Podiatrist · Specialist in Biomechanics · Founder of VOLKAN
"The body never asked us to dominate it. It always asked us to learn to listen to it, understand it, and collaborate with it."
"What do I have broken?"
It is, probably, the first question that many people ask when pain appears.
What muscle?
What tendon?
What bone?
What structure is failing?
It is not a bad question.
For many years, medicine has saved millions of lives precisely because it has learned to identify damaged tissues and treat them.
But, over time, I realized that this question, while important, was often insufficient.
Because even when we find the affected structure, there is still a much more interesting question.
What is the organism trying to do to protect itself, adapt, or recover?
At that moment, the conversation changes.
We stop looking solely for a breakdown.
We begin to understand a response.
A machine is repaired. An organism learns.
If a watch stops working, we change a part.
If a car breaks a belt, we replace it.
We expect that, after the repair, everything returns exactly to the previous state.
Our body works differently.
When a bone heals a fracture, it does not place a new part.
It builds living tissue.
When a tendon adapts to training, it reorganizes its fibers.
When the brain learns a movement, it modifies neural connections.
Nothing remains exactly the same.
Biology does not repair by copying.
Biology transforms.
The body never stops negotiating.
There’s something that fascinates me about the human organism.
It never stops making decisions.
While we walk, it decides how to distribute weight.
While we sleep, it reorganizes tissues.
After a injury, it modifies movement strategies.
As we age, it seeks new ways to maintain balance.
Even when pain appears, the body is not stopping to function.
It is trying to solve a problem with the information and resources available at that moment.
It does not always get it right.
But it always participates.
And that difference completely changes the way we understand health.
Listening does not mean obeying.
Sometimes the idea of listening to the body is misinterpreted.
Some people think it means stopping any activity at the slightest discomfort.
Others think just the opposite.
That we should ignore any signal and keep going.
Neither of the extremes tends to be helpful.
Listening implies something different.
Observing.
Interpreting.
Understanding.
Making decisions.
Exactly like we do during a conversation with someone we respect.
The body does not need blind obedience.
It needs dialogue.
Collaborating requires trust.
When we distrust the body, any sensation can become a threat.
Every step is analyzed.
Every discomfort generates concern.
Every movement feels like an exam.
However, when we understand how the body works, something changes.
We continue paying attention.
But we stop living in constant alert.
Trust does not eliminate difficulties.
It allows us to navigate them in a different way.
And that trust is built with knowledge, experience, and movement.
Not with promises.
What does this have to do with barefoot?
A lot.
For many years, barefoot has been presented as a solution.
I prefer to understand it as a conversation.
A type of footwear that allows the foot to participate more.
To receive more information.
To take on functions it is prepared for when the circumstances allow.
It does not automatically make anyone healthier.
It does not perform miracles.
It simply facilitates a different collaboration between the body and the environment.
And that collaboration only makes sense when we respect the pace of each person's adaptation.
Because the protagonist has never been the shoe.
It has always been the organism.
What I see every day in consultation
After years of practice, there is something that moves me especially.
It does not happen when a pain disappears.
Or when a patient runs again.
Not even when they regain mobility.
It happens when they change the way they talk about their body.
When they stop saying:
"My foot is failing me."
And they start to say:
"I think I now understand what it was trying to tell me."
That moment is worth much more than any examination.
Because the treatment no longer depends solely on me.
It starts to become part of the person themselves.
And that is, probably, the greatest goal of any healthcare professional.
What you can do starting today
The next time a discomfort, a limitation, or a new sensation appears, try to change just one phrase.
Instead of thinking:
"What part of my body is failing?"
Ask yourself:
"What is my body trying to do to adapt to this situation?"
You may not find the answer immediately.
But that question completely changes the relationship with the organism.
Because it stops seeing it as an enemy.
It starts to see it as a partner.
🔬 In one sentence
The body does not need us to fight against it. It needs us to understand how it tries to protect us, adapt, and keep moving forward.
The most important idea
Throughout this book we have talked about feet, muscles, tendons, joints, balance, pain, barefoot, and movement.
But, in reality, all those topics pointed to the same conclusion.
The human body is not a machine made up of independent parts that need to be repaired one by one.
It is a living, dynamic, and extraordinarily adaptable organism.
Its strength does not lie in perfection.
It lies in its ability to learn, reorganize, and find new solutions to the challenges that life presents.
When we understand that, we stop asking ourselves only how to correct a problem.
We start asking ourselves how to help the organism make better use of its own resources.
And perhaps that is the essence of health.
Not to control the body.
But to learn to collaborate with it.
A question to reflect on
Think about the way you talk about your body.
Do you treat it like a machine that must obey you… or like a companion with whom you have spent a lifetime learning to coexist?
Perhaps the answer will change much more than your way of moving.
In the next article…
There is only one step left.
It will not be a chapter on biomechanics.
It will be a farewell.
A conversation between author and reader.
A moment to look back and discover that, since the first chapter, we have never been searching for the perfect shoe, the perfect foot, or the perfect movement.
We have been searching for something much more valuable.
A different way of understanding the body.
And I believe that last chapter can close the book with an idea that the reader will remember for many years:
"The greatest discovery of this journey has not been learning how the foot works. It has been discovering what the human being is capable of when it stops fighting against its body and starts walking alongside it."