Go take a walk

Walk: never will any word hit the raw nerves as hard as this one. The dictionary gives a very accurate description of the word-walk-a saunter meant to promote health or words to that effect. A theory I subscribed to wholeheartedly till about a week ago. Or 8 days 4 hours and 25 minutes ago, to be more precise. A healthy constitutional, a must for all-irrespective of caste, colour, age or sex- panacea to all troubles, the biggest refresher in Life’s journey...........…pretty much on the lines of the Immortal Bard’s paean on Sleep (as the discerning might have caught on) I could go on unendingly. At least half an hour’s brisk walk every day, I was often found sermonizing, is all it takes to keep the doctor away or at bay. And as a classic example of the same, religiously went for a walk, the shenanigans of the day notwithstanding.

Of late, the horrid cold winds had suitably dampened the enthusiasm and one was found wishing wistfully for some divine intervention (rain/storm/an unexpected guest) that would prevent one’s morose perambulations on the well-trodden path. No such thing happened and that niggling thing (drat it!) that spoilsport called conscience invariably threw the spanner in the works. A walk is not just beneficial it is invigorating too, helps one shed all those extra kilos, makes one fit in body and mind and the good habit, once cultivated, should be strictly adhered to. These and similar misconceptions egg one on. And thus it becomes a regular routine in the lives of most people, yours truly included.

All quite good and admirable, except for the fact that this particular walk lead to a whole lot of 'unhealthy' results. As I was doing the zippy round on the beaten track, not talking on the cell-as some bright sparks erroneously surmised-very innocently drinking in the cool air and exulting that the last of the six rounds was on and very soon, one would be in the warm surroundings of one’s drawing room, when Wicked Events decided to intervene. There was a break in the road, a mere twist of ankle, the hint of pain and before one realized it, one was doing the flying act. Levitating several inches above the ground, one came crashing down to and on hard reality the very next minute-the ankle in a rotten twist. More embarrassed than hurt, I somehow I managed to get up, and dragged the injured foot behind me. The short walk back and the trudge up one flight of stairs seemed a fairly uphill task. But I made it, unaided. What is a mere sprain, I rationalized; it would be ok in a day or two.

All customary measures were taken: from submerging the injured foot in half a bucket of cold water, to spraying Volini and calling up our orthopaedic friend to gauge the extent of damage……to finally keeping one’s fingers crossed and waiting for the next day to dawn. For only then, one would know how bad the sprain was or if it was a ligament tear or even a fracture. Hoping that it would be a minor sprain, one called it a day.

The next day dawned bright and sunny-but that was far from what I was feeling. The left foot seemed to be weighing a ton and I just couldn’t lift it off the floor!! Walking was an ordeal, synchronizing foot movement impossible. The writing on the wall seemed clear-all we needed was confirmation. The agony of negotiating one flight of stairs, getting into the car, the wheel chair and finally into the X-ray room had better be left unsaid. The solemn verdict was ‘hairline fracture’ the outcome an hour’s ice pack, the painful tetvac shot and the almost-up to-the knee-cast.

So here I am, four weeks taken care of, the cumbersome plaster hampering each move and wondering, for the nth time, is a walk really salubrious????