‘But haven’t we stopped evolving?’
My sister’s proposition provoked our thoughts as we strolled from the cinema discussing Lucy, the recently released sci-fi blockbuster. Her argument ran as follows: the developed world is insulated from the sculpting forces of nature by medicine and technology, meaning we no longer have to adapt to our environment. In other words, has progress put the kibosh on Darwin’s theory?
Perhaps not, I suggested. If as a species we survive the millennia necessary for the changes to become apparent, will we not evolve to operate better within a digital world? Our brains will become larger to handle vast amounts of data, while our legs and arms, rendered almost unnecessary by the legions of technological aids at our disposal, will wither to pathetic protrusions capable only of pressing buttons.
Personally I find this a hellish prospect. It made me consider my own body; its potential and its frailties, and my oscillation between fitness and injury during my adult life. Although I will not be around when the marriage between man and machine is ratified and we are reduced to blobs carried by robots, like Krang in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I want to make the most of my natural abilities before we forget how to do things for ourselves.
In 2003 I was hit by a car and later I had surgery to repair ligament damage in my right knee. The only benefit of this accident was that, despite my junior position, my boss at the media company where I worked arranged for me to be driven to and from the office. For two weeks I made the journey from Crouch End to Leicester Square and back in air-conditioned comfort, entertained by the driver’s gossip about the XFM DJs he usually ferried. The perk was curtailed when I abused it by arranging detours to the pub. On crutches, the Northern Line had never seemed worse.
After the operation came physiotherapy. At the time I was complacent about my body and its functions. I was not motivated to dedicate myself to an exercise regime, which I viewed as a chore. Time, and fresh injuries, have changed my outlook.
In 2012, to give myself focus after the death of my mother, I hurled myself into training for a triathlon. The experience was hugely rewarding and the link between physical and mental wellbeing was etched on my psyche. After the post-race come down I joined a running club and was excited about the prospect of completing more events. I was gutted when I began to experience intense pain in my knees after upgrading from £40 running shoes to an expensive pair specially fitted for my gait. Curse you, well-known high street running store.
I stopped running, had more physiotherapy and an MRI scan on both knees. I was relieved when it came back all clear as I was not thrilled by the thought of another operation. Then I crashed while cycling. One should never attempt to carry a clothes maid while using a fixed gear bike. Tangling the two, I stopped instantly, flew over the handlebars and landed heavily on tarmac. Following the accident my left knee swelled up like a melon and in the weeks afterwards it was painful to ride and walk. Running was out of the question.
That was 6 months ago. Yesterday I ran 1.3km on the treadmill. It doesn’t sound like much but after half a year of gym visits, and thousands of repetitions of mind-numbing strengthening exercises, I feel like I am on the threshold of recovery. I am daring to dream of triathlons once more.
There are two main reasons why I have been dedicated to rehabilitation in a way that was unthinkable after my operation several years ago.
I realise my potential. And I want to get back to full fitness to make the most of it.
I realise my transience. This made sound dramatic but I will get old (hopefully) and I will die (definitely). So I want to enjoy the years when I can run, swim, hike and be in the physical world.
These realisations helped me to prioritise my health. This was important in coming to terms with one of the obstacles to recovery: cost. Excellent free physiotherapy is available on the NHS but this overstretched service is not designed to cater for those who are greedy for the thrill of endurance racing. It will mend you enough to ensure you can walk to the shops, it won’t set up you up to take on an Ironman. It is absurd that I had no problem splashing £70 on a pair of jeans or a meal but baulked at spending the same on a session of physiotherapy. Surely nothing is more important than your body? I shifted my perception, deciding it was an investment in my future happiness and therefore worth every penny.
The posing, pouting, and puffing world of the gym, interspersed with monthly check ups, have been an important part of my life this year and will be for many more months to come. But I feel it is my responsibility to take care of myself while I am in reasonable condition, before age ravages me, or I am shoved into the belly of an android.
I am inspired by those who overcome the severest impediments to create and add to the stock of human understanding. Consider Jean-Dominique Bauby, who following a massive stroke found himself paralysed from head to toe and speechless; his mind functioning perfectly but imprisoned in a useless body. I don't think I would have the mental strength to cope with such a dramatic altering of life. But he did. He dictated a book entirely by blinking: one blink for A, twenty six blinks for Z. Can you imagine?
I won’t experience a future where humans are unable to operate without micro chips and transistors. Thankfully, in 2014 we can still choose to be independent of technology and make the most of nature’s gifts. Faced with the humbling resilience of people like Jean-Dominique Bauby, I believe I have no excuse to take my body for granted.
