A short while ago, I was using the ‘text mode’ 1 on my camera and capturing people who raced, rambled or limped past. The subjects are easily disguised in this high contrast, stencil mode and the topic of ‘movement’ was one that I was wanting to capture here.2
This is Tavistock Square where only last year I was enjoying the start of a gentle, jogging routine when I turned into a sextuagenarian. Little by little I’d increased the laps and in so doing familiarised myself with every corner, path, plant and creature here. It felt so liberating too.
More than a few months later, it became quite obvious that neither my knees nor my back were up to the more vigorous, jolting exercise. No damage was done but an old injury and the touch of arthritis is something I cannot run away from. I might just have to settle for a somewhat more sedate pace of life.
When we were toddlers we learnt to walk, and later as fast as our little legs would carry us, we took off. Activity is what drove us onward and the mobility ability is one I’ve taken for granted, assumed as my divine right, walked as far as I felt inclined to roam, and only now am coming to realise that slowly but surely it is fading.
Catastrophic it is not, yet to be able to run is something I’ve not realised I valued, until now. In fact, I could rage against the dying of this little light. Instead, I watch other runners and both envy and enjoy their movements. Some may be older than me but heck, worse things happen at sea, as my Grandmother used to say.
Written for the Daily Post : Describe a little thing — one of the things you love that defines your world but is often overlooked.