Chronic Pain and Exercise In Retrospect
The heartbreak of missed opportunities when pain dictates your decisions …
I was never one of those people who enjoyed exercise. The type of person who’s favourite subject at school is PE or that went running just for the fun of it (seriously, why?!). Some people thrive under the intensity of something physically challenging, whilst for me it always felt just that: challenging. A walk after a Sunday roast or a swim in the pool on holiday- fine, but the thought of being out of breath on purpose or going through the exhausting pursuit of pushing myself physically never appealed to me. That was until I had no choice. Until I was forced to sidestep a summery walk pre picnic or dancing on a night out until my feet ached. Until I could barely move from my bedroom to the bathroom without tears streaming my hot and pent up face. Until I was diagnosed with a chronic pain condition.
It’s one of those things that you don’t think will happen to you. In the same way that you understand the sadness of horrific accidents on the news or injustices on social media- you feel awful pangs of sympathy and ‘oh my god how would you carry on?’, but soon you move on as the next headline takes over and your life remains unaffected. And as a mostly healthy 20 year old, I too didn’t see it coming either. Sure, I’d dealt with mental health issues throughout my teens and the trials and tribulations of acne, a lactose intolerance and digestion issues that made life harder, but on the whole I was fortunate enough to have never known the long term ups and downs (mostly downs let’s be honest) that come with a permanently unwell body.
“I’d never in my life felt a desire to run or go to spin classes or dance along to at-home Zumba workouts, but suddenly the craving was there and there was nothing I could do to fulfil the desires to move just because.”
The details of my chronic illness don’t really matter. The ins and outs of doctors referrals, waiting lists, ‘try this medication’, days bedbound and frustrated tears are characteristics I’m sure are present in every chronic illness ‘starter kit’. The way life can entirely switch from one week to the next was, and still is, overwhelming. But one thing that surprised me above all was the desire to move my body and exercise in ways I used to shudder at the thought of. I’d never in my life felt a desire to run or go to spin classes or dance along to at-home Zumba workouts, but suddenly the craving was there and there was nothing I could do to fulfil the desires to move just because. The immediate weeks after realising my body wouldn’t get better, and that this ‘blip’ was here to stay were the hardest. Weeks in bed unable to find the energy or mental resilience to move meant I was on my phone now more than ever, desperately trying to while away the hours and distract myself from reality. And yet my attempts at coaxing my brain to a place that wasn’t occupied by pain was only made harder by my increased social media use and unavoidable comparison that came with it. Suddenly I felt inundated with pre gym selfies, images of abs and toned legs, girls in their bikinis on holiday running into a clear blue sea or practicing mindfulness with morning yoga on a Sunday. I craved nothing more than to feel ‘normal’ again, to partake in the exercise I once looked on at in disinterest. The gym goer aesthetic didn’t bother me- I didn’t care that I’d probably never achieve toned thighs or beat my abysmal personal record of a 20 second plank. It was the freedom that came with spontaneously exercising at the end of a stressful day or being able to rely on my body to carry me through emotionally and mentally challenging periods that I needed most. How could I ever feel free, in control and independent again when my I was completely at the mercy of my body and its inability to work as it should?
And yet every specialist, nurse, doctor or online forum I visited told me of the benefits of exercise. The endorphins I’d feel! The desensitisation of painful nerves I could achieve! The freedom I’d get from pushing my body! Yet the tune of those hopeful but unrealistic promises got old so quickly. Overcoming pain is no easy feat, and it can feel near impossible when you add something as tiring and challenging as exercise into the mix- especially as a less than natural gym goer.
A year and a half later, countless referrals and medication trialling later, my pain is manageable on a day-to-day basis. I can walk to work, rack up a 20,000 a day step count on a city break with friends and (just about) survive a Body Combat class at the gym. I owed it to myself to swallow the £25.99 a month I can’t really afford on a membership and to take advantage of my pain free moments as they come. I’m all too aware of how fleeting they may be. The ability to exercise is a privilege- one I took for granted for so long. Even now I try have to make the most of the classes I feel up to attending and the 20 minute cross trainer sessions I can squeeze in after a day at work. I’m all too aware of how this time next week, heck, even this time tomorrow, I could find myself in entirely different circumstances.
I don’t think I’ll ever experience exercise and the freedom that comes with movement in the same way that an able bodied person will, and that took me a long time to come to terms with. But what I’ve learnt from this experience the most is the importance of self-compassion and respect for your body in all the things it can do. Yes, I feel frustrated every day that this has somehow become my life- after all, the ‘it’s the sort of thing that happens to other people’ mindset lives on in all of us until something proves us otherwise. But from years of hating my body for its looks and its countless ‘flaws’ I obsessed over, I now spend my time counteracting frustration with love at all I am lucky enough to still be able to do.