Meditations on (in) an MRI

Five minutes of “Bzaaat, Bzaaat, Bzaaat,” was followed by three minutes of a similar clanking noise, drowning out the music pumped through my headphones. Mark told me the MRI would be loud and it was. When they asked what kind of music, the technician had said: “We have Spotify.” I did a quick inventory of my playlists. I hesitated for far too long before saying, “You can pick it.” I did’’t want my favorite music to be associated with this experience in case it went south. 

“It wasn’t that bad,” I’d tell Mark later as we stood in the kitchen. He’d prepared me for a terrible experience, but in a weird way, I enjoyed it? 

“I didn’t mind it at all, it was like forced meditation. I was so relaxed I kind of didn’t want it to end.”

“Of course, you didn’t,” Mark laughed. “You were strapped in all tight, like the sheets.” He stopped making his sandwich, pressed his elbows to his sides, and wriggled a little imitating me in the MRI machine. It’s true. I like the sheets on the bed tucked in tight so when you get in they’re clamped down around your body, holding you in. Sometimes I’m the definition of “uptight.” Mark hates tight sheets. Tight anything (unless we’re talking yoga pants…on me).  Which is a good thing. Over time I’ve relaxed a bit, being married to Mark has done that for me. 

After taking the month of July off from this newsletter and social media I realized something I’ve known but not really addressed: I’m terrible at resting. We went away twice in July to the Adirondacks, where I completely unplugged and took a break from all work and to Boothbay Harbor, Maine where I stayed mostly plugged in and still worked a regular week. My training load was lighter as I backed off training to give my left foot a bit of a break (more on that later). I’d intentionally cleared my calendar, and lightened my load in an effort to get serious about rest. It is after all the intention I set for this year. 

Instead of feeling relaxed and recharged, I found myself restless. Physically slowing down by removing work caused the chatter in my mind to ramp up. I think sometimes I set my body in motion to try and stay ahead of my mind like I’m racing against the negative thoughts that sometimes bubble up. 

Rest does not come naturally to me, or as a recent UK study suggests, anyone. It turns out, that kids need to learn to rest in the same way they learn every other natural function like walking and talking. I won’t unpack the reasons why rest is hard for me here (that would take a book), but it’s clear to me that through a combination of genetics, my childhood experiences and innate personality I’m wired to go, go, go. While there are aspects of this that are innocuous and in fact healthy (like how I crave a sunrise above treeline or feel the impetus to go for a walk after sitting for a prolonged period of time), it turns out you can become addicted to your own stress hormones. In his book, When the Body Says No, Dr. Gabor Maté suggests that internally generated stresses, that seem ordinary (like the drive to perform or achieve, financial or relationship strain, etc) can take a toll: 

“For those habituate to high levels of internal stress since early childhood, it is the absence of stress that creates unease, evoking boredom and a sense of meaninglessness. People can become addicted to their own stress hormones adrenaline and cortisol. To such persons, stress feels desirable, while the absence of stress feels like something to be avoided.”

I heard that clip while riding my ElliptiGO this weekend. I was on one of the big climbs, five miles from home, and pulled over to the side of the road. I bookmarked the quote and then stood there for a while, straddling my bike with no seat, staring up the hill thinking about the whole month of July. The way I had deliberately stepped away only to find myself filled with a sense of unease, boredom, and the same meaninglessness Maté talked about. 

Holy shit. That’s me. I’m addicted to my own stress, I thought. No wonder when I try to stop it feels worse. It’s easier to stay in motion. To keep going. To keep grinding. The only speed I know is top speed. 

Maté spends his book talking about stress and how the body responds, how the body can say “no” if the mind inhabiting the body is unwilling to say “no.” I’m seeing myself in the pages of his book and realizing I really don’t know what rest is, not really anyway, not yet. But I think my body is trying to send me a message. 

“OK, Sarah. We’re all done,” the MRI technician’s voice crackled over a forgettable pop song from the mid-2000s. Her voice startled me from the deepest meditation, I wasn’t on the verge of sleep it was different. During each scan of my body, I’d scanned my mind, thinking about everything that had happened in July: the words of Maté I’d heard that morning on my ride, the way I had been unable to really rest by the lake or by the sea, the way my body was saying ‘no,’ the way my right foot felt like it wanted to twitch, the way when Mark had dragged me to a yoga class while we were in Boothbay I’d realized that it helped. And when I’d thought through all the thoughts I let go–fitting for the third to last day of my month of “rest.”

The technician pressed a button and my body rolled out of the MRI tube, she took the headphones off my head, and removed the armrests, while the other tech unstrapped my left foot from the boot-like brace. He peeled off the mark that at the beginning he had placed on my heel. Before the scan, when he’d asked me why I was there I’d given him the answer I’ve given everyone for the past few months: heel spur, plantar fascia pain, suspected stress reaction, maybe a fracture? 

“Ok, you’re all set. The radiologist will read this today and you’ll likely get a call on Monday or Tuesday from your provider.”

“Thank you,” and I shuffled out of the room in the hospital socks and scrubs they’d provided.

My results showed up in my patient portal on Friday afternoon, just a few hours after the scan. It contains words like “partial tear” and “edema of the bone marrow.” Not great words for a runner. Basically, they add up to two words: No and Rest. Because if you don’t figure out rest, the body will say no for you. 

But this isn’t just about resting the body. I think the rest I need is a deeper rest, an overhaul of how I operate rest, a shift in identity rest, a life-altering rest. And the remedy isn’t increasing occasions of rest, the remedy is in the answer to the question: how do I live softly?

My body is ready to teach me how. I just have to listen and respond.

-Sarah