The Operating Room Question

You're being wheeled down a long hallway.

People are lined up on either side, wearing masks. There isn't any animus, but you can feel the seriousness in the air. You hear the nurse wheeling you down the hall saying things, but they aren't really registering.

The pace is fast. The people seem eager.

You reach a big steel door, and the surgeon is standing there texting on his phone. He looks up and says, "Well, are you ready?"

You say confidently, "Yes, let's get after it."

The nurse wheels you into the operating room. It's cold, and there are a lot of busy bodies moving about. They are preparing tools and other medical equipment. One doctor starts verifying who you are and what you are here to do.

He is saying words, but you're distracted.

The beehive of people is moving more rapidly now. A couple of them start strapping your body to the bed. They are explaining what they are doing, but it just feels like noise.

Then you catch the words:

“We are injecting it now, and you are going to sleep very soon.”

You're so happy for this opportunity that you just smile and think of seeing your family on the other side.

But the question that is haunting you still remains.

When you wake up, is this the start of another chance to be a strongman again, or is this the beginning of retirement?

This One Was Different

This wasn't the first time I had been injured.

Hell, I've had so many injuries that I have lost track. It wasn't even the first surgery I have had because of being an athlete.

However, this one was different.

It was more serious than anything I had experienced. It was debilitating. I was unable to walk and was in insufferable pain.

It was the first injury that really stopped me in my tracks and forced me to weigh the benefits and risks of being a strength athlete. And not the surface-level shit about the cost of competing versus the plastic trophy you might get at the end.

I'm talking about a soul-searching level of reflection.

So, I want to bring you along for that reflection and share some insights about dealing with injuries. I might be looking at retirement, but perhaps some of these insights will help you keep going a little longer and enjoy your athletic abilities.

Three Rehabilitation Principles

The First Real Lesson

In 2011, I had already decided that I wanted to try strongman and was training hard for my first show.

I was deadlifting at my university gym when something in my lower back popped. My vision went black while I held the barbell mid-shin. When my consciousness came back, I put the barbell down and knew it was bad.

Mostly because the guy at the rack next to me was staring at me like he knew something had gone really wrong.

I made it home, but hours later, I could barely move, let alone walk. When I made it to the clinic to have it checked out, it was confirmed that I had disc herniations in my lower back.

I didn't have the rehabilitation expertise then that I have now, so I did what the physiotherapists said.

But it wasn't helping.

It was still taking me 45 minutes just to get out of bed and stand up.

I met a professor who had suffered the same herniation and healed it. He told me that the key wasn't just doing the exercises. It was the frequency.

So, I took the exercises given to me and started doing them multiple times per day, far more than the physiotherapist had prescribed.

It started to work.

It took about 18 months total to get back to the same deadlift weight that caused the injury, but I conquered it.

Muscle strains, ligament sprains, bulging discs, and nerve impingements weren't enough to stop me.

I rose through the ranks to eventually compete with the top professional strongmen in Ontario, two of whom would even go on to be top contenders at the World's Strongest Man.

Life was good, and I was part of the brotherhood of top athletes.

Being Cut Open Wasn't Enough

While I was preparing to improve my performance at Ontario's Strongest Man in 2018, the accumulation of training caused my next major injury.

I was performing axle deadlifts in training when something didn't feel right. I tightened my belt, but it pinched hard near my belly button. I did my set, but every repetition made the pain worse.

When I took my belt off, I pressed on the area right below my belly button, and it felt like I was driving a knife into my stomach.

This wasn't good.

I instantly had a feeling that this would derail my contest dreams. I went to the doctor only to confirm my suspicions.

I had an incarcerated umbilical hernia, meaning it was too big to be pushed back into the hole in my abdomen. It is life-threatening if left like this.

So, I agreed to have surgery.

They cut me open and put a mesh in.

I asked the surgeon what the rehabilitation protocol was, and to my surprise, he said there was no standard. His suggestion was to go by feel.

