Sometime in September 2023, I attempted an overly ambitious set of High Bar Squats. At the time, I didn’t think it was especially ambitious. I prescribe to the notion of progressive overload as a useful tool to stimulate muscle growth, and this overload felt progressive, but not too much. I was wrong. It was too progressive. And, when I got to the deepest part of my squat, I felt a strain deep in my left hip.

This is not the first time I’ve felt a muscle strain after a set at the gym. I think it’s a relatively normal experience for anyone who lifts weights. Normally, I try not to be too concerned, give it a little rest if necessary, and let it clear up on its own. Apparently, I was unworried enough by this strain to continue my squats and the rest of my leg day routine. I remember watching Saving Private Ryan with my roommate Joel that same night and noticing the strain while sitting on the couch. This was a little unusual, to feel a strain while doing absolutely nothing to work my muscles, but I didn’t think much of it at the time.

Since that day, my left hip has never really felt normal. It’s been a deceptive injury. The pain is rarely super high, but it’s an ever-present 3 or 4 on the litle-smiley-to-frowny-face index. I have trouble squatting to depth, crossing my legs, or even sitting normally for long periods of time. Being seated at a booth in a restaurant too close to the ground will have me wincing, and movie theater chairs now must recline or I will be fidgeting the entire time.

In spite of these limitations, I have tried my best to adapt. I have seen two different physical therapists who, after several months of treatment, sort of shrugged and said “The Hip is Complicated.” I’ve done all the exercises, worked through the mobility, and found a new leg routine I implemented to continue progressing in weightlifting. Still, my hip continues to not really feel normal. Even now, sitting at my desk writing this, in the extremely well-designed and comfortable Herman Miller Aeron Chair (Brag), I can actively feel my hip tightening and grinding and generally just being a big old painful distraction.

And so we meet my foil: The Big Magnet Tube.

With the Physical Therapy at an impasse, I decided to take things up a notch and visit with a sports medicine specialist at HSS Brooklyn, which came well-reviewed by the posters on the Hip Impingement Subreddit. (Not a place I’d recommend spending much time if you can avoid it; basically every post will have you wondering how soon you need to schedule invasive hip surgery or replacement, even if you’ve never had hip problems.) Over an impressively short visit considering the hefty co-pay, my new specialist performed a couple of leg twisting motions, asked if they hurt (they did), and quickly told me I’d need an MRI for more information.

I’m told that my physical therapists were, in fact, right when they said the hip is complicated. Apparently, it’s so complicated, that a typical MRI Machine (Magnet Tube) will not be able to see everything. Apparently, there’s an atypical MRI machine (Big Magnet Tube) that is capable of seeing everything, but that the HSS only has available at their uptown location. They booked me an appointment with the Big Magnet Tube for the following Friday and I spent a week waiting for my date with destiny.

I’ve mentioned previously that I am generally an anxious person. On the day of my MRI appointment I had a panic attack at work. I didn’t think I was especially on the verge, but all of a sudden I was trying to talk to my coworker and couldn’t catch my breath. Shortly after this I had to leave for HSS. I also hadn’t given myself enough time to get uptown from my place in Bushwick, so I was running from train to train to try to make up time. By the time I got to the hospital and checked in, I was mentally scattered and very sweaty.

When you fill out the pre check-in MRI paperwork, there’s an extensive list of things you must affirm are not in your body, or else you may experience bodily harm upon entry to the magnet tube. Most of these items I was pretty sure I didn’t have: Pacemaker, no, bullet fragments, no, Artificial Penile extender? Not that I was aware of… (That was a real item on the checklist.) As I walked to the changing room to don the wrap-around gown and grippy socks, I began to doubt some of my answers to these questions. Was there some secret metal hiding inside of me? Had one of my roommates installed a Pacemaker while I was asleep? Was I actually adopted, and prior to my adoption been implanted with metallic skull plates no one had ever seen or mentioned previously? Fortunately, upon stripping for my gown, I was able to confirm that there was no artificial extending happening below the belt. Satisfied I checked atleast one thing on the form correctly, I hung around the changing room until a nice radiologist came to collect me.

As I walked to the MRI Machine with my much smaller attendant, I felt like a hobbled Jake Sully from James Cameron’s AVATAR, limping in a gown that was too small to stretch across my shoulders, my grippy socks catching on the smooth linoleum to further alter my gait. I felt like an alien in an unfamiliar land.

The AVATAR comparisons continued as I was introduced to the Big Magnet Tube, which bears some resemblance to the tubes humans get in to link with their Na’vi Avatars. This resemblance only really extends to the fact that they can both barely fit a human, but perhaps my subconscious desire to be freed from chronic pain forced this comparison more than is reasonable.

My attendant guided me through the process of getting situated on the gurney that would be sliding in and out of The Tube while it teased images out of my complicated hip region. While getting set up she gave me some calming utterances including I’m going to tie your feet to prevent them from moving, It will feel warm in there, but tell me if it starts to burn and While you’re in there you shouldn’t move, and you shouldn’t breath too deeply. Too deeply? Every therapist, spiritual guru and woman in my life’s first piece of advice to me in the face of distress has been to take deep breaths. You’re telling me I now have to get in this coffin and I’m not even allowed the paltry tool of my own breath?

Whatever, I thought. I can try and bear anything for a few minutes. Wait- How long will this take? I asked the radiologist. Oh, just 30 to 45 minutes. All I could do was laugh. I’m stuck in this tube for the next 30 to 45 minutes, being repeatedly assaulted by loud thumping noises, and I’m unable to move and disallowed from breathing too deeply? Suddenly my anxiety and stress came flooding back and once again, I was sweating. Fortunately, my feet were tied, so even if I wanted to get up I couldn’t.

The radiologist gave me a little ball I could squeeze to alert her of anything while in the machine, and some paltry headphones through which she pumped some ‘ambient’ music. I’m not sure who it was but it was no Music for Airports. With that, she left the room, and I was sucked into the Big Magnet Tube. Once the machine got started, I couldn’t even hear the music. Everything was drowned out by the constant industrial thumping and clanging. It felt like I was inside a giant marble bag, each marble the size of a Smart Car, and this giant marble bag’s equally giant owner was really angry.

Ironically, it only took me a few moments in the Giant Magnet Tube to realize I actually really liked it. With nothing to look at, nothing to do with my hands, and a repetitive droning sound to wash my mind, I felt truly still. I felt like a cow in the Temple Grandin Livestock Tunnel. My imagination started entertain me. I closed my eyes and pretended these bangs were not from an MRI Machine, but from the latest mix of the hottest, youngest German DJ at Berghain, who wears the most cropped tees, has the blondest bleached hair, and is maybe named Lars. Or something like that. I began to feel inspired for a new Blog post, the very post you’re reading right now. I left all the stupid shit behind, because there’s really not a lot of room in that tube.

Ultimately, 30 minutes transpired very quickly. At one point the lovely attendant told me we would have to repeat an image, extending the session somewhat, because my breathing had become too deep. I chuckled to myself. I’m soo good at MRI, I thought. I’m too fucking chill for the MRI machine. They though they could get me and I showed their asses.

Finally, the gurney began to roll out, freeing me from the Magnet Tube. I’m all up on myself, thinking how I aced the MRI Machine, thinking no one does it like me when staring down the barrel of a Big Magnet Machine, etcetera etcetera… As the radiologist comes over to unshackle me, she jumps back. What‘s up with that, I think.

“You’re so sweaty!”