Week two of the magic challenge, where I have to perform a trick for a different person every day, for 30 days.
It was Sunday the 8th of April. There was an Easter Egg hunt in the park, so we took my daughter. While she napped, I figured that I would do a quick trip to the gym.
Just some light deadlifts.
The old back was tight, but I wasn’t going to go heavy. Just enough weight to get the blood flowing. What’s the worst that could happen, right?
So I load the bar, start pulling deadlifts. The back gets tighter after my first set. So what do I do?
Why, load some more weight, Pinky!
Somewhere between reps 3 and 4, I felt what can only be described as …a pop.
A gunshot of pain up and down my back. I dropped to my knees and could not move. Every way that I tried to turn, electric shocks pulsed through my system. I couldn’t straighten up, couldn’t lay down. I was a statue, frozen in pain.
This statue gave and in and had to ask for help.
Next thing you know, he’s being carted out on a stretcher. The gym version of the walk of shame. It’s so shameful that he has to write this paragraph in third person.
Next, we’re in the ambulance.
As the paramedic ran through his intake questions; as shooting pain electrocuted me with every bump; before I even considered texting my wife…
…a single thought drilled into my mind…
How the hell am I gonna do my magic challenge today?
“Mr Shenderovich, do you have a history of back injuries?”
“Not really, nothing this bad…hey, this is gonna sound weird, but can you just name a playing card?” The rest of the ambulance ride, I was improvising card tricks, agony be damned. The magic challenge lived another day, even though I barely did.
_
I was checked out later that night. A few slipped discs and a healthy dose of Oxycodone. I waddled to bed, and in bed I’d remain for a week.
The pain was not improving. The challenge was looking bleak.
The rules are clear: one new person every day. Every. Single. Day. No repeats*. And NO EXCEPTIONS.
My mom came over the next day to help, so she was a new mark.
My sister visited the day after that. Check.
Day three and I was still bedridden …and panicking. Suddenly I remembered the small leak in the toilet handle. Shucks, we’ll need the building handyman to come take a look. Mr Handyman, can I show you a card trick?
Next, I resorted to guilt tactics. I texted my group chats. “Dear friends, I’m oh-so-seriously injured and need to see a friendly face for support. This may be the end for me…” …for my magic challenge, I muttered under my breath as I hit send.
Carefully I coordinated the group of vict…friends so that exactly one visited me per day. No more, never more than one.
The pain wasn’t improving, but I had a specialist visit later that week. Excellent, I too am a specialist. In magic.
At one point, I couldn’t tell what was giving me more anxiety: the unyielding back pain, or the daily challenge.
But the challenge survived another week.
Week 3
The following week was PT.
I’m sitting in the PT waiting room, thinking about one of my favorite magicians: an old Vaudevillian named Cardini. He was an English Gentleman whose stage persona was of a slightly intoxicated man trying to escape the magic that was inexplicable happening at hIm.
Out of his control, a nightmare of cards, balls, cigarettes would appear at his gloved fingertips. No matter how he tried to get rid of them, they’d continue to appear. It was a funny act, but mildly terrifying. A haunting magic curse, kind of like my challenge.
That act developed unintentionally. Cardini, then Richard Pitchford, was serving in the trenches of World War 1. He’d wear gloves because of the cold. The old cards in his hands would be clumping and sticking. No matter, he kept shuffling and manipulating them to stay sane. He accidentally developed a dozen different card moves that could be done with a gloved hand, something that was considered impossible before then.
Then he got himself shot and ended up in a hospital. A different kind of bullet catch. When he came to, the first thing that he asked for was his card deck.
The nurse was sure that he had lost his mind, another case of shell shock from the trenches.
But if it shut him up, they’d give him the cards. He sat and practiced his moves with the cards. Another nurse noticed that his preoccupation with the deck was speeding up his recovery. He was getting better at a miraculous pace.
She took note of that, and started experimenting with similar occupational approaches to recovery. Inspired by Cardini, she’d go on to co-create the medical discipline of Occupational Therapy, a form of PT.
I’d never felt more connected to Cardini. I wondered if I too would inspire the world to be a better place with my challenge.
More importantly, I kept the streak alive.
It was week three, and magic was helping to pull me out of the rut. Forcing me to do the exercises and follow the treatment plan – if for no other reason than to be mobile enough to keep feeding new people into the magic machine.
Every day I narrowly avoided disaster. I could kick the oxy’s, but I wouldn’t kick the challenge.
To quote the wonderfully weird Jeff McBride: “magic is good medicine.”
Next week — Jake gets punched in the face.
PS – looking to hire a corporate magician for your NY or Zoom event? Consider hiring your humble author – visit vlad.blog to learn more!
* Note – You can repeat the challenge for the same person, but only after a two week ‘refresh’ period. Arbitrary rule number 8 of the challenge.
Cardini Video. Inebriated and no control over the magic nightmare:
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