Walk It Off

I’m trying on a new walk.

A few days ago, I caught a reflective glimpse of something while walking towards a nondescript office picture. The picture is one of those generic serene-sail-boats-moored-in-the-pastel-harbor scenes that you never notice except when your own motion shifts the light and shadows of the image causing you to look deeper into the picture for the source of the ghostly movement. A quick inspection revealed the masculine, well proportioned, brimming with smartocity* phantom to be…me.

As with any reflective surface, I paused, thought about combing my hair but then suddenly pulled a Fonzie and put the comb away. Did Da Vinci “touch up” the Mona Lisa after slapping some paint on canvas and kicking it out the door? Don’t think so. And there’s another Basic Tenet of Nitmoism: "If it’s good enough for Da Vinci, it’s good enough for me.”

Normally, I’m carrying a coffee cup, important papers, or an undeserved sense of entitlement when I glide through the office. Bearing these burdens, I’m fairly well weighted down forcing my movement to be confined to typical Mr. Khaki Pant Wearing Office Guy. Without this restriction, my arms were going crazy. I was flopping them back and forth like I had ski poles attached and pumping for the home stretch in a cross country ski competition. How did I get so…jaunty? I’ve refined a legendary office hallway scowl that keeps my co-workers at bay and unnecessary stories of offspring accomplishments away from my desk. (The snot rocket isn’t just for running, I always say.) This whole happy go lucky strut I had going on would ruin all of the carefully constructed badwill I had built up over the years.

So, it’s time for a new walk. I was getting tired of the old one anyway. Besides, I want one that has a little dipsy doo in it to give me some white suburbia gangsta street cred.** The kind of street cred that says ‘Yeah, I’m probably just your average thirty something family man but maybe – just maybe – I’m stewing crystal meth in the garage.’ So, I’ve slowed down and put in a little delayed drag of my left shoulder and hip giving me an irregular, offbeat cadence. It looks cool. It looks suspiciously crystal methy. And decidedly anti-pumpkin.*** Mission accomplished.

So what does all of this have to do with running? About as much as dancing cartoon elephants have to do with a true portrayal of drunken visions. That is, not much. Has anyone actually deliriously envisioned dancing elephants when plastered? If Warner Bros. can pull that off, then I can make this connection between my new awesome walk and running injuries.

You see, my right hip hurts now. It didn’t before my new walk. I remember hearing that the #1 problem with running while injured is that, unconsciously, you tend to favor the injury, subtly modifying your normal gait. In the end, this often leads to a second, sometimes more severe injury than what you had to begin with. This is why the normal recommendation, when presented with a minor injury, is to take a break and treat it. Your left calve injury may lead to a left hip injury as you tried to adjust the pressure to a different part of your leg. Compounding, compounding, compounding….Great for your savings, bad for your body.

I think I’ll follow my own terrific advice and go back to my normal office strut though with a little less jaunt. I’ll also make sure to have something in my hands from now on.

As for the anti-pumpkin vibe I’d still like to emit? I’m working on my “F*ck Pumpkins” signs right now. Join the club.

Happy trails.


* In case you are wondering, smartocity does reflect.
** I probably should stop saying “dipsy doo” then, right?
*** Excuse me for saying but a true “vegetable” doesn’t double as a light fixture.
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Steer Mike completed Dance With Dirt over the weekend. As did Lisa. Check out their reports.

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Mrs. Nitmos and I passed the lucky 13th anniversary threshold Tuesday. You may give her your condolences if you wish though I think she's spectacularly lucky. I'd love to be married to me. Happy Anniversary, hon!