The Most Difficult Thing I’ve Ever Done

Pilgrimage of Pain

I recently completed a week-long fitness retreat in Koh Samui, Thailand. 

It was physically the most challenging thing I've ever done, and completing it is honestly one of the most significant accomplishments of my adult life. I'm incredibly proud of myself. 

For most of the past 17 years, I've told myself I can't do very much physical activity. I convinced myself that my chronic back pain limited my ability to do just about anything athletic or physically strenuous. There were enough times when playing beach volleyball or soccer left me in so much pain for days or weeks that I decided to write off doing any actual physical activity for over a decade. 

Over the past two years, that's started to change. As I wrote in a previous post, I restarted physical therapy with a new mindset, not to get out of pain but to push myself to do as much physical exercise as possible without increasing my pain. After months of physical therapy, I eventually progressed to gym consistency.  

Even in the gym, however, I was extremely cautious. My mindset has been slow and steady wins the race, and I never pushed myself too hard. I always had a fear in the back of my mind that I could hurt myself again and not be able to get out of bed for days. I was too worried I might have to miss work, so I still overprotected my back. This cautious attitude wasn't necessarily a bad thing; it was necessary at the time. 

In the back of my mind, however, I always had the thought of "what could I accomplish physically if I didn't have any fear of hurting myself. How far could I push my body if I had unlimited time to rest and recover after working out?"

I decided to finally test that out. I'm currently on a 3-month mini-sabbatical in Southeast Asia and I came up with a plan to push myself. I signed up for a week-long fitness retreat in Koh Samui, an island in southern Thailand. The "total fitness retreat" offers three intense workouts a day: an early morning circuit class, a 10 a.m. strength and conditioning class, and a high-intensity evening circuit class. 

I walked into my first session at 7:30 a.m. on Monday morning and was terrified by what was on the board: 

• 1-mile run 
• 500m row
• Circuit of 15 get-ups, 20 lunges, 10 burpees, 15 plank twists 
• Two 1/4 mile laps around the garden with a 10kg plate overhead
• Repeat the circuit of 15 get-ups, 20 lunges, 10 burpees, 15 plank twists
• Another 500m row
• 4 lengths of the pool

And this was just the first workout of three on Monday! Oh, and by 7:30 a.m., it was already almost 90 degrees with insane humidity.

A part of me legitimately wanted to say, "Thanks, but no thanks," forget cost of the retreat, and go back to my beach vacation. 

There was another part of me, however, that was excited. I signed up for this! I wanted this! I was there to push myself and see what my body could do. 

If I couldn't do it, then I would know my limit. And then a tiny voice in my head said, "But what if I can?"

I gritted my teeth and decided to try it.

Over the past two years, I've focused almost exclusively on strength training with practically no cardio. That was a mistake. 

Halfway through the mile run, I was ready to call it quits again. My nervous enthusiasm and pride had gotten the best of me, and I hadn't paced myself well. As I was climbing up a hill, I felt like I was going to pass out. I had already passed a handful of my classmates walking behind me, and I decided to shove my pride aside and be okay with walking. With a push from one of our instructors, who was comfortably on her motorcycle shouting encouragement, I half-walked and ran the rest of the mile. 

The fact that I couldn't even run a mile without walking was a rude wake-up call, but I didn't have time to process it. The run was just the warm-up, and I still had the rest of the session to complete! 

The following 40 minutes or so is a complete blur, but somehow, I completed the morning workout session. Afterward, I sat in the gym's cafe exhausted, drenched with sweat, and devouring an omelet. I was proud of myself for what I had just completed, but I was painfully aware that this was just session #1 of the week. I had about an hour to recover before our 10 a.m. strength and conditioning class!

Thankfully, the strength class was much more familiar. It was leg day, which was a brutal way to start the week. We began with barbell squats, weighted hip thrusts, and elevated goblet squats. Then, the "conditioning" part of the call included:

• 150 air squats.
• Two 1/4 mile laps around the garden.
• 50 mountain climbers.
• 100 more air squats.
• A 250m row. 

It was brutal, and my legs would be sore for days, but this was manageable. 

After a much-needed yoga class and a massive lunch, I returned to my hotel and took a three-hour nap. It took everything in me to drag myself back to the gym for the evening class.

