But even if I can’t jaunt around the world as a pint-size  female version of Dhani, I can have some adventures in my own town.  The greatest gift powerlifting gave me, besides showing me how strong I could be, was waking me up to the fact that I’m an athlete, even if I didn’t know it the first 36 years of my life. So as soon as I’m able, in addition to returning to (a new version of) strength training, I’m going to try my hand at some new sports. Here are some I’m looking into.  I’d love suggestions for more, and if you know anyone who might be interested in teaching me for a month any of these sports, please let me know!

Archery: My physical therapist, and Olympic shooter, thinks I’d be well-suited for archery. And if aim counts, I was freakishly good at cornhole the first (only) time I ever played it.

Boxing: The only sport I was ever interested in (and that only on-screen), I have always been inspired by the Rocky movies, and would love, love, love to learn to box. There are a number of places in town, but the one I’m most interested in, Baxter Memorial, may or may not still be open — I need to check. It seemed, last time I looked, like the real, old-school kind of place the Italian Stallion would have trained in.

Capoiera: A friend on Facebook recommended this and I was immediately intrigued because I’d never heard of it. A gym in town has offered classes and it sounds fascinating, with origins in central African martial arts knowledge brought to Brazil, it seems like a cross between dance and martial arts, and was said to be the power base for Brazilian gangs before it was made illegal (and later brought back as sport).

Fencing: It just seems dramatic and old-fashioned (duels take place in my beloved historical novels) and it would be cool to learn how to brandish a sword.

Krav Maga: Again with the obscure sports. “The official hand-to-hand combat system of the Israeli Defense Force” is taught locally and I like that I’d actually learn to defend myself by studying this street-fight style of self defense.

Muay Thai: I loved my lesson in Bangkok, and there’s a fight club/gym in town recommended by a friend that I can’t wait to check out. I have no intention or desire to fight — I just want to train like a fighter!

So there’s a half dozen. I need six more and am thinking of rock climbing and mountain biking, but it’ll be hard to do anything that requires buying expensive equipment so I’ll be on the lookout for renting/borrowing whatever I’ll need. I’d also like to do one or two water sports. Let’s hear what you’ve got! How should I tackle the world?

I read a lot of words from a lot of people in the fitness world, but there are only a couple that I admire and respect like I do Krista at stumptuous.com. I asked her if she had any advice for dealing with career-ending injury a couple weeks ago and she sent an incredibly wise email that she later turned into a blog post titled Keep Your Head In the Game: Dealing With the Mind-fuck of Injury & Illness

I am working on all of the steps she outlines … I’m grieving the loss(es), I’m trying to practice resilience, but the one most important to me being able to mentally get back in the game is #5.

Soften towards yourself.

Practice compassion. A common approach is something like this.

Think about being your own best friend in this moment of pain. Imagine your body and spirit being like a frightened little child. Comfort yourself. Give yourself a little hug. Your body needs love and care right now, not criticisms like “How could you be so stupid!” or “How could you let me down like this!?” If you wouldn’t say it to a lost and scared little girl who’s just fallen down and scraped her knee, don’t say it to yourself. Ever.

Yes, compassion sounds woo-woo, but it’s based on good solid neuroscience and it works.

More on compassion — I highly recommend the book.

Either she read my mind, or everybody who goes through this reacts in similar fashion, because I’ve been beating myself up since this happened. The constant refrain in my head (and out loud) is to wonder how I could do this to myself. I’ve also wasted a lot of energy imagining how stupid other people think I am for doing this to myself. But Krista makes a good point. If my little niece was  running down a hill, having the time of her life, wind whipping her hair, nothing but sheer joy in her being, and she fell and busted herself up, would I berate her? Duh. So why am I doing it to myself?