However, at the time, I had much more rehabilitation expertise.

I knew that the most important part was to move. Check.

The second most important concept was to stay away from pain. Not completely, otherwise you won't make progress. But if you move into pain, your nervous system will lock down the tissues.

That is the opposite of what you want to have happen.

I coined this concept for myself as "moving within the zone of discomfort."

You have to find the zone that is just right, and the feeling that comes along with that is discomfort.

Not pain.

Discomfort.

Over the next 12 months, that is what I did. I built my own rehabilitation protocol and got back to full strength.

Surgery wasn't fun, but being cut open wasn't enough to make me stop pursuing strongman.

Load Wasn't the Only Problem

The third principle I knew from my doctoral studies, but I didn't cement it until I had to act it out following injuries.

The end of 2023 brought me a partial tear of my pectoralis major muscle. It was just a deload session where I was speed benching and not paying enough attention to maintaining good positioning.

I felt an elastic band snap in my left chest as the bar touched it.

I knew what it was right away.

I had it checked out and confirmed it was only a partial tear. This happened six weeks before a powerlifting meet.

I applied the first two principles, and I actually hit 80 percent of my one-rep max in training the week before the contest.

So, naturally, I went on to compete.

The warm-ups felt good. I opened with around 80 percent of my one-rep max and got taught the third principle in real time.

It touched my chest, and I felt my injured tissue ball up.

I bombed out.

The problem wasn't that I couldn't handle 80 percent. It was that I couldn't handle 80 percent and move at maximal Speed.

You see, muscle has a velocity-dependent force-producing capacity. In the rehabilitation before the meet, I was moving very slowly and cautiously.

When I stepped on the platform, I had forgotten everything and went into battle mode.

My tissues couldn't handle the rate of force production I was demanding, and my nervous system shut it down to protect them.

After the meet, I underwent several months of focused rehabilitation and returned to full strength. I was able to move with maximal force at high speeds again.

Muscles tearing apart were still not enough to keep me from pursuing my passion.

Then Came the Knee

Now, we have arrived at the most recent train wreck and the reason for this article.

While competing at Static Monsters earlier this year, I ruined my knee.

To be fair, I don't think it was exactly healthy to begin with, but this contest finished the job.

I was taking my third attempt at log press, turned my left foot too far outward, and felt the snap.

I tore my ACL, MCL, and meniscus during the dip of the motion. Fortunately, I was able to throw myself away from the log so that it didn't come down and crush my torso or legs.

Lying there on the ground waiting for the ambulance, I knew it was bad.

I knew it would need surgery.

This is where that question I posed at the beginning started to form.

Is this the end? Is this worth it?

As of writing this, I have had the ACL reconstruction surgery.

The injury was extremely painful, but sitting here a week after surgery, it feels just as painful as the injury did.

I'm applying the principles I laid out, and I will make a full recovery.

Even after all of this, I still think the benefits of being a strength athlete for the last 14 years far outweigh the risks.

I have concluded that no, I am not being a bad father by trying to better myself through the pursuit of strongman.

I was not able to care for my daughters for the last few months, especially my one-year-old.

But the man I have become, and the lessons I have instilled in my family, are worth it.

That said, I can't help but visualize the checklist I have built and think about the level at which the risk just isn't worth it anymore.

• Herniated discs didn't stop me.
• Being cut open didn't stop me.
• Tearing muscle didn't stop me.

But this one is different.

I keep asking myself:

Do you stop when they start drilling bone?

The Last Attempt

I don't have the answer today, and I don't need it today.

What I know is that every contest eventually has a last attempt, whether you choose it or your body chooses it for you.

You can always heal and get strong again, but every career comes to an end.

With this last injury, I stopped asking if I could come back and started asking if I should.

When I picture being strong again, this time I am not seeing myself underneath a log. I see myself, with two good knees, dancing with my daughters.