I sing a lot. When people are listening (by their own choice or not), when they aren’t, when I’m happy, when I’m sad. I have been singing at the top of my lungs in berry fields and gasping out tunes while I run. And I frequently sing in the kitchen while I work. That was almost a disaster for me earlier this month.
I went to transfer a large pot of water from the sink to the stove just across the narrow walkway. It is something I have done many times. The pivot went fine, then I had to finish with the normal slight extension of the arms to get the pan over the burner. At the same moment a great part of a song was playing and I took a deep, diaphragmatic breath in order to belt it out.
The combination of these two actions sent conflicting messages to my back musculature. The core of the upper middle section had a sudden explosion of heat and weakness. I had a sense that an energy sucking force was creating a black hole into which my insides were being drawn. Maybe I have watched too much Star Trek, but that is the description that came to mind even as it was happening!
The pot was already over the stove enough that I could set it down immediately in order to slightly arch my back and curl my shoulders forward. My brain was preempting conscious analysis and just directing traffic. In order not to alarm my teenage girls too much, I quietly let them know why I was hobbling into the living room to lay on the floor. Once there, I discovered that although I “wanted” to have my back flat on the floor for a moment, I also “wanted” to curl my knees up to my chest. I have seen my husband not be able to move for days from something similar. I was seriously concerned about my future.
That was only good for a few moments. Then, I felt the intrinsic desire to go through some gentle stretching motions, mostly a bit sideways, with my arms above my head, but also applying a forward bend in the process. After that, one of my girls carefully kneaded the affected area. I proceeded to rest by kneeling in front of the couch, laying my head on it to both rest and keep some of the curled form.
A bit more stretching and cautious movement was possible, but I felt I might snap if I did something wrong. My other daughter talked me into another little massage, using the trigger point philosophy. I could tell it was helping, but I still didn’t even feel I could take a deep breath again. I moved slowly the remainder of the day, not lifting anything, not breathing deeply, and certainly not singing.
The approach worked for me. Over the course of the next 2-3 days, I could feel the area gradually loosen up and feel less like impending doom. I kept up the occasional stretching and I got one more massage from my husband. Finally, I could breath normally, without concentrating on making sure the back muscles didn’t snap.
Since then, I have been singing again. At the top of my lungs. I have been breathing deeply for swimming, biking, and running. I have worked vigorously in the garden. I have done strength training with the TRX. I have danced until I was exhausted. And, I have completed a sprint triathlon that I was in the middle of training for when this happened. I don’t feel anything in my back now, except that I seem to have a new sense of exactly what those muscles are doing.
However, I am now reflexively careful about how I breath when I am lifting something or doing anything that requires the tensing of my core and back muscles. I take a deep breath and exhale a portion of it before I exert the pressure necessary for such lifting or pushing force. I just need to know that I am not going to be accidentally trying to breath in during the activity. This just takes a second of my time. It may add weeks or months of comfort to my life.
