Talk Back: Long live the couch potato
Every journey begins with a single step. And that’s where we generally stop. Otherwise, terrible things tend to happen. Perhaps we’re just accident prone, but from where we stand, it seems someone’s always out to get us. Like the time a guy hollered our names just as we started to walk down the sidewalk and we turned to look because we didn’t want him thinking we were snobs — or deef — just as we were taking that second step.
And bashed smack dab into a metal signpost that had suddenly jumped out in front of us.
Bad enough that it happened just as Nelson came riding by on his bike, pointed, and did his “Haw-haw” thing for all the neighborhood to hear. But the worst part was when they gurneyed us into the ER after the ambulance ride to the hospital — we had to sell the farm to pay for it — and the doc starts to patch us up. Darned if he doesn’t do the exact same thing. Just our luck. Of all the medical professionals on staff, we get stuck with Nelson’s dad. We should have known we were in trouble as soon as we saw his glasses. Shades of “Meatballs.” The only thing holding them together was a piece of masking tape.
He must have walked into a pole, too.
That’s why we ignore that claptrap about 10,000 steps per day being the best way to ward off mortality. Even a pea-brained stegosaurus knows colliding with signposts 5,000 times is no way to attain everlasting health and happiness. Besides, even if we chopped down every one of those offending stakes along our intended route, it would still take us roughly two hours a day — even for young whippersnappers like us — to hoof it the requisite 26,400 feet.
And who’s got time for that?
Walking 500 miles — and 500 more — might work for The Proclaimers. But we’re more like Lynyrd Skynyrd. Gimme three steps and we’ll call it even. For it turns out all those Gordon Lightfoot high-steppin’ strutters are just as prone to serious injury as clumsy oafs like us who pay no attention to where we’re going. You know the ones we’re talking about. The speed-walkers who pump their arms back and forth while clutching in each hand a 5-pound dumbbell.
Torn rotator cuffs every time.
And that’s not the only hazard. Unless your route takes you through the pristine picturesque Colorado Rocky Mountain high, all you’re liable to get for your trouble are a couple lungsful of polycyclic aromatic hydrocarbons, courtesy of those gas-drinkin’, exhaust-belchin’ buggies from Detroit city that can’t wait to blow you off the road. And even if you manage to scamper out of the way, you’re still far from safe. Because walking in the sunshine will turn you into Larry the Lobster.
And walking by night means you’re The Whistler.
In the end, it all comes down to the shoes. Flat and flexible footwear wreck your knees, the experts say, while stable supportive ones are far superior. Well, we’ve been around the barns a time or two — even got our education out behind them — and not once did we see a horse’s stall balanced atop a pair of clodhoppers. Stable supportive shoes, my foot!
Those clowns probably think the first guy to set foot on the moon was Louis Armstrong.
Take it from us. There’s only one good way to get around today. Motorized recliner. With a 4-speed shifter on the arm. So if anyone gives you a prescription for 10,000 paces, do what we do. Kick back. Relax.
And step on it.
Talk Back with Doug Spade and Mike Clement is heard every Saturday morning from 9 a.m. to noon Eastern Time at www.localbuzzradio.com, Facebook Live and www.dougspade.com.
This article originally appeared on The Daily Telegram: Talk Back: Long live the couch potato