I was having fun. I was having the time of my life getting strong. And yeah, I made mistakes. Some in judgment, some from lack of knowledge. I never questioned the amount of weight I was lifting because I liked lifting heavy. I liked lifting heavy every day even better.  I loved every minute of it. So I didn’t speak up often enough or loudly when the pain went from bad to worse, but if I’m being compassionate with myself, it was too late by then, anyway. The damage was done. I might have gotten it fixed sooner if I’d stood my ground and insisted that yes I was too injured!, but with that oh-so-accurate hindsight, I see now this was an injury built over months of excessive loading of my lumbar spine in my pursuit of strength, not in one workout, and I. Did. Not. Know.

I wondered why I was able to lift so much more than women my size and heavier, what with no athletic background whatsoever, but I thought it was because I was working so very hard, not because I was putting myself at risk by working stupider. I didn’t know. And while that will never be an excuse again, because I will make sure to arm myself with information, I have to forgive myself for this. It was no single person’s fault — including mine.

So it’s time to stop worrying what other people are thinking (my mom has always told me it’s none of my business anyway) and time to stop kicking myself while I’m down. And just get up. And in the spirit of #9. Come up with a new game plan, time to see what’s next when I finish my job right now, which is just to get better.

So on the eve of surgery and the next chapter, I want to look back at what this “last cheerleader to learn the steps of a routine, the last kid picked for dodgeball, and generally the puniest kid in class growing up” (as I described myself in my first post on this blog) managed to achieve by flinging myself full-force into training. If I get discouraged in the weeks of rest following surgery, and lose faith that I will ever be a badass again, I will look back at this and remind myself that if I had the power to do this, I can do something else that will feel just as incredible. I don’t have skillz to make a montage (oh, how cool that would be) but I’m so happy to have a collection of a few of the moments I’m most proud of.

I wanted more than anything to do an unassisted chin-up in the beginning. By the end, I could do one — with 30 pounds strapped to me. (Or 10 without weight)

From barely being able to bench the bar, I wanted a true bodyweight bench press — with competition style pause.  I got it in November last year at 105, and was doing sets of five at 100 in January. My last workout (injured, no less!) I floor-pressed 110 for two, so I wonder what my true bench max was at the end? Bench is the one lift I can continue, so I look forward to getting back under the bar for that (ironic that I get to keep the lift with the smallest number).

I wanted to deadlift 200 pounds in 2011 and I got to 205 just in a regular workout one day. I was lifting on the minute, adding weight each time and not counting plates until my coach told me I was done. I was blown away to find I’d done 205, and I knew I had plenty left. We didn’t get a video, but did get one of 201 for two reps. Looking back I think this was at the beginning of the injury, so I at least had the sense not to try for the third I was meant to do. I’d really like to think I at least had a double bodyweight lift in me.

I couldn’t so a single strict push-up when I started. I loved the one-armed push-up scene in GI Jane, and one day for kicks tried it. And got it! I did two (but just caught the first on video – the second was even uglier than the first so that’s ok;) I also made my 2011 goal of 30 push-ups.

Then of course was the biggie. The monster. The goal that I dreamed about, fought for, and even if I can never squat again, will never be taken from me. The 200lb squat. Although the pain and despair I’ve felt because of this injury are equally intense as the joy and elation I felt at completing that lift, I know the memories of the pain will fade, but I will always be the woman in the lightest weight class who grew strong enough to squat 200 pounds.

There was also a 150 pound front squat, and I will always be grateful that on my last squat workout I hit a PR. I’m so terribly sad that I don’t have access to the video, but it was a 4×8 progressive set of squats, and on my last set I did 8 beautiful, to depth squats at 165 pounds. I have never done anything half-halfheartedly, and I’m so glad I went out big.

I don’t know what my next video-worthy accomplishment will be, but for now I look forward to getting on the road to recovery. Being able to go for a walk with my husband and dogs, breaking into dance in the living room if the mood strikes me, and knowing that I have the freedom and ability to try so many new things is all I need for now.

…you might be experiencing the high from the wonderful feeling of floating and not being constrained by gravity. I have always like to swim (especially when pregnant) and love the feeling of gliding through the water. I think it is an interesting juxtaposition that you have gone from getting an athlete’s high from lifting heavy weight and certainly feeling gravity to being in a pool where you can doing things you can’t do outside of water.

