To throw the limbs and body one way and the other; to spring, turn or twist with sudden effort or violence; to struggle as a horse in mire.
I consider myself a flâneur. I walk, sometimes for hours at a stretch, with no destination in mind. Sometimes a destination is decided upon after I begin my long walk, which can begin as an unassuming stroll to the book store.
In an attempt to make the most of these hours I adapted my paces to “power walking,” that sometimes ludicrous looking activity in which one walks in a most demonstrative manner. Also called “fitness walking” I explored it instead of jogging for the well-being of the camera that I usually have on me — a camera which could be ruined by the jostling motion of running.
Fitness walkers assume a variety of contortions, from simply punching fists straight ahead to flailing their arms skyward. I never went as far as the arm-flailing but after some experimentation I settled on a subdued approach, one that would not draw hackles from drivers in their vehicles.
I chose a relatively obscure spot to try this activity. For a few days of the week you could spot me flouncing across the upper walkway of the Triborough Bridge, punching at the air but never flailing my arms upward as power walkers are known to do.
In keeping with my initial goal of combining my ordinary walks with a measure of fitness I went easy on the fist-punching, following instead the rules of fitness walking which preclude exaggerated arm movements.
It is pretty good exercise, I think, though I do not do it so often now that it’s winter time.
