This must be answered to serve my crippling body a purpose.

Injuries and the search for meaning define my state of brokenness.

The overview of my body’s triumphs and traumas can lead me to a strong answer.

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At my 7th birthday party, my dream of becoming the next Tony Hawk failed when I fell on my skateboard and fractured my forearm. That was my first taste of serious injury. It wouldn’t be until my rugby days of high school and college that I would revisit physical damage. Two torn labrals (shoulder). Broken nose. Sprained ankle. Broken fingers. Sprained shoulder. Every year – hell, every semester – something led my body to a sling or bandages. The day I hung up my boots, I thought it would be the last of injury.

Life after competitive sport consisted of two things: lifting and cycling. The likelihood of injury was at its lowest… so I thought. Since rugby, I’ve managed to accrue back spasms, hip bursitis, snapping hip syndrome, and another torn labrum (shoulder) with advanced chrondal loss as well as rotator cuff tendonitis. Thinking I was invincible lead me to be careless in my approach to physical training. I truly believed that no longer playing a collision sport would be the end of my pain. Yet, pain ceased in one spot just to vacation in another.

The snapping of my joints is a result of many factors: load management, technique, inconsistency, etc. Even though my shoulders turned to glass in my rugby days, overall I was at my fittest. Goals were clear as my schedule was defined by seasons and the urgency of being prepared for major competitions. Every injury was a result of a huge collision, simply a nature of the game. As for post-rugby weight training and cycling? I was in control of my damage. The seasons no longer existed, so I lacked urgency to create clearer goals. As a result, the training was not fine tuned towards progress.

Variation is the difference between my two eras of training. Rugby demanded everything of my body: sprinting, agile turns, stamina to play 80 minutes, flexibility to secure the rucks, the skills of passing, kicking, tackling, scrumming, etc. Rugby doesn’t allow for much specialization compared to other sports. I had to manage multiple elements of performance. In any given aspect, I knew I was no freak athlete, but I was far above the everyday man.

Since becoming fixated on cycling, my hips have been at an all-time low. My training has been solely to sprint faster on a fixed gear bike, squat more, and the side quest of bench pressing 315 lbs. I stopped moving in different planes of motion. I made my training vanilla when it needed a swirl of different flavors. Rugby’s chaos organically lead me to express movement in endless ways. But cycling? I’m just hunched over and my hips are in the saddle as I pedal away. Doing such a predictable sport means that I must consciously create opportunities of variety. Otherwise, overuse injury takes over.

I’ve had my moments of progress, but over the past two years my numbers have tanked. What went up is the severity of my hips pinching and the catching sensation of my shoulder. I tore my shoulder labrum back in April of 2026. As I write this, I haven’t done a proper upper body workout in six months. I feel my strength withering away. I can only reflect on everything I’ve done wrong, but fortunately the silver lining is the realization that my body is not the same from my teenage days and I must partake in other forms of fitness which excites the body and mind.

Doing it all in fitness means being competent in the various domains of physicality. So to answer the title question of this post: to experience bliss… or at least curve your pain.

The true bliss is the moments of maximum effort. Anyone who has truly sprinted at full speed can confirm that the act of sprinting is the only thing to be experienced in the moment. Thoughts dissipate and the flow state is alive. The same is true of anyone who has survived the heaviest of ass-to-grass squats, the last mile of a marathon, or even had someone push down on their shoulders to enter a new range in the splits (whilst holding back the waterworks).

The avoidance of pain is the permission to endure maximum effort. Pain in this sense is not mere discomfort but rather the inhibition of the ability to go all out. Sitting on the couch wondering when I can do what I normally do has caused more pain to my mind than my body. I’m stuck watching others at the gym do what I want, but I can’t due to fear of my arm falling off. Simple tasks like turning the steering wheel have added another point of conscious behavior. And the amount of doctor visits I’ve attended just to be told, “let’s get a referral for a second opinion” is for another post!

The benefits of versatility are vast, but the one I appreciate most is the confidence physical competency gives me. If I want to join a dance class, I will have an easier time picking up the moves than someone with two left feet. If I wanted to join a hardcore powerlifting gym of lifters who warm up with my dream one-rep max, I will still have no fear compared to someone who’s never lifted in their life. If I go on a hike, I can actually enjoy nature rather than thinking about how much longer I have to travel before my lungs give out.

To conclude this post, I leave you with my haiku:

bodies that know all

are the hardest to destroy

in times of chaos