- the back half of a giraffe,
- George Jefferson,
- TARS from ‘Interstellar’ (who, along with CASE, are my absolute favorites and the only reason why I continue to watch this movie. That, and when Matt Damon goes Pfft! in that airlock),
- and the angle of list experienced by the Hindenburg as it crashed and burned had a baby,
- the resultant child would be the embodiment of my gait when I walk.
In other words, I am not graceful.
An epiphany from my newly found joy of slow walking: it is just as much exercise as running or fast-walking. I feel the results in my entire body when I get back to the house — the blood pulses through my muscles and I sweat like that container of hot food that you put right in the fridge after I stop moving. However, I don’t look good doing it. The worst is going up hill, because then the aforementioned multifaceted gene pool would have the zoot suit pimp stroll perfected by Denzel Washington and Spike Lee from Malcolm X thrown in.
What had happened was, my legs went on revolt yesterday. In my head, it seemed like a good idea: walk this square and see how far it is: maybe it’ll be 3 miles. I made it to the end of my driveway, then to the corner, then to the stop sign going east and regretted that I’d taken even the first step. My brain screamed, ‘I do not want to do this’ while my legs just kept going. I got to Pine and made a left. I smiled as I passed one of the houses I’d checked out when I was looking to buy: it was being sold by investors who really didn’t want someone like me — someone without cash — to buy it. It looked well cared for and since the view it once had was now obstructed by the new development of monolithic homes, I did not regret that I hadn’t gotten it.
I crept inexorably upward, then across, then down. As I nearly sped, turtle-like, past the junior high, the phrase what goes down must come up came to mind. The angle of descent on this street nearly matched the angle of ascent I would have to endure to get home. But it mattered not. I was going and had by that time passed that point that runners talk about: I didn’t feel discomfort in any of my achy joints and could only feel the breeze I was generating by lumbering along.
What goes down must come up.
While not true in all situations (because, well, gravity), it is ideally true in aspects of life if we want it to be. If I am feeling low, I can find ways to bring back my joy. If I’ve hit a bad patch, I can work like hellfire to get to greener pastures. If I’m down, I can come up, as the Creator allows me — as I quit focusing on the down-below and get to climbing.
Even if I list like the Hindenburg, lean like TARS, and my flat feet point northwest and northeast like George Jefferson while my hips roll like a momma giraffe as I do it.
And in other news, I kicked 3 miles in the tuchas. So there it is.
How was your Monday?