My sister’s proposition provoked our thoughts as we strolled from the cinema discussing Lucy, the recently released sci-fi blockbuster. Her argument ran as follows: the developed world is insulated from the sculpting forces of nature by medicine and technology, meaning we no longer have to adapt to our environment. In other words, has progress put the kibosh on Darwin’s theory?
Perhaps not, I suggested. If as a species we survive the millennia necessary for the changes to become apparent, will we not evolve to operate better within a digital world? Our brains will become larger to handle vast amounts of data, while our legs and arms, rendered almost unnecessary by the legions of technological aids at our disposal, will wither to pathetic protrusions capable only of pressing buttons.
Personally I find this a hellish prospect. It made me consider my own body; its potential and its frailties, and my oscillation between fitness and injury during my adult life. Although I will not be around when the marriage between man and machine is ratified and we are reduced to blobs carried by robots, like Krang in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, I want to make the most of my natural abilities before we forget how to do things for ourselves.
In 2003 I was hit by a car and later I had surgery to repair ligament damage in my right knee. The only benefit of this accident was that, despite my junior position, my boss at the media company where I worked arranged for me to be driven to and from the office. For two weeks I made the journey from Crouch End to Leicester Square and back in air-conditioned comfort, entertained by the driver’s gossip about the XFM DJs he usually ferried. The perk was curtailed when I abused it by arranging detours to the pub. On crutches, the Northern Line had never seemed worse.
After the operation came physiotherapy. At the time I was complacent about my body and its functions. I was not motivated to dedicate myself to an exercise regime, which I viewed as a chore. Time, and fresh injuries, have changed my outlook.
In 2012, to give myself focus after the death of my mother, I hurled myself into training for a triathlon. The experience was hugely rewarding and the link between physical and mental wellbeing was etched on my psyche. After the post-race come down I joined a running club and was excited about the prospect of completing more events. I was gutted when I began to experience intense pain in my knees after upgrading from £40 running shoes to an expensive pair specially fitted for my gait. Curse you, well-known high street running store.
I stopped running, had more physiotherapy and an MRI scan on both knees. I was relieved when it came back all clear as I was not thrilled by the thought of another operation. Then I crashed while cycling. One should never attempt to carry a clothes maid while using a fixed gear bike. Tangling the two, I stopped instantly, flew over the handlebars and landed heavily on tarmac. Following the accident my left knee swelled up like a melon and in the weeks afterwards it was painful to ride and walk. Running was out of the question.
That was 6 months ago. Yesterday I ran 1.3km on the treadmill. It doesn’t sound like much but after half a year of gym visits, and thousands of repetitions of mind-numbing strengthening exercises, I feel like I am on the threshold of recovery. I am daring to dream of triathlons once more.
There are two main reasons why I have been dedicated to rehabilitation in a way that was unthinkable after my operation several years ago.
I realise my potential. And I want to get back to full fitness to make the most of it.
I realise my transience. This made sound dramatic but I will get old (hopefully) and I will die (definitely). So I want to enjoy the years when I can run, swim, hike and be in the physical world.
These realisations helped me to prioritise my health. This was important in coming to terms with one of the obstacles to recovery: cost. Excellent free physiotherapy is available on the NHS but this overstretched service is not designed to cater for those who are greedy for the thrill of endurance racing. It will mend you enough to ensure you can walk to the shops, it won’t set up you up to take on an Ironman. It is absurd that I had no problem splashing £70 on a pair of jeans or a meal but baulked at spending the same on a session of physiotherapy. Surely nothing is more important than your body? I shifted my perception, deciding it was an investment in my future happiness and therefore worth every penny.
The posing, pouting, and puffing world of the gym, interspersed with monthly check ups, have been an important part of my life this year and will be for many more months to come. But I feel it is my responsibility to take care of myself while I am in reasonable condition, before age ravages me, or I am shoved into the belly of an android.
I am inspired by those who overcome the severest impediments to create and add to the stock of human understanding. Consider Jean-Dominique Bauby, who following a massive stroke found himself paralysed from head to toe and speechless; his mind functioning perfectly but imprisoned in a useless body. I don't think I would have the mental strength to cope with such a dramatic altering of life. But he did. He dictated a book entirely by blinking: one blink for A, twenty six blinks for Z. Can you imagine?
I won’t experience a future where humans are unable to operate without micro chips and transistors. Thankfully, in 2014 we can still choose to be independent of technology and make the most of nature’s gifts. Faced with the humbling resilience of people like Jean-Dominique Bauby, I believe I have no excuse to take my body for granted.
