YogaLeg

a story about trauma & the road to healing, attempting to link the physical / mental

In the summer of 1998 I was 17 years old. On a particularly gorgeous afternoon my good friend Tony invited me to go swimming in what is called 'The Gut'. The Gut is a channel of fast moving water in Cape Breton between Alder Point and Point Aconi, about 10 minutes outside North Sydney on the way to Baddeck. It's what connects the Bras d'Or Lakes to the Atlantic Ocean and is a very interesting thru-way. Hanging over this churning green vein is a long Tarzan rope, dangling temptingly 40 feet above the waterway. With the narrow channel moving so much water there is little to no risk of touching bottom when you dive so it's a perfect place to swing out. I've always been a big fan of jumping into water from heights and was enthusiastic to try it.

I was late arriving. As the day wore on our crew started to disperse for suppers and other evening distractions. I said "Ok, just one more jump." Bringing the heavy white rope in close to my chest, I took a breath and launched out over the cliff. As before I let go and anticipated the rush of gravity pulling my feet faster than my stomach... but something was different this time. On my way to that green Dream below there was a violent 'jerk'. My upper body was the first to touch water, the legs lagged uncharacteristically behind. I hit the water face first and came up dazed. Swimming my way to shore, I peered up the steep cliff anxiously. Most everyone had left by now, but Tony stayed behind to wait for me. I started my ascent and got about half way before searing pain shot through my right leg, making it almost impossible to continue the climb. I didn't want to keep my friend waiting so I clutched my way up the rest of the rock face, shaking.

"Can you help me?" I asked him "I think there's something wrong with my leg..."

"Yeah, you forgot to take up the slack when you swung out...it wrapped around your leg and almost slammed you into the cliff on the swing back in!"


By the time I got to my car I had no use of my right leg. I drove home that evening with my left leg working the gas and brake.


I was working a summer job picking berries and beans for a local vegetable producer and was in the field bright and early the next morning. I didn't tell them I had injured myself, instead I hobbled through the field in a hunch-back-bent-leg posture that seemed the only way to take pressure off my right thigh. Coming home every night from the field I would climb the 13 stairs in our farmhouse, putting my left leg forward then lifting my right leg to the next step with both hands. 13 steps. I counted them every time. I managed this performance for 6 weeks before my mother (from whom I inherit my pertinacious nature) insisted I see a doctor.

"Well, you've torn every ligament and tendon above the knee" the doctor told me. "It's going to be 2 months before you'll be able to do much on this leg"

"It's already been 6 weeks" I told him, proud of my persistence. Naturally, he was unimpressed.

"If this heals wrong you're going to have problems for the rest of your walking days."

Years later the full implication of what I had wrought started to show. Working a series of minimum wage customer service jobs I began to experience massive pain and an inability to walk after finishing shifts. Standing for long hours was too much for the injured leg. I did my best to ignore or numb the pain, but over time resolved to an altered gait to deal with the discomfort. It wasn't uncommon for my leg to completely stop working at intervals. Reclining with one leg over the other for any length of time could often assure that getting up would involve looking at my right leg, thinking - 'Ok Leg, Move' - with no response. I'd use both hands to move the leg into an alternate position before sending in another request for compliance. Old Before My Time.

Luckily(?) I was hit by a car while cycling in 2009. A silver Volkswagen Jetta revved up and clipped my back tire as I was cruising through an intersection at Halifax rush-hour. Shirtless, I managed a full body rotation in mid air (Thank You) before landing on my backpack containing a cushion of 2 laptop computers. The ex-RCMP officer who had been driving came to check on me immediately. Despite my initial inclination to get up and walk away I was convinced to linger a little longer when he pointed out that my arm was in fact broken.


'How is that Lucky?' I hear you say. Well, in addition to the broken arm I had also done damage to my back and right hip. An accident settlement granted me access to 4 years of treatment for my injuries and I was determined to use the s**t out of that treatment. Physiotherapy, weekly massage therapy, yoga therapy, custom foot orthotics, you name it. I wasn't passing up this opportunity to *ahem* Get Well.



- It was then I met my body for the first time -



I have always enjoyed staying active but had never put intense mental focus on physical activity. Particularly helpful and interesting were sessions of 'Pranassage'.

I just googled 'What is Pranassage?', here's what it said:

'Pranassage is a restorative, creative synthesis of yoga and bodywork that produces deep states of relaxation in the receiver. In a Pranassage session, I as the practitioner, will move your body through a flow of yoga-like postures while you, the client, maintain a state of effortless, relaxed awareness.'


That pretty much sums it up. Once a week I would lay on my back on a comfortably padded floor mat with the intention to be as relaxed as possible. A grown man of about 220 lbs then manipulated my body like a ragdoll. Mike was working to increase flexibility in my hips through a series of deep stretches and relaxation techniques. Multiple injuries to my right leg had left it with 30% less range of motion, so there was considerable work to do on that side. Because of the relaxing nature of the practice and close physical proximity between client and yogi the sessions can get quite intimate. This was my first time experiencing that kind of close personal connection in a professional setting.

I learned that I had done major damage to my illiotibial (I.T.) band and that it would be a long and painful road to recovery. Through deep stretches and breathing work we were steadily bringing it into balance with the partner leg. A typical stretch would go like this:


I'm laying spread eagle on the floor.

Mike is bearing down on me with his full bodyweight trying to get my hips to open up further.

I'm breathing and trying to ignore the fact that this hurts like Hell


Although I enjoyed more flexibility after a session, a few weeks in it started to feel fairly routine. That was until one day - during a spread-eagle pain fest - I had a realization that went straight through my whole mind and body. All of a sudden, I realized that most of the tension I was holding was in my mind! I immediately relaxed, and my hip opened considerably more than it ever had before. Mike's face was about a foot and a half from mine as he bore down on me from above with 220 lbs of effort and care. I looked him right in the eyes.


"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!"

and he's like

"Yeahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, see?"

I was holding back out of a memory of fear that I'd do more damage, when what really helped was letting go of the tension and trusting the strength of surrounding muscle fibers. Pretty intimate, indeed.



I used the remainder of my insurance covered time to learn what I needed to know for good self-maintenance and to mitigate any long term issues. In the 2 years since that coverage has expired my yoga practice has waxed and waned, and waxed again. I've got a habit of stretching for 45 minutes most mornings and find it really helps. Because my leg muscles are still unbalanced in their capacity I do slightly more work on the right side to compensate. I've been noticing recently that my right quadricep has a tendency to twitch under any kind of strain. It has less capacity for strain that the partner leg, so I stress it a little closer to muscle failure each session. After pressing through what I thought was pain several times the muscle would cease twitching and come into a state of relaxed tension. I notice when this happens that muscles in the surrounding area become more engaged and really get the benefit of the stretch. This area isn't in pain, it's afraid. It holds tension in an attempt to protect the rest of me from perceived damage.

I work with that muscle every day.

It always says the same thing. It says 'WHAT ARE YOU DOING TO US???' every time I go into a stretch that brings it closer to failure.

I work to strengthen the surrounding muscles so the one that doesn't trust me can learn to do that. Sometimes I think that muscle hasn't relaxed in Fifteen Goddamn Years.

What feels like failure might be the rest of you learning how to be stronger for the first time.

What do you think?