The day I stopped being Pinocchio

To me the body was a wooden table.

That's how it felt.

The hip was a fixed block. The back another. The sternum another. Like pieces of furniture assembled without movement.

Like Pinocchio.

The idea that there could be movement inside the hip didn't register. It was like a car part. A bolt that's out of place and you put it back and then it works.

That was the idea I had.

I had pain in my sternum. Constant. Like a knife lodged there for so long that my brain had normalized it.

It was no longer pain.

It was part of me.

And then, during a session with Josep Castellà, something happened that I didn't expect.

He was working and suddenly I noticed for the first time that he was touching a vertebra. I could feel that the vertebra was rotated. That the spinous process was sticking out more toward the left. There was a palpable bump.

Years there.

No one had found it.

And then Josep, like an aikido master, with total precision and a half-turn, put it back in place.

Without causing any harm.
Without cracking.
Without any kind of aggression.
Very subtly.

And the sternum pain disappeared.

Not gradually.

Disappeared.

It never bothered me again.

That was a revelation to me.

Not because the pain went away. That alone was already something.

But because I understood that the body is not what I thought it was.

It's not a rigid machine.
It's not a collection of parts.
It's not Pinocchio.

It's something alive. Dynamic. Constantly reorganizing itself. And it can change with a precision that has nothing to do with force.

It's something magnificent that most people have never had the chance to feel.

I fell in love with that art.

And I couldn't understand that it existed. That the solution had been there all along. And that I had spent seven years going in circles with pain without anyone finding it.

That day I stopped being Pinocchio.

That shift in perception changed my entire life.