How to Walk Well

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Listen, I know that this is probably discriminatory and all of that, but this blog post is not aimed at people that don’t generally walk with their legs. I know some fine people that use wheels to get around and others who use various combinations of sticks and frames and they (and you) are all wonderful people, but this is not your time to listen. Also not included as the potential audience for this post are things like rocks and plants that don’t get around in the same way that humans do. I mean, sure, rocks get around by getting kicked and plants get mobile by getting themselves put into pots and hanging baskets, but still – this post is not for you.

Happily though, pretty much everything and everyone else is included. Frogs get around in much the same way that humans do, and rockets and cars do pretty much the same.

So, now we’ve laid some ground rules – on with the show.

The first and only rule for How To Walk is to introduce some variety into it. By this I mean that sometimes you need to skip and other times you need to swagger. Sometimes you should consider walking backwards and at other times you can perhaps think on the benefits of walking like crabs do – sideways. Wait now – don’t go. This is not madness. This is absolute common sense. Think about it: stuff wears out, right? After you’ve walked across a grassy field a few dozen times, you’ll notice that you’ve laid down a track. The grass you walk on will get beat down the more often you walk on it. Then it’ll get more sparse. Then it’ll die. This is the wearing process. The same thing happens to joints, muscles, tendons and other stuff in your legs when you do the same things to them day after day. They get worn in certain patterns.

So what, I hear you ask, is the alternative?

Let’s go back to our field of grass. Think about what happens when, every time you go across it, you choose a different route. Here’s what happens – you don’t wear a track. This is because the grass at any particular point has a chance to recover from being trod on. By spreading your footfalls around the grass you bring benefit to the whole field and – bonus – you still get from one side to the other. It’s a true win-win situation.

Similarly, when you vary the way that you walk you give the various components of your legs a rest. You’ll have noticed, perhaps, that walking up hills uses different muscles to walking down them. Your legs ache in different ways according to what you’ve done. In the same way, walking backwards, sideways or forwards use different combinations of tendons, joints and muscles. The more variety you can bring into your gait the more benefit you will bring to yourself and your legs. Make variety in the way you walk a lifetime habit and, chances are, the longer your legs will last.

That’s all for now; I hope you enjoyed what I’ve shared and are able to tune in to future episodes of ‘How To’, but for now – happy walking!

Constant Variety

Someone asked a question this morning: why can’t we constantly experience the bliss of remembering (being with) God? My short answer is: because we’re human.

Every constant experience that humans have eventually gets turned down (reduced in volume) by the brain or the mind. Something called The Law of Diminishing Returns kicks off. In other words: we get bored. And we then want something different to happen.

I once read a book about happiness (push me and I’ll give you the title) that said that we can’t be happy all the time because the effect is produced by a chemical in the brain, and after a while the brain gets kind of immune to the chemical and so, over time, the effect (the happiness) diminishes. It’s a bit like taking heroin (so I’m told) – you need larger and larger doses to get the same ‘hit’.

So, yeah – the mind. Even the most engaging physical sensation loses its charm after a while. An orgasm that lasts forever (or more than a few minutes) becomes tiresome. A meal that starts off being delicious becomes torture as more and more is stuffed into an already full stomach. A soak in the tub becomes a wrinkly (insert your own word – I can’t think of one) after a while, even if you do keep topping up from the hot water tap.

The only thing that we constantly enjoy is variety. If one pleasant experience follows another and is then supplanted by yet another then we can be as happy as the length of our life allows. All we need to do is find a variety of enjoyable things to do.

I’m sure you can do your own search on the internet or in the local library or amongst your social network but here are a few suggestions of my own:

  • Eat something different
  • Sleep somewhere new
  • Read some other genre
  • Find another new friend
  • Move to a different city
  • Love several new …

And the list (mine and yours) goes on.

If you crave constant happiness then don’t be content with what you have. Move, change, break your old cups, throw out all thoughts of your ex-lovers, fly to exotic and erotic destinations etc. etc.

But a quiet word of caution: before, during and after all of this – don’t ever forget your God.


I hate being told what to do. I love … I’ve forgotten what I love. I must not love it half as much as I thought I did, to have forgotten it in such a pococurante manner.

My hates, my hates, my hates – they stick to me like bogies – the kind that refuse to leave my finger no matter how much I flick and flick and flick.

I kid myself that I’d love to be able to make people cry. Like, in books. The kind of writing that tugs the strings of your heart and floods your eyes with tears.

How many tears must we make before we realise that this is not the best way to bring back the things and people that we love?

Gah – enough of this maudlin nonsense.

I straighten my back and raise up my head. I crack my neck and flex my fingers. Looking at the keyboard and then at the screen and then at the room around me and then at the people in that room makes me realise that I had slipped into a world of my own. A place inside my head that bears little relation to the reality of here and now.

It’s so easy to fall into a funk that I wonder whether this is not the most natural state of being. Of course, it isn’t. The most natural state is that in which we scan the environment for danger and avoid it if it approaches. But our lives are now so safe that there’s no need to do that anymore.

We sit in sanitised surroundings so free from snakes and bears that we can relax and fanny around with the thoughts inside our minds as if they were important. Then we share permutations of these things with the world. Things that we imagine might shock our grandmothers, but probably wouldn’t. Things that would probably make the people around us laugh and laugh (but not in a good way) if, by accident (or design), they were to be looking over our shoulders. Reading our words.

These words.
This stylistic salmagundi.
This bowl of nonsense we proffer.
I offer.

Like I said – enough of this nonsense.