Do not regret growing older. It is a privilege denied to many.
-Mark Twain
Shortly after getting back from Switzerland, my back went into excruciating spasm. There was a good six weeks this summer when I did little more than walk just enough so Waldo could poop and pee. At my age, you lose physical conditioning really fast, so for a few additional weeks I needed to get back into things a little gingerly. I wasn’t surprised, then, when it took me two and a half hours to walk our usual six miles as opposed to our previous time of two and a quarter hours. But that was four months ago and I’m feeling pretty good. Still, my leisurely pace is two and a half hours for six miles. What the hell?
Back in the day, I used to do quite a bit of running. I found that my pace (a blindingly fast nine minutes per mile) was limited by my ability to blow off CO2. If I pushed it faster than that, I would run out of breath and would have to slow down, or stop, to catch it. But at nine minutes per mile, I could go on forever and could run ten, or even twelve, miles without stop. Walking has no such limitation. I might breathe a little harder if I were to pick up the pace, but things are still within my physiological ability to keep it up.
Four legged critters can vary the order in which they move their legs and that can change how fast they can go. I tried watching Waldo to see in what sequence he puts paw to ground, but I couldn’t do it. There were just too many things moving too fast for me to figure it out. I’m sure, like a horse, he has a walking, a trotting, a canter and a gallop sequence.
For four legged animals, steps always begin with the hind legs. They provide the power strokes, pushing the animal forward. If we number the legs of a horse, starting with the right rear leg, then working around clockwise, the left rear would be number two, the left front number three, and the right front number four. At their walking pace, horses walk in a four-beat side to side motion: foot one hits the ground, then foot four (same side), the side changes with foot two, followed by foot three (same side), then foot one again and so on. So, a walk has the sequence of one, four, two, three, repeat.
A horse in a trot has a two-beat diagonal pattern. Two feet hit the ground at the same time and the other two at a different time. For example, hoofs one and three hit the ground (right rear and left front) and then two and four (left rear and right front).
A horse in a canter has a diagonal three beat pace. It’s like a trot except only one pair of diagonal feet hit the ground at the same time. For example, one and three, followed by foot two and then foot four. This allows the horse to move a little faster.
A gallop is a four-beat pace, with one, then the other, of the hind feet hitting the ground, followed by one, then the other, of the fore feet (one, two followed by four, three). This gate allows the horse to flex his back in a bow and he uses his massive back muscles as well as his leg muscles to propel himself forward. Of all the gaits, this is the easiest to see as first the back legs hit the ground, then the horse’s back unbends like a huge spring, followed by the forelegs hitting the ground way out in front. The forelegs then rush backward, sometimes between the hind legs as they reach forward, bowing the back and compressing the spring, preparing for the next lunge forward by the back legs.
These patterns are not universal for all four-legged animals. Camels and giraffes don’t have a trot-gait and their walking pace is unusual. They walk side to side in a two-beat walk, moving legs one and four together, then two and three together. I can attest from personal experience that this gives a rider a definite side to side sway in the saddle, as if asea, rocking in the waves. Ships of the desert, indeed. Camels and giraffes do gallop, though. I’m absolutely sure, even though I can’t see it very well, that Waldo is more like a horse than a camel.
Having only two legs, my options are a bit more limited. Unless I were to hop, I only have one choice – left, right, left right. I’ve played around with trying to move my legs more rapidly versus making each step longer and have found that the latter makes the miles go underfoot more quickly. Experimenting, I’ve found that the best way to increase my stride length is by consciously leaning forward more. This puts my center of gravity forward, forcing me to increase my stride to keep from falling. I can also swing my hips to make my stride longer, but that also requires I move my center of gravity forward to keep from falling. By doing both, I can, without too much effort, reduce my time per mile from twenty-five minutes per mile (two and a half hours for six miles) to twenty minutes per mile (two hours for six miles) and if I push it really hard, I can do seventeen-minute miles (one hour and forty-two minutes for six miles).
I think what must have happened was that I leaned back just a bit and shortened my stride unconsciously to ease my back pain. That became a habit and I now must retrain myself.
It’s either that, or admit to myself that I’m just getting old(er).