What Seaweed Tells Me About Movement

I am moving well through my Achilles rupture recovery, you would think would bring me a sense of relief. Ironically though, the more movement I get back, the more fear I feel! Which brings me to a funny observation I had about seaweed..

When I was home in Ireland, I was watching a group of kids swimming in the sea. They were screaming and shouting every time some seaweed brushed against them.. I was laughing to myself at how the fear these kids had is very similar to the fear we build around movement.

Lost?  Let me explain.

In the west of Ireland, we have these incredible kelp forests. The texture of kelp is smooth, almost silk-like. It is one of the most beautiful feelings your skin can experience. In fact, we have been using it in our baths for centuries, if not millennia—not just for the soothing satin feel but also for its rich anti-inflammatory properties.

So why were these kids shrieking in fear? 

Because of the element of the unknown. They are being touched by something under the surface, something they can’t see and can’t identify. They are only able to use one of their senses—touch—to help make up the decision of whether this is good or bad.

It could be slime, it could be a fish, or even worse, an eel…gross. So of course they scream and frantically swim away.

The same happens with movement and “pain.” Why do we enjoy the soreness after a workout or the sensation of a stretch but avoid the same feelings in an area recently subjected to injury? Why do some people describe forms of bodywork that create pain and leave you grimacing as good or “just what I need,” while writing off movement and recovery work that creates the same or even less painful sensations?

For the exact same reason: the fear of the unknown.

What does this feeling mean?

What if I’ve reinjured myself?

Have I set myself back?

Did I do too much? Have I not done enough?

These questions flood through our processing of the sensation to influence our reaction.

Let’s look at two different scenarios: the first, a visit to the bodyworker; the second, a visit to the gym.

The Butchering Bodyworker:

When the bodyworker drives their elbow into your calf to “relieve tension,” you trust them. You look around, you see certificates on the wall, you see a professional who knows what they are doing in a professional-looking room using professional-sounding words.

You take that information and add it to the sensation of them trying to rearrange your musculoskeletal system. Maybe you add in layers of social conditioning to be polite, not offend people, and perhaps not be a wimp. All of this factors into you staying on that table, getting assaulted, paying good money for it, and then deciding that this was good pain.

The next day your calf is so sore you can’t walk, but in a couple of days it heals up and you feel better—confirming your decision that the torture was good pain. “Totally worth it, I’ll refer people to that place.”

The Goosey Gym Goer:

You go to the gym to train with a list of exercises designed to help heal some calf issues you have.

You diligently follow the list. The third exercise is a seated calf raise. Your working hard and then bang, you feel a little twinge. Nothing too serious, no more than a 2 or 3 out of 10 on the pain scale. You wait a second—there’s no pain, it feels fine to move your ankle, you’re even able to put weight on your foot without any issues.

You start to think about making the injury worse. “What if I have overdone it? Could I have made this way worse?” You read an article in the New York Times that said rest is best. You take all this information and decide it’s best not to push it and wrap it up.

The next day you feel no worse than before, but again think: definitely not worth the risk of going back to the gym. What was that twinge? 

Curiosity, Trust, and Exploration:

What if we look at sensations with a different goal?

What if those kids stopped for a second, took a deep exhale, and really focused on the sensation of the kelp—not on the possibilities of what the sensation might mean? They might find that they like it.

What if we looked at movement as a way of exploring sensation? What if we started to build some trust with our own bodies, just like we trust the Butchering Bodyworker’s certificates?

The goal is not to be free from sensation; it is to be able to distinguish between them so that our bodies don’t classify feeling as either good or bad but instead use it as a vast vocabulary that allows you to communicate with your body in a deep and connected manner.

It takes time and practice. We don’t learn to speak a new language in a day. It takes a lifetime to build true fluency. 

P.S. this post was more of a philosophical what if, but if you’d like more practical how to, check this one out.