13 September 2009
Noticed today, since I've always walked with a barely perceptible limp (slight scoliosis) how funny it is when I have also pulled a muscle in my leg. Sometimes it's a strain from salsa lessons or something of its ridiculous ilk. Usually from other, less organised forms of dancing that take place at various shindigs. Walking down the street all I can do is concentrate on my every step. The pain barrier is easily overcome, the next target is to overcome the new limp that creates itself on some kind of chaos theory. The muscles rebel against the control centre of the brain and throw out a foot; sharp angle to the hip, askew from the knee, a silly hobble. To combat the rebellion, I try to walk slower and urge muscles to comply to a smoother, more gracious gait. I force the toe in instead of out, overcompensating with a pigeon-toe effect. I look around casually, checking to see if anybody of note has witnessed my seasick elephant swagger. Elderly gents overtake me at crossings, quickly I check if the barista in the window has spied this. He nods hello. This neighbourhood is a bloody village. The springtime wind ruffles my hair into a bird nest of tangles, I'm wearing Andrei's coffee-stained jumper. I switch shopping bag to the 'good side' to level out the wonkiness and shuffle home slowly.