When Training Is a Pain In The Bum

Pain is a really difficult thing to measure. When it’s chronic pain, especially when it starts fairly low-level, it’s even harder. 

It’s like when a nurse or a doctor asks you to rate your pain on a scale of 1 to 10. I’ve had many bouts of major surgery, I’ve crashed motorbikes and cars, I’ve broken both my wrists and many more things besides. I’ve got a fairly high pain threshold. My husband, however, doesn’t. He once got a tiny piece of glass stuck in his foot and you would’ve thought it was the apocalypse. What’s an 11/10 for him would likely only hit a 7 for me.

So pain is hugely subjective. And it’s quite often only when I’ve been in pain for ages, and it’s really starting to affect my quality of life, that I even notice how bad it is. Little things suddenly jump out at me: I’m buying painkillers on a weekly basis. I’m avoiding going upstairs too often. Getting out of the bath is a struggle. I’m having to sit down to put on my leggings. 

One of my main motivators for training is to keep working on my lower body strength, in order to give my poor, mashed up pelvis as much support as I can. I’ve found doing the right kind of training means I have a lot less pain on a day-to-day basis. However, I have to really keep on top of what I’m doing in terms of training, as it’s easy to slip into doing just what I enjoy, rather than what my body needs.

About three months ago, I noticed I was ‘getting worse’. In many ways, I’m now much more scared of being in pain than I used to be. It used to just be something I accepted. But now I know what living without pain is like, it scares me when it comes back. For a few weeks I think I was in a bit of denial. Then I asked my chiro if he thought I was getting worse. Diplomatic as ever, he basically told me that my hips were no better or worse than they had been, I just wasn’t managing myself well enough.

I went away feeling pretty sorry for myself, and a little bit angry. I went straight up to CrossFit and, unsurprisingly, broke myself doing… well, I’m not sure exactly what, but it definitely broke me. I couldn’t walk properly for a few days. I felt even more angry and sorry for myself.

Then I had a little word with myself. I knew I had to stop training up at the Box for a bit and so I did. I stopped rowing too, as I know that can aggravate things as well.

Instead, I wrote myself a programme and I went to the gym. Lots. I did mobility work and accessory movements and modified squats. It was boring, and repetitive, and not nearly as fun as what I like to do.

But when I next went to see my chiro, he told me that whatever I was doing was working. And he kept saying that. Nine weeks, and three chiro appointments later, I am consistently showing improved function in my lower body. What’s more, I know the work I’m doing at the gym is working. I haven’t lost a single pound or changed shape in any significant way. But I am moving so much better. My strength and function are rapidly improving. 

Most importantly, I’m no longer buying painkillers with every weekly shop.

Now that I’ve embedded this training into my routine, I can start to bring back the fun stuff too. I’m going rowing this weekend. I’m planning on starting back at the Box in the new year. And if my function and mobility starts to deteriorate, I’ll know I just need to adjust the balance again. 

The point is this; when things aren’t going right, sometimes you have to take a step back, evaluate what you’re doing and be really critical with yourself. Sometimes you have to sacrifice the fun stuff in the short term, in order to be able to enjoy it long term. 

It’s not sexy, it’s not glamorous, but the discipline of doing the small things right - and doing them consistently - all of a sudden starts to add up. These small things - like using a box to help my pistol squats - start to create big changes. For me, it means being able to move, train, and live my life without being in pain. 

I like to think this is true, not just in training, but in life. If you want to change something, start with the small things, the things no one else but you sees. You might not notice anything at first. But stick at it (whatever it might be). Then slowly but surely you’ll start to see (and feel) the difference. 

Lasting change doesn’t happen overnight. It’s a process. Trust it. Go with it. And, before you know it, by putting one foot in front of the other, you’ll find yourself achieving what you set out to do.