Wednesday, October 24, 2007
The Joy of Movement - Oct 25
My father taught me a lesson in creative movement that I will never forget. When I was about 12 years old, my father's knees troubled him, preventing running from being his primary vehicle for exercise. Undaunted, he created a kind of squatting duck-walk that was every bit as aerobic and worked the quads much more than the patellar tendon. I was mortified. I was entering middle school and my father was so uncool - in public!
In recent years, my knees have troubled me also. Unable to run (or do much else) in the dreary Boston winter, I worked out a cemetery routine. Forest Hills Cemetery, directly behind our street, became the forum for hurdles over bushes, invisible chair squats against the walls and dips using adjacent headstones.
Last weekend, I was feeling pretty down. On Friday, my leg throbbed quite a bit, and I spent most of the day in bed. I woke up Saturday dreading a repeat. Finally, it occurred to me that I could be creative with movement. I turned on some jam music - live Poi Dog Pondering - then tossed about on my bed for two hours. I kicked my feet over the bed, created a rowing maching out of an elastic band and did lying down squats on the wall. The joy of movement. Without being active, I felt like Samson having his hair cut off - lost and powerless.
After this spark, Melissa contributed another one. She brought the bike trainer out and hooked up my road bike. Okay, so I wasn't spinning very fast, and my ankle hurt a bit. But I was moving and alive.