago, my first stop would've been to a masseuse. The fact that my benefits package allows for so many visits to a masseuse every year is either an admission that my industry recognizes that sitting at a desk for too many hours is destroying our backs or that "Big Massage" has successfully lobbied the insurance industry. Yet, for years now, I've found it difficult to find a therapeutic massage clinic. They used to be everywhere, but now it seems difficult to find one nearby and when you inquire about an appointment, it's always a two-week wait. I think that's what really meant I stopped going. I usually need a massage when I need one, not two weeks later. In two weeks, I could have applied ice, and heat, stretched and strengthened my way back to health. That's how I do it now. A bit of cooling, a bit of heating, a bit of stretching and a bit of slow activity.

Is this my life now? No more "crushing it", "killing it" or "going for it", which admittedly all sound slightly too violent or toxic for my tastes anyway. Perhaps this is for the best. I'll drift, float and generally take my sweet time in the slow lane. I still have speed in me, but that speed is slower. The days of palmarès, accomplishments and personal bests are over. Life in the slow lane is fine. In the slow lane, we breathe deeply, enjoy the scenery, the fresh air and appreciate the sweetness life has left.