At some point, I don’t know precisely when, I started to care
about my bad posture. When you have an oversized head as a child that will do
it. As a boy I was mocked for my walk. I hung my heavy head, arched my back and
took long strides. Father John was the inside family joke. You look like a farmer
striding over rows of half-grown corn.
It wasn’t as though I was proud of my walk. But what to do.
It was my walk. I may as try to change the way I talked. Or laughed; wasn’t a
walk what you were born with?
But running changed my walk. If I were going to go far (and
stay well with blood circulating to the busted valves of my damaged left leg),
I’d convinced myself I had not only to run but to run long and fast. That meant
I had to pay attention to where my head was as I moved. Too far forward and I’d
labor too much, lose speed. I took up tai chi for awhile in my late twenties
and learned about core strength, about the idea of a spine being lifted up from
above as if you were a puppet held up on a string by a gentle
power who seeks only the right thing for you, a power that you can trust.
Good posture is core. Hips drop down and feet move apart,
shoulders go square, and even though I’m close to forty years from my bad
posture days, my head still disproportionately large compared to the rest of my
body, strength in my other muscles, my core, compensates. That twelve pounds of
brain, bone and flesh sits squarely on my shoulders, and to date I’m still running
for my life without any pain in my neck, back, hips, knees or ankles.
Believe me, core principles are worth heeding.
Next: Running for
Your Life: Reward Yourself