And you know, it is interesting. I fought gravity every day as I forced my body to respond to heavier and heavier weights. Ultimately, the weights beat me (but not for good). I’ve never been a swimmer — I can get around in the water with an undignified doggie-paddle kind of thing — but I’ve really come to love the feeling of slipping into the heated pool I go to nearly every day now as part of my physical therapy, and stepping out of gravity’s grasp.

Even on days where I just don’t feel like going to the effort of getting ready and making the drive, when I haven’t been able to fight off the sadness and heartache that came with this injury and I don’t see the point in bothering with the pool, I’ve made myself do it. And I’ve always been glad. It doesn’t always ease the pain, but if often does. And in that moment of giving up my own weight to the water, I feel like my body is thanking me.

I feel bad for what I did to my body. I hurt it when it was just trying to do what I wanted it to do (I’ve noticed that pain makes me think of my physical body as almost a separate entity from my mind) and this is my way of making up for it. Walking through the water I breathe easier. I can let myself go. My physical therapist commented the other day that he suspects I remain ‘engaged’ (my muscles active) all day, and it’s true. I never really relax until I’m asleep. Except in the water.

I don’t have to words to explain what it is, but part of it may be that I’m showing my body some compassion. Fighting weights was almost like fighting my body, always pushing it to do more, work harder. Letting the water carry me it’s almost like my body is one giant sigh of relief.

Some days, the days when the water absorbs the pain, I do some work because nothing erases my fear of atrophying muscles. Using the foam dumbbells I’ll do aquatic versions of some curls, some tricep work, whatever I can make up until I feel the familiar burn in my muscles that I miss so much. It’s really surprised me how effective water resistance is. And when I’m done — I only do a few sets, ever mindful of not overdoing it — I resume walking along in the water, twirling my hands behind me, letting my body just relax.

I’ve thought about taking up swimming, but maybe not. Maybe I’ll leave water as the place I go to just breathe, and be kind to my body. There are plenty of sports I can do — and will do — on land. I might just keep this one sanctuary.

Ok, not yet, actually, but I have a plan, and that’s the next best thing to being back.

Everything is relative, and I’ve been amazed during this experience how the human mind can adapt to nearly anything. I first learned I would have to quit powerlifting, which felt like the end of the world, but at least I didn’t have to have surgery. Then I learned I would, in fact likely need surgery, and I wanted to fight to avoid it what I assumed would be a discectomy. Another week of pain and having virtually no life convinced me that surgery was the way to go so that I could recover within a matter of weeks, rather than drag on through physical therapy for months with no guarantee I’d fully recover. Then my doctor broke it to me that the surgery I’d likely need would actually be a spinal fusion. (yes, it’s as horrible as it sounds.)

For the two hours I waited to see the spinal surgeon I envisioned my life. Not being able to squat, not even the bar, was the least of it. All my travel dreams – trekking the Himalayas, riding horseback across Mongolia — forget about it with a fused spine and constant worry about the other vertebrae weakening. Having to read trip descriptions that say “Not suitable for people with back problems” and cross that one off the list is heartbreaking for someone with wanderlust and a spirit that craves adventure like mine.

Then the somewhat curmudgeonly old doctor (and I mean old, dude was out of medical school years before I was born) scoffed, truly scoffed at the notion of needing spinal fusion. “Why do you think my doctor said I’d need it?” I asked. I got to see a little physician ranking ego next. Spine surgeon trumps orthopedic doctor when it comes to matters of the back. “Why don’t we pretend I’m the doctor, and I say you don’t need it,” he said. OK. Don’t have to tell me twice not to graft bone from my hip and weld my vertebrae together in a five-hour surgery, stay in the hospital for days, and resume my regularly scheduled life who knows when. With the discectomy instead, I’m only looking at two weeks of being out of commission before I can get back to work and to low-impact activity. Within two months I should be back at a sport. “I suggest you choose a new sport,” spine doc said drily. I managed to not smart off, “no kidding, you think?” – he is my elder – and simply nodded.

