Murphy’s Lore

Sam explains why we are not machines

When we arrive on this earth, we are endowed with the most perfect, the most efficient and the best constructed machine ever devised – our body.’ So wrote Dr Alton Ochsner, a medical researcher and surgeon who is best known for making the link between tobacco and lung cancer in the late 1920s.

Equating the human body to a machine resonates most when it comes to something athletic such as running. After all, we both have moving parts that work in unison to accomplish a task, we are powered by a (cardiorespiratory) ‘engine’, controlled by a central processing unit (the brain) and we require an energy source to function.

But let’s not take the analogy too far. For one thing, it undersells how incredible we are. Drive a car with the wheel balance out and you damage the wheel bearings and suspension. Run with your right foot turned out and your body will notice the asymmetry and do its best to adapt or compensate.

What machine functions smoothly, in spite of missing or malfunctioning parts? What machine continues to operate efficiently without regular servicing? What machine is able to accomplish tasks that aren’t even listed in the user manual? Just think how well your car would respond if you drove in first gear all the time, or on a sandy beach, or filled up with diesel instead of petrol, or carried double the recommended number of passengers? And yet our bodies adapt to all manner of punishment – from disuse to misuse to overuse. We are so much more sophisticated and complex than even the most advanced machine.

There’s another danger in thinking of our bodies as machines. ‘As in the case of most machines,’ Ochsner wrote, ‘adequate care and maintenance is what determines whether the machine functions well and lasts a long time.’ It’s true that a well looked-after body is less likely to break down or wear out than a poorly maintained one. But unlike a machine, which will function with

consistency day and night provided it is regularly serviced, we need rest no matter how good our engine and bodywork. And some of us need more rest than others. Each of us has a unique user manual.

But perhaps the most important limitation to viewing the body as a piece of machinery is that it implies when something malfunctions there will be a singular cause and solution. The only thing you need to do is visit the mechanic, who will diagnose and solve the problem. This ‘fix me’ approach to injuries is misguided.

With a machine, diagnosis reveals the solution. With a human body, diagnosis is just the beginning. With machines, the fault, the reason for it and the fix can be standardised across the board; with humans, all three will vary from person to person.

Take Sally and Ruth, running buddies. Sally’s foot is sore underneath the arch. When Ruth had a sore foot last year, it was plantar fasciitis. The physio (our ‘mechanic’) reckoned it was because Ruth’s calves were tight, and advised her to stretch them daily and wear insoles. The pain vanished. So Sally assumes her foot problem must also be plantar fasciitis, buys some insoles and begins a programme of calf stretching. Nothing happens. Why? Well, perhaps Sally doesn’t have plantar fasciitis – her pain is down to an inflamed posterior tibial tendon or big toe dysfunction. Or perhaps she does have plantar fasciitis, but it’s a result of weak glutes failing to stabilise her gait efficiently, putting additional stress on the plantar fascia.

Sally and Ruth may be the same make, but they aren’t the same model. Accepting this individuality allows us (and our mechanics – doctors, physios and coaches) to account for and appreciate our differences rather than expecting ourselves to respond to training or injury in the same way as our fellow running machines.