A few years back, I tore my hamstring

A few years back, I tore my hamstring.

It did not go all the way through, but it hurt like hell, so I went to the ER. The doctor told me it would take 8–12 weeks to recover and that I should not even think about walking for at least two weeks. Then he handed me a script for the largest box of benzos I had ever seen, sixty of them.

I asked if they were dangerous or addictive. He grinned and said, “No, they are lots of fun. Take two a day.” I asked if I really needed that many. He told me I could just take what I needed and either use the rest “recreationally” or sell them to someone who would pay for them.

With images of Jordan Peterson floating through my mind, I took my first benzo. To my surprise, it was awful. I like the way my brain works, and if I am going to mess with it, it will be with a stimulant that makes it run faster and longer, not something that puts it in slow motion. The next day I took one more benzo, then closed the box forever.

Sure, it is handy to keep a few heavy-duty painkiller–muscle relaxant–tranquilizer types in the first aid kit for emergencies. But for me, the effect was so unpleasant that addiction was impossible. I hated it.

As for recovery? I went home and started stretching the hamstring as far as I could without risking further damage, kept it warm with a heating pad, and massaged it with a massage gun. By day two, I could put weight on it. By day three, I was walking without crutches. By the end of the week, I was back to deadlifting.

Moral of the story: heat and stretching beat benzos every time.