Skip to main content

Practiced Hands: The 50-Year Warranty

What Doc Burch Taught Me About Staying Active.

We talk a lot about "life hacks" these days, but most of them don’t have a very long shelf life. Usually, they’re forgotten by the next app update.

But back in 1972, I received a piece of advice that came with a 50-year warranty. It’s the reason I’m still on my bike today, still chasing a golf ball around Carlsbad, and still—mostly—in one piece.

The Kick That Changed Everything

It started with a literal kick in the pants. A kid at school in Cuba, Illinois, was joking around and caught me just right. By the next morning, my lower back was screaming. My mom didn’t reach for the Tylenol; she reached for her car keys.

"Let’s go see Doc Burch," she said. "He’ll fix you right up."

Harry E. Burch, D.C., was a fixture in Lewistown. He’d graduated from Palmer College in ’59 and had been our family’s go-to for years. He was a man of practiced hands and steady eyes. After a quick exam and an X-ray, the mood in the room shifted.

"It’s not just a misalignment, Patrick," he told me. "You have Spondylolisthesis."

To a teenager, that sounded like a terminal diagnosis. Essentially, my lower vertebrae were playing fast and loose with my spinal cord. One bad trauma could mean paralysis.

The Fork in the Road

The specialists in Peoria confirmed it and offered the standard 1970s solution: a spinal fusion surgery. Back then, that was a massive, dangerous undertaking with a long, uncertain recovery.

Doc Burch offered a different path.

"Yes, it can be fixed with surgery," he said. "But if you follow a few simple guidelines, keep your weight down, and stay disciplined, I believe we can keep this under control for your entire lifetime."

I chose the discipline. And for over 50 years, I’ve carried his operating manual for my body in my back pocket.

The Burch Protocol (Circa 1972)

If you’re looking for "wisdom from experience," this is it. These four pillars have allowed me to lead a high-activity life without a single day of chronic back pain:

  • Build Your Own Brace: Strengthen your core, back, and stomach. If your muscles are strong, your spine doesn't have to do all the heavy lifting.

  • Motion is Lotion: Walk, swim, or cycle. (Doc was an early advocate for the bike!)

  • Avoid the Pavement Pound: He warned me off long-distance running decades before it became trendy. "It’s hard on the joints, Patrick. Find a smoother ride."

  • Stay in Balance: Don't wait for the "big pop." Adjust when things feel off.

A Legacy of Movement

I originally wrote this post in 2015, when Doc Burch retired after 55 years of service. He passed away in 2022, but I still hear his voice every morning when I’m stretching before a ride.

In our "Great Un-Working" years, we realize that our health isn't just about luck—it's about the quality of the advice we chose to follow years ago. Doc Burch didn't just save me from surgery; he gave me the next five decades of movement.

His dedicated service to Central Illinois was exemplary, but his impact on my life was immeasurable.

How about you? We all have that one person—a doctor, a teacher, a mentor—who gave us a "golden rule" we’re still following decades later. I’d love to hear about yours in the comments.

We've moved - On the Fly on Substack for my latest writing. 

Comments

Most Popular of All Time

Sunflowers, French Steel, and the Yellow Jersey

Watching Le Tour de France this year, I found myself transported back to August 1983 as the Peloton in Stage 10, Bastille Day, flowed through the French countryside like a brightly colored ribbon. I was in my twenties, visiting family in the Charente-Maritime region of France, completely obsessed with bicycle racing—and convinced I was much stronger than I was. My connection to cycling—and to France—runs deep. I was born in France, and my very first real road bike, at age fifteen, was a Mercier . To me, it wasn’t just a bicycle; it was a work of art made from beautiful French steel. I rode that bike for miles, through high school, into college, and until the day someone decided they needed it more than I did. I hope they at least appreciated the craftsmanship. Its untimely disappearance led me to a Schwinn Voyageur, and later, when I started racing around Illinois, to a Raleigh Competition . But during that summer of ’83, while staying with my Uncle Jean Paul in Lagord, just north of L...

The Yellow Legal Pad

In this episode, the Art of Refiring July 1st is staring me in the face, less than two weeks away. For years, retirement seemed like something that happened to other people. Suddenly, it's on my calendar. I've been thinking a lot about the dreaded "R-word" lately. Not because I'm worried about having enough to do. Quite the opposite. What fascinates me is this strange paradox: Why does retirement make so many of us nervous, while having a job—even one that regularly drives us crazy—somehow feels comforting? Let's be honest. Most of us spend years complaining about meetings that should have been emails, reply-all disasters, impossible deadlines, and that one coworker who insists on microwaving leftover fish in the breakroom. Yet when the idea of walking away finally arrives, we hesitate. I think I've figured out why. A career isn't just a job. It's a highly structured coping mechanism. For forty-plus years, somebody else has basically decided what I...

The Big Rip and the First Tee

The telescope (Celestron) sits quietly under its cover, temporarily blinded by Southern California's annual meteorological hostage situation – June Gloom. Somewhere above that thick gray ceiling, photons that began their journey before humans appeared are streaming across the cosmos, only to be intercepted by a marine layer that seems to have veto power over astronomy. Instead of observing the universe, I find myself imagining – The End of Everything (Astrophysically Speaking) by physicist Katie Mack. According to modern cosmology, the universe may eventually end in a Big Rip, a Big Crunch, Heat Death, Vacuum Decay, or some other catastrophe that sounds suspiciously like a rejected heavy-metal album title. Astrophysicists spend their careers calmly discussing the possibility that reality itself could suddenly cease to exist because a quantum field had a bad day. It's a remarkable way to start a Saturday morning. One moment you're contemplating the ultimate fate of spacetime...

Rediscovering the Magic of Summer . . .

Summer mornings, especially on a holiday weekend, have a special magic. The air is cool, the world quiet, and the day full of possibilities. This July 4th weekend, Lori and I decided to capture a bit of that magic by beating the holiday traffic with an early morning bicycle ride. We went through our usual pre-flight checklist: Stretched out the morning stiffness. Filled the water bottles. Strapped on the helmets. Checked the tires. Three tires passed inspection. The fourth had apparently declared independence. The rear tire on my e-bike was flatter than a Kansas highway. “Well, it looks like we’re not riding today,” Lori said, with the calm acceptance of someone who had already mentally promoted coffee to the day’s main event. “Why not?” I replied. “I’ll ride my old bike.” She gave me that look —the one that safely translates as, "Are you sure about this? " “Absolutely,” I said. “Why not?” I dragged the bike stand out and surveyed my options. One glance at the aggressive gear...