He gained points when he told me I’m in spectacular shape compared to many of his patients, further boosting the glow of pride I’d taken when my other doctor, who treats college athletes, told me I’m among the strongest and fittest of all his patients. My view of myself as strong, fit, or athletic has taken a beating these last few weeks, so it was salve to that internal wound to hear that.

This afternoon I spoke with my physical therapist, who encouraged me to keep up my work with him this week while I await surgery next Monday. The stronger I am going in, the better my recovery will be, so I’m hitting my PT exercises with a vengeance.

And I spoke with my new trainer, who has been to hell and back with his own, far more serious — life-threatening — injuries, and rebuilt himself.  We have a mutual friend and have great respect for each other based on that friend’s view of both of us, and he’s known me for a while, following my lifting progress on Facebook. I was totally honest with him, as we talked about my plan for regaining strength within my new limitations. “I hope to God I’ve learned my lesson, and won’t push myself too hard again,” I told him, “but I may need a reminder from time to time.”  He understands that mentality and I think he’ll be very good for my recovery.  Just because I’m no longer going to be a powelifter doesn’t mean I don’t want to be strong, and I trust him to guide me back — safely.

I’ve so appreciated the support I’ve had from comments on the blog, emails, facebook messages and texts and calls from readers, friends and folks I didn’t even know before now. I’ve especially been moved to discover that people reading have taken heed from my experience and are stopping to listen to their bodies (read: Hey Knucklehead and Walking a Fine Line). My biggest mistake was not understanding or heeding (a little of both, I think) my body’s warning signs beginning last fall that something wasn’t right.

I took my health and my body supremely for granted before, and unfortunately it took drastic consequences for me to realize that. (The psychological issues that result in my pushing myself so hard at everything I do are a whole other matter and I’m going to address that, too.) My body did everything  I told it to, and fought as long as it could to keep going, so now I owe it some rest and restoration, and some tlc. And when I get back in the game — and I’m counting the days till I do — I will be smart, I will respect my body, and I will finally be a real, grown-up athlete.

we thought you’d be perfect for our next “That Girl”. This is a weekly post I do featuring a different woman each week to help inspire other women.

I thought at first that I was not at all perfect for it, and in fact, all wrong. I’m not working out right now, other than my PT exercises and pool walks.

She described That Girl as

A weekly column on www.blisstree.com that profiles a “real” woman and her accomplishments, challenges and what works for her, so she can serve as a source for other women to learn from and get motivated to achieve something awesome with their own health and fitness.

I wondered why she would want to feature me, knowing I’m on the bench right now.  Wouldn’t it be hypocritical to praise powerlifting when I’m dealing with an injury related to my sport?

But I thought about it, and realized that the lessons I learned from powerlifting didn’t go away just because I’m not lifting right now. In fact, it’s exactly what I learned that’s sustaining me right now — that I can make anything mine that I want enough and work hard enough for.  It’s easy to go to workouts when you’re closing in on a goal. It’s not easy to go to PT and do exercises that a couple of months ago would have been a joke — less than a warm-up. It’s not easy to walk laps in a pool as I watch my callouses disappear when I want nothing more than to grip a barbell in my hands. But lifting taught me to persevere, so that’s what I’m trying to do. And maybe someone can benefit from hearing that I can keep going when everything is shot to hell, just as much as they benefit from hearing that things are going beautifully.

So I replied to the email and the next day, there I was — “That Girl.”

I’ve had a lot of time to think about pain the last three and half weeks. Mostly I’m thinking about how much I want to be free of it. It’s my constant companion, whether it’s of the the low-level “don’t forget I’m still here and you can only walk in a straight line, no sudden moves, bending or twisting allowed!” type, or the insane, “I’d give anything, you can even have my dogs, if you can just make it stop” variety. It messes with my head, making me pathetically grateful on a day when someone tells me my movement looks better. (Yeah, it looks better because I’ve learned how to hold myself and carry myself in the way least likely to set off that thunderbolt of pain that crumples me and leaves me a sobbing wreck when it hits.) This constant fear of pain has given me a different attitude about self-inflicting pain that will change my outlook when I go back to strength training.

