On Movement

You are a wave in an ocean of happening, an expression of genes billions of years in the making

Our ancestors fought raging battles on the ocean floor. Mandibles flashed; limbs struck. Increasingly complex nervous systems were refined at the receipt and deal of each blow. In time, a muscular expression of that same genetic code brachiated through the forest canopy. At the weightless apex of each swing our ape cousins calculated speed, risk, and distance at breakneck synaptic speed. Webs of neurons fired in joyful anticipation of the next branch.

The first spinal engine [1], a prototype of your own spine, belonged to Cambrian chordates, first appearing some 550 million years ago. Primitive spines were stiff, elongate, fluid-filled tubes called notochords [2] (evolved into the discs between modern spinal vertebrae [3]). This rