I Wouldn't Touch That With a 125cm Pole

SOMEONE told me I ought to try trekking poles.

My reply, "THOSE ARE FOR OLD PEOPLE!" suggested somebody ought to be in the dog house for several days.

The Mr: But your knees, Dear. Maybe poles would help keep you steady. 

Me: Yeah? A.) I've seen those women out there with hiking sticks. They're old. I'm not old. It's either that or, B.) People looking at you, like, who is she kidding? Do I LOOK like I actually hike?

The Mr: Okay. Just an idea. 

Truth is, it had crossed my mind. As if I would let on. Arthritis in the knees, with no immediate plan for surgical replacement, does tend to slow one down a bit. I like to be active, but lurching is getting tiresome. I stumble more than stride. Limp rather than lope.

Fast forward a couple of months since this exchange. Shore walk. A beach stoney enough to sprain an ankle. Logs to step over and possibly take a tumble. Slippery, washed-up seaweed to slide on. Just the ticket for a nasty trip and fall. 

Casually, without any hint that he might be right, I brought the topic up.

Me: You know, (taking his arm for support) I was thinking maybe I might try hiking poles.

The Mr: Uh huh (equally casual.) I saw them at Eddie Bauer on sale. I was going to get you some for Christmas. But I value my life. 

Me: Wise man.

Day after Boxing Day. I headed to Eddie Bauer at the mall. Trekking poles. On sale. 40% off. Really good deal. I figured if I didn't like them, it wouldn't be too big a loss. So a shiny new pair came home with me that day. Glossy. Yellow, adjustable stalks. Handles with firm, ergonomic grips. Steel carbine tips for rough terrain and removable rubber feet for pavement. Velcro wrist straps so you can let them dangle stylishly from your forearm if your hands are otherwise occupied, like when you text your husband, "Come get me. I've fallen and I can't get up." 

My stick "test drive" was something of an experiment. The packaging included instructions on adjusting the poles to elbow height, which for me is 125 cm, and how to hold the grips. There was no manual with instructions — you know — on how to WALK, so one's first steps were a bit tentative. Hesitant, to say the least.

I discovered that there are a variety of styles available.

1. The "Come On, Baby, Do the Locomotion." Imagine you are a kid, pretending to be a Choo-Choo. Your hands are at 90 degrees from your elbows. You chug-a-chug-chug along, planting your poles out front — left, right, left, right, in sync with your feet, moving left, right, left, right. Like swinging your arms, only not past your hips. But then you realize you are shuffling like Tim Conway's Oldest Man character, Dwayne Toddleberry, on the Carol Burnett Show. So, you try:
2. The "Cross Country Ski Schuss." This is where you visualize you are a Nordic skier on a snowy track, propelling yourself along by extending those poles way out in front and kicking them way out in back as you elongate your stride and you glide along the pavement. Problem is, your feet still think you are doing choo-choo. So, then, you go for:
3. The "You Know Your Next Step is a Walker, Right?" In this method, you plant both poles out in front and push backward with both arms, at the same time as you step forward, left right. Push. Left right. Push. Left right. This simply screams "Senior Citizen!" You will get where you're going. Eventually. But you might honestly be old by the time you get home.
4. The "I'm a Jaunty Alpine Hiker." In this technique, you use one pole, waving it around, tossing it out to touch base randomly, nonchalantly, with the pavement, feeling like you might break into song: "Val-de-ri, Val-de-ra, Val-de-ri, Val-de-ra-ha-ha-ha." Really, there's no point to it — it's an affectation at best.

So, I gave up and trudged along without aid for a few steps. It was way easier. I continued home, breezily, with the trekking poles tucked under my arm.

Epilogue

Second test drive: New Years Day. Tossed both poles in the car. Opted to take one along for support on our beach walk. It was enormously helpful for crossing over logs, navigating pebbly portions, and securely traversing seaweed drifts. I was in good company. A number of spry oldsters had them too.