I’m not saying I’m not going to work as hard. Even this pain doesn’t change who I am as a person and I still expect nothing less than everything from myself. But I know now that the pain I had before was not normal, not right. There’s being sore — which I like, it means I’m working.  And then there’s your body telling you to chill out for a minute, to back off. I didn’t listen to my own internal alarm system. A friend tells me, and she’s right, that pain is the body’s alarm system. I guess I thought I didn’t have to listen to the alarm. I didn’t consciously think an injury would never happen to me. It’s just that it truly didn’t occur to me that it could happen — more a matter of ignorance than inflated pride.  My warped sense of what level of pain was to be expected suppressed the internal complaints that something wasn’t right. When my form started to break down, I thought I could work my way out of it. I truly didn’t realize my body was trying to protect itself. If its human mind wasn’t smart enough to put on the brakes, base instinct would take over and refuse to let my back arch on a heavy squat. Instead of making me stop and ask why this was happening, I just kept trying harder. Until I couldn’t anymore.

Hindsight is 20/20,  and experience is a cruel teacher. But I’ve learned my lesson, 100fold. If I ever find myself tempted to push through pain again, I’ll remember what it felt like at my last physical therapy session. Lying down, trying to do one of my exercises, tears streaming down my face as I gritted my teeth against the pain attacking my leg, unable to even do the simplest ab work and forced to take someone’s hand to help me up and limp off pitifully to a room for them to work on me to “calm down” the disc area. How is this the same person that gleefully did toes to bar last month and can pile weights on during a plank? I want to get back to that person. And when I do I will be much, much more careful.

This is not to say I’m going to be a pansy. I know how hard I’ll have to work to get strong again. But I will pay attention this time, respect my limits, and in general not act like a teenage boy who thinks he’s invincible. Pain is there for a reason. And I will know the difference in discomfort that tells me I’m working hard, and pain that tells me I’m about to be in a whole new world of hurt. And you will never, ever see me in a shirt that reads No Pain No Gain.

If your thing is gone
And you wanna ride on, cocaine
Don’t forget this fact
You can’t get it back, cocaine

My doctor should maybe be a sports psychologist. When he broke the news to me today that there’s little chance I’ll recover without surgery, he spent some time just sitting and talking with me (and handing me tissues as needed). Few people understand — really — what losing powerlifting meant to me, but he does. He’s an athlete, he’s  physician to many hundreds of athletes, even to the U of L college athletes. And, pointing to the injury on my MRI, he tells me that he dies a little on the inside when he sees this happen to an athlete.  Just having someone truly get how hard it has been to stop exercising indefinitely and know I can’t go back to the sport I loved is an immense relief. He told me that every year athletes commit suicide after an injury ends their career. That’s how real the depression that accompanies a debilitating injury is. That’s a morbid thing to make me feel better, and a just horrible thing in general, but somehow just knowing that feeling low is ‘normal’ eases some of my dismay at my constantly teary response to the injury.

In conversations with friends I’ve compared lifting to a drug. Turns out I wasn’t far off. My doctor said that MRIs show that the effects of having to stop your sport are similar to that of quitting cocaine. I’ve never tried cocaine myself, and am not inclined to change that, but if I were, knowing that this is what quitting feels like would prevent me from ever doing it. There’s a reason retired professional athletes so often end up in disgrace and broke, he said. They’re still chasing the high that their sport brought them and they find it through cocaine.

My plan is a little less expensive and rather healthier than that. I plan to find a new sport the minute I’m able. It may be in a few weeks, it may be in a few months. And while honestly I don’t see how any other sport can bring me the thrill and euphoria of conquering an unbelievably heavy weight, I won’t know that until I try. So I’ll try them all if I have to!