by Steve Myrland
I am a self-professed believer in “quality-over-quantity”—in all things. This runs contrary to the American ethic. As Reinhold Niebuhr noted: “Americans seek a solution to practically every problem in life in quantitative terms.” We are culturally hard-wired to ask quantitative questions (How much? How fast? How far? How soon? etc.) rather than consider a valuation system based on the innate quality of things. This explains such things as “Lite” beer and why many of our problems (obesity and diabetes to name two) are so intractable. “Save money. Live better,” is the Walmart way. It is a classic bait-and-switch sales-pitch, and it is effective. Getting more and paying less has to be better . . . right?
I don’t think so.
Recently, however, I discovered a large hole in my quality-first belief system where the kinder, gentler aspects of physical training are concerned.
Unaccountably, I found I allowed the “more-is-better” credo to sail unchallenged in recovery of all things, taking for granted the notion that stretching, foam-roll work, massage, etc. must necessarily be pushed to—and often well past—the point of discomfort. Pain seemed to be the obvious short-cut to gain where restorative measures are concerned. I have come to think differently; to think . . . better.
For this, I am greatly indebted to my friend and colleague Heidi Frey for helping me. We worked together at the University of Wisconsin Athletic Department years ago; Heidi as an Athletic Trainer and myself as a performance coach. But the insight Heidi provided me came more recently, after she had switched from treating human animals to four-legged ones: dogs.
We were discussing use of the foam-roller and I began to describe my “insights” into ways of making the tool more effective, almost entirely by upping the intensity-and-pain-quotient on each targeted area of the body. My foam-roll progression began with “uncomfortable” and moved rather quickly to “excruciating.”
“Here’s something I have learned from working with dogs,” Heidi said when I finally shut up.
“When you are doing manual therapy on a dog, one thing you will never hear is: ‘Ouch! That really hurts . . . but I know it’s good for me, so keep going.’ Dogs don’t look for an up-side to pain. They just stop it.”
Right.
Dogs understand pain’s simple message (STOP!) far better than I do—and probably better than most coaches and athletes do, as well.
As Heidi explained: “A dog will shut down a painful process the instant the pain message is received.” It is a canine take on the ‘fight-or-flight’ (flight-or-bite?) response. In canine therapy, as Heidi described it, “the dog has the option to move away from the stimulus, but sometimes, all they need is to communicate with "side eye" that I am on a spot and they are considering leaving. Giving the dog time, reading the dog’s communication, changing the style of touch, pausing, building trust with the dog, and allowing fascia to give way with lighter/longer pressure before progressing to deeper tissue are all part of ultimately releasing muscle tension without causing the dog to experience apprehension or pain.”
Extrapolating from dogs to humans, we can intuit that though we may have conditioned our minds to accept pain as the necessary precursor to progress, our bodies may interpret this stimulus differently. Probably, our bodies shut down just like dogs’ bodies do, just with less awareness on our part. Pain will cause a body to defend itself; to guard. It subtly shuts down rather than welcome the intrusion of the well-intentioned (uncomfortable and ineffective) modality we are employing.
Pain doesn’t always equate with gain, so embracing it without question can often be counterproductive. I wonder: How much time and effort have I wasted—and how many athletes have I led astray—by assuming massage; foam-rolling; expanding fascia and lengthening muscles, etc., must necessarily be uncomfortable or (even) painful in order to have real value?
If you want your body to “let you in” . . . it is best to approach it respectfully, gently and kindly. A slow and careful approach can attenuate much of the attendant unpleasantness. If pain must be a part of the process (almost always the case in injury rehabilitation), it should serve the purpose of its own transcendence.
Heidi’s canine insight taught me to knock softly, go slowly, and ask nicely to achieve the desired goal. Now, rather than barging in . . . I wait for an invitation; I wait to be welcomed. It may seem slow and inefficient; but the ironic truth is: I generally get where I want to be sooner . . . by taking time to do things better rather than assuming that pain is always a shortcut worth taking.
Thank you, Heidi
About The Author
Steve Myrland has worked as an athletic development coach at the youth, collegiate, and professional levels. He also a GAIN faculty member and was formerly the strength and conditioning coach at the NHL’s San Jose Sharks and the University of Wisconsin.