Sunflower State Games about ten years ago. I’m right in the big finish of my nunchaku exercise for the weapons competition. Five figure-eights at lightning speed. On the second figure-eight, the outside of my right elbow bursts into flames. No. It was more like a habanero pepper burst deep in the tendon. On the video, you can see the exact moment on my face. I finished weakly and stood to attention. I clutched my right elbow and politely asked the officials for no score. I backed out of the ring and went to the registration table where I scratched from the sparring competition. I was out. I probably could have fought one-handed. It wouldn’t have mattered. I’m one of those guys who gets seeded in a bracket to give the real fighters somebody to warm up on. But that day I’d had enough.

My physician, Alan Stag, M.D., diagnoses epicondylitis. “Condoleeza what?” He orders an M.R.I. with contrast to see whether there is any calcification of the tendon. Nope. “You just pulled a real boner, that’s all.” He meant I was swinging too hard. Now, I know to just let the chucks fly. You don’t have to crank them. I can do that move now without injury. It took a good six months to heal completely.

Five years later, I’m sweeping the floor of my semi trailer before loading my deliveries for the day. The broom hurts both elbows on both sides. I have golf elbow and tennis elbow. That’s why I was sweeping the trailer. The younger guys just left their floors cluttered with dirt. If they needed to roll a pallet jack over a rock or a nail or something they just did it. I couldn’t pull that off any more. But at least I know what it is. It will clear up, right?

It didn’t clear up. I kept on training. Kept on driving the big rigs. Kept on handling freight. Finally, Alan Stag, M.D. recommends physical therapy. So, now, I’m showing some responsibility. Taking this thing seriously. Karen, my physical therapist, is very nice. But she doesn’t give a wet fart about pain. She starts with a nice heating pad. Then she attacks you with, like, a gardening tool. She scrapes along the tendon away from the joint. “Removing damaged tissue,” she says, smiling brightly. Both elbows. Outside and inside. Forty-five minutes straight. I pretend to be cool. This is going to cure me, right? Well, it didn’t.

After six months of physical therapy, it was getting worse. Why? I wouldn’t stop training. And I wouldn’t stop driving and lifting freight. My boss even gave me an assistant to help with the freight. It wasn’t enough. Shifting a heavy duty transmission still puts your elbows through a deal of strain. I was even skipping as many gears as I could. Had a ten-speed transmission down to a five-speed. My route was almost entirely in city limits. Dragging a seventy-foot rig through city traffic for eight hours puts the elbows through quite a drill.

“If it hurts, stop,” was about all I had left. Walked away from the trucking business. I got a jar of Vaseline and a kept scraping away on my epicondylitis. Karen, the physical therapist, showed me that a stainless steel kitchen sink stopper is easy to grip and has a nicely rounded edge that is very effective on the tendon therapy without damaging the skin. Took about six more months, but I eventually healed.