Here’s an example of taking things to nature. There is something to be said about how much we’ve disconnected ourselves from the real world when one considers the extent to which we’ve even forgotten how to walk. Nobody walks correctly anymore, and we generally face an inevitable fate of joint problems, from the ankles upward, even through the spine to the base of the skull, particularly if one does a harder form of motivation, such as running or other high-impact sports.
In the old days, before cars, Nikes, and sidewalks, natives had been walking correctly—globally—as a matter of course. Nature teaches the body what it needs to do to be the most efficient and effective for surivival, for when going to the refrigerator is not an option for complacent snacking, and turning up the thermostat or jumping into the car weren’t even a consideration, people had to walk for a living. Now, we ride everything everywhere, and walking seems to be increasingly passé. When people walk, it’s typically a short distance on a very flat and unforgiving surface, which is mitigated by all manner of footwear. Walking now is an entity in and of itself, a faddish concept, part of a routine scheduled in a chunk of a day as a means of “staying fit.” It usually involves a large facility with a track, or could even be in a room in a house with a television—or, God forbid, not without an iPod. Far be it from anyone to experience the monotony of walking on a machine for twenty minutes without that life-saving technology to distract the mind. Then there are the shoes. There are actually people out there who wonder how the natives ever managed to survive without so many of the amenities we have available in our infantile dream-world. How did they ever manage to walk or run everywhere in moccasins, let alone barefoot? Native mail runners used to cover a hundred miles or more in a single day on foot. They didn’t have technologically advanced, aerodynamic, air-pumping, anti-odorant, spring-loaded sneakers, either. Guess what: They also weren’t crippled with knee injuries, hip injuries, and spinal fusions. The natives used their feet and legs in the way that nature intended.
It drives me bananas seeing people out there in their Lycra suits with windbreakers and six-thousand dollar sneakers—don’t forget the iPod—running up the paved street on their heels. Our sidewalks and blacktops have created a world virtually free of roots, rocks, sticks, debris, and holes. Granted, in some of the less-attentive cities and well-used towns, there are potholes or frost-heaves here and there, but the travel-ways are relatively obstacle free and smooth when compared to the natural landscape. In the real world, however, all of those toe-stubbing, ankle-twisting hazards created a sense of awareness in the people closely connected to the land. They needed to be highly conscious of where they stepped, not only to avoid a brittle stick that could betray their presence to game animals, but also to avoid anything that may become a little irritated at being stepped on and may retaliate with venom.
Walking was done with deliberation. It was an experience that involved all of the senses and some physical control. This is one of the most effective and important ways to develop total awareness. Walking meant moving quite slowly, imperceptibly at times, and blending with the surroundings to the point of being virtually invisible. Anyone who’s experienced the amazing ability of ungulates—hard-hoofed animals such as moose, deer, and the like—to utterly vanish like ghosts, becoming silent and invisible while only a handful of yards away, can appreciate the art of walking correctly as a matter of survival. Anyone who’s developed joint problems, or who has been walking across the lawn and suddenly dropped heel-first into a depression that jars the entire spine might appreciate how walking and running correctly could have saved them the trouble, as well. It’s actually humorous to me to watch people crash into things—or each other—because modern walking is a process of absent commitment to steps perpetuated by momentum. Natural walking means being able to stop on a dime, handy when one has small children, pets, or goes to places where the rest of you modern-walk.
Natives used to carry themselves in a position called Dog-body as a matter of course, as well. Where most modern people move around in a manner of: heel-ball-toe, heel-ball-toe; the natives moved in a fashion of: toe-ball-heel, toe-ball-heel. Any good martial artist or dancer SHOULD be familiar with this concept, but that’s not always the case, either. In fact, there’s another “acid-test” to see whether your instructors are old-school and worth their salt, or whether they are Xeroxed entrepreneurs with the franchise mindset. If they don’t even know how to walk correctly, pretty good chance you’re being taken.
Think about the design of your foot. Think about the design of your dog’s or cat’s foot, too. Ever notice that your pets walk on their toes? Did you ever consider that there’s a valid reason for that? Those animals are called digitigrade walkers. That means they are designed to be fast runners or rapid-fire pouncers, and they actually never touch their heels to the ground unless they are sitting. Even when a cat is about to jump six times its own height, the heels don’t touch the ground; they come close, but not quite—well, unless your cat is obese. Cats and dogs walk on what would equal our own toes and ball-mount. Bears and porcupines, however—the wide-bodied animals—are called plantigrade walkers. This means that their heels are involved in their foot placement; however, the contact is minimal upon impact, unlike the human’s, who’s is devastating. We are plantigrade walkers, but we even do that wrong.
Imagine that your foot is like a diving-board from the ankle to the toes. You can flap your foot up and down, just like some little person is bouncing on your instep getting ready to do a great belly-flop into the pool. When you stand on your toes and ball-mount, you flex your calf, utilizing that ankle as a fulcrum. This gives you spring and power on push-off, but it also acts as a natural shock-absorber upon impact. When a roomful of ballet dancers leap across the floor, they should not be landing in a way that suggests the bounding of elephants. Instead, they should sound similar to a group of feral cats landing with stealth and relative silence. (I say “feral” cats here because I know that some house-cats do sound like elephants now, particularly when they can access their vittles anytime they wish throughout the strenuous days of napping.) This stealth is accomplished by landing toe-ball-heel. When you walk or run, you should be utilizing your natural shock-absorbers in this manner. Your impact should be mollified in your ball-mount, translated through your “diving-board” into your calf, then further absorbed into your thighs and gluteals. In doing this, you will eventually notice that your calves tone quite nicely, and you will notice much less strain on your entire back. Walking is similar, in that your landing should be plantigrade, incorporating your heel, but the majority of the impact should be taken with most of your weight on your toes and ball-mount first. There are, further, many different styles of walking, as well, but that can be for another essay or workshop.
Now, if you take that theoretical diving-board and place it up on its end on the pool-deck or patio—in other words, standing it upright--then you sit up on the high end and bounce up and down on your tailbone, how is that going to feel? Since there is no springiness translated through the board lengthwise, as there was laterally, the impact will be excruciating. This is similar to the way modern humans walk. Landing on the heel directly shocks the heel-bone and translates up the tibia and fibula to the knee. Walking is a very complicated series of starts and stops, so consider that when we slam our heels into the concrete, we actually lock our knees for a split second, which means that the impact further translates up our femur into our hips and lower back. This can actually cause shock to ripple all the way up into the base of the skull. Just try jumping in one spot a few times, landing only on your heels with locked knees. Where do you feel it? That’s how you walk, too, believe it or not. The military calls this “marching.”
Walking correctly actually implies slowing down, as well. But our society is so enamored with speeding everywhere all the time, that slowing down has to be scheduled. Regardless, this is one of the most basic and essential examples of how disconnected we are from reality, from our roots and core purpose. When we take our ideas, practices, and bodies into the natural world, we see the reality of what is viable and what is not. Nature is the carpenter’s level, and it is clear that we are straying very far away from it.
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