I had heard the evening circuit classes were "the absolute worst" from just about everyone who had been there already. The classes alternated throughout the week, but the overall theme included a dozen or so exercises, done at peak intensity for less than a minute, a quick rest, and then repeat. Again and again and again and again. 

Here was Monday night's circuit. We did each exercise for 45 seconds of intense work, as much as possible in the 45 seconds, followed by 15 seconds off, where we would move to the next exercise, 45 seconds of intense workout, then 15 seconds off, etc. After we finished all 10 exercises, we'd have a generous 30-second break, then do the entire circuit again. After another 30-second break, then do it a third time!

1. Ski Erg
2. Get ups
3. Press-ups
4. Box jumps
5. Walk out plank
6. TRX row
7. Air bike
8. Slam ball
9. Rower
10. Ball to target throw

By the end of the first time through the circuit, I was so sweaty I looked like I had just gotten out of the pool. The other two circuits were an out-of-body experience. I don't know how I kept going, but somehow I found myself lying on the floor, exhausted beyond belief but finished. 

And so the week went, with variations each day. We took Muay Thai boxing classes on Tuesday and Thursday mornings instead of a circuit workout. 

Every muscle in my body hurt. Thankfully, I could get a Thai massage for about $3 every day (sometimes twice a day). The gym had a spa facility with a sauna, ice bath, and onsen hot mineral bath, which was a lifesaver.

When I arrived at each class, our trainers would write the workouts on the board. Except for a few strength classes, my immediate thought was, "There's no way I can do that." But an hour later, somehow, I'd have done it. Did I do it well? Not really. Many of my classmates regularly outworked me during each session, but I didn't care. I was still doing it. And I couldn't believe what my body was capable of. 

Every night, I went to bed thinking that the following day would be when my back gives out. The next morning, I assumed, I wouldn't be able to get out of bed, and that's when I'll know I found my limit. 

But I somehow got up each morning and did it all over again. 

I couldn't believe it. 

I won’t go into too much detail about each and every workout kicked my butt, but there was one on Thursday that was a scales falling from my eyes moment. 

I walked into the 10 a.m. class expecting another classic strength session when I instead saw "Mini-Spartain!" written on the whiteboard. My heart sank, and my mouth gaped as I saw the program for the day:

• 1-mile run
• Monkey bars (up and down)
• Over/under through an obstacle course of workout benches
• Farmers walk (holding a 16kg kettlebell in each hand) 1/4 mile garden lap 
• Rings
• Massive tire flip across the room and back
• Tire carry (regular size) 2x 1/4 mile garden lap
• Rope climb
• 30 burpees

This was their mini attempt at a Spartan Race, aka the "hardest obstacle course race on the planet."

This kind of obstacle course workout was entirely foreign to me. I've had a few friends do this kind of stuff, and they are absolute beasts. Yes, this was a highly scaled-down version of the real Spartan Race, but it still terrified me. 

That morning was the biggest temptation to leave the retreat since the very first morning. Every fiber in my being was telling me I couldn't do it. My mind raced back to all of those painful moments, bedridden because I had tried to do some stupid activity like a soccer match or beach volleyball with my friends in college.

My back and mind screamed at me: YOU CANNOT DO THIS!

Armed with the proof of what I had already accomplished that week, I responded more forcefully than I ever have: YES, I CAN. WATCH ME. 

I should have paced myself better (I had mostly learned to do this by now), but something burned inside of me. I was there to push myself physically further than I ever had in my 17+ years of chronic back pain, and dammit, I was going to push myself to the breaking point if I had to. 

I still had to walk parts of the mile but minimized it as much as possible. I'd catch my breath, then start running again. 

When we got to the monkey bars, I was surprised to see most of my classmates couldn't get past the first few bars. If you couldn't get 1/3 of the way through, you had to replace the exercise with 15 burpees (which most people had to do). The monkey bar course was about 24 bars across. The first few are flat, then they go at an include, flat again across the middle, then decline, and finish flat again.

I went across the first few bars, shocked that I could keep going. I went up the incline with a massive smile across my face, across the middle, and by the time I was going down the decline, my classmate were all cheering me on as they were doing their burpees as punishment for not completing it. I jumped off the final bar laughing. I couldn't believe I did it! 

I didn't have much time to savor the moment, though, since this was still only the second activity of the session. The over/under obstacle course through workout benches was fine, and the farmer's walk wasn't fun, but it was doable. 

When I got to the rings, the same thing happened. Many of my classmates couldn't get past the second ring onto the third, but I swung across all 6 on my first attempt! 

The massive tire flip sucked, but I was careful to flip with my legs and not my back and got through it. Carrying a tire around for a 1/2 mile wasn't fun either, but I pushed through with minimal breaks. 

I get back into the gym, and again people are struggling with the rope climb. By this time, my adrenaline was rushing, and I was confident that I could somehow do it, and I did! I got some pretty bad rope burn climbing back down, but I had reached the top!

As I completed my 30 burpees (just a cruel finish to the workout), I couldn't stop smiling. This was the first time I’ve ever had fun doing a grueling workout. 

I did it.

Many of my friends are incredible athletes, some even professional athletes, and could have done this course in their sleep. But for me, someone who has thought of themselves as physically disabled for the past 17+ years, this was a massive deal. 

As I said, this was a moment when scales were falling from my eyes. 

I was exhausted, and sore beyond belief, but my back pain hadn't measurably increased. 

It was still there, it's always there. My nerve pain stabbing into my spine like 1000 needles and my muscles constantly aching. But the massive, debilitating flare-up of pain that I had expected never came. 

This retreat hadn't happened in a vacuum. I'd spent the past year and a half focusing on strength training, especially my back and core. If I had tried this retreat two years ago, I very likely would have been unable to get out of bed. 

My hard work over the past 18 months had clearly paid off. 

I was overjoyed at my accomplishment. I finished the week strong, capping it off with a big hike through the jungle on Saturday morning. 

As I rested and recovered in yet another sauna and ice bath routine, something dampened my enthusiasm. 

For the past 15+ years, my mind and body have been lying to me. They kept telling me I couldn't do what I had just done. For the past 18 months, I had been slowly testing the validity of that lie, and during this retreat, I had finally crushed it. 

Obviously I was excited, but I was also angry. I was angry at myself, at my own mind, for convincing itself I had to overprotect my body. 

I had been stuck in a cycle of fear for half of my life! 

I texted one of my best friends about these feelings. Nate’s a rare close friend who has known me continuously since we were kids, well before my chronic pain started when I was 15 years old. His response was exactly what I needed to hear:

"Bro I don't know how to describe how happy I am for you. Just keep moving forward. Don't beat yourself up. You're not ready until you are, there's no explanation for it. Now you know and youg et to live big!"

For whatever reason, the timing wasn't right before. I stopped believing in accidents and coincidences a long time ago. 

Yes, I had been stuck in a cycle of fear, but now I was Kevin in Home Alone screaming, “I’m not afraid anymore! Do you hear me? I’m not afraid!” (Just ignore the fact that he runs away screaming right after he says that.)

Nate was right: now I get to live big! 

This moment marks a significant new chapter in my life. While my chronic pain is still there, it feels as if I’ve been healed. The scales have fallen from my eyes, and I’ve seen what my body is capable of.

Whenever we suffer, we put limits on what we think we can and can’t do. This is easiest to think about when we are physically suffering, but it’s also true with emotional or spiritual suffering. When we suffer, we think we can’t be around people and isolate ourselves. Or we think we can’t pray and try to detach ourselves from God.

Most of these barriers we put up are lies. I’m increasingly realizing that the things I think I can’t do are precisely the things I MUST do.

When my back hurts, I don’t want to exercise. But strengthening it is exactly how I decrease flare-ups.

When I’m depressed and feeling bad for myself, I don’t want to be around people. But time with friends is exactly how I get out of a funk.

When I’m pissed off at God or doubting His very existence, I don’t want to pray. But prayer and worship are exactly how I encounter Him and know His love for me.

Healing often comes not from avoiding our struggles, but from confronting them head-on. By challenging our self-imposed limits, we can discover a strength and resilience we never knew we had. 

From this day forward, I’m going to strive to break free from these barriers and embrace the fullness of life, even in the midst of suffering.