There is no good time to throw out your back. But there are especially bad times, and one of them is the first week of lockdown during a global pandemic.
There is also no good way to throw out your back during lockdown, but there are especially embarrassing ways. Ways that won’t earn you sympathy, or give you an impressive story to tell on Zoom calls. “Reckless slouching” is one of them. There I was, a mere three days into what was supposed to be one of the most sedentary periods of my life, howling in agony – and I had no one to blame but myself.
Working from home – slumped in bed with my laptop, hunched over it at the kitchen table, slouched on the sofa – had aggravated an old slipped disc. Sitting down was suddenly excruciating. Getting up off the toilet was a whole new adventure. To make matters worse, I was self-isolating (with symptoms that turned out to be hayfever), so I couldn’t go for a walk, one of the treatments for back pain. I ended up pacing my flat for hours on end, wearing a hot water bottle like a bustle.
All the while, the world outside was spiralling into the great unknown, battling a biological enemy with no sense of justice or reason. It was a grim week, within a grim month, within a grim who-knows-how-long, and this was not the time to start whingeing about a bit of back pain. Especially as I should have seen it coming.
The first time round, I’d treated my dodgy disc with a short course of physiotherapy and the breathtaking arrogance of the young and able-bodied. Once the pain subsided, I ignored all the medical advice and fell straight back into my life of carefree sofa-slouching. Slouching was my right! I was 26! And surely these kinds of things just … healed themselves?
Six years later, I was face down on the carpet, composing a bitter Pam Ayres parody. Oh, I wish I’d looked after my back.
Acts of osteopathic abandon flashed before my eyes. All those unsuitable shoulder bags. All the times I’d rolled my eyes at advice about laptop stands and proper lumbar support. All the twinges I’d ignored because they interfered with my Netflix schedule. A pain-free back, I realised too late, is a privilege, not a right.
But if ever there’s a good time to reevaluate your casual attitude to your health, it’s during a pandemic. So while other people filled the empty hours with crafting and adventures in sourdough, I embarked on the self-care project I should have started years ago. Back maintenance for dummies.
First came an improvised standing desk made from a stack of cookbooks. Having always dismissed the standing-up thing as a fad (surely one of the best things about my job is that I can do it sitting down?), I was amazed at how quickly I adapted. It turns out my brain and hands work just as well at a higher altitude; who knew?
After a couple of weeks, I decided to commit to the cause and bought a standing-desk converter online. Sleek, sturdy, large enough to accommodate two screens and an array of mugs and plates, it was the first new habit that I felt I might carry on beyond the pandemic. I felt professionally agile, even if I couldn’t physically pivot without yelping.
Next came the yoga. Not the elaborate, 90-minute bending and sighing sessions I’d reluctantly tried in the Before Times, but short, daily sequences of gentle stretches designed to help my lower back and hamstrings. Yoga for back pain isn’t sexy, I discovered, even when you’re groaning throughout. But after a couple of weeks of daily practice, reaping what Adriene of Yoga With Adriene likes to call “yummy benefits”, I was a convert.
Plus the silver lining of these newly flexible times is that you can access all the expert guidance, with none of the sweaty self-consciousness. Inspired, I signed up to a live virtual yoga class with only an email address and a friend’s promise that the instructor “doesn’t mind if you accidentally nod off”. One swift payment later in the PayPal app, I had myself a yoga teacher. Also, the right to use the phrase “my yoga teacher says” in conversations, which alone felt worth the investment.
Finally, there were the walks. Once my quarantine had lifted and I was allowed outside, I vowed never to take the humble stroll for granted again. I bought some decent trainers (another PayPal success) and forced myself out for daily constitutionals round the nearby streets.
It felt shamefully novel at first, to walk for the sake of walking. Not dashing to catch a bus or train, or tapping furiously at WhatsApp as I went. Noticing, instead, as spring tipped triumphantly into summer. Familiarising myself with the local cats and their respective doorsteps. Feeling my muscles ease and expand and relish the attention. Standing, sitting, moving freely all felt like a luxury now. My back thanked me.
And despite everything, I thanked it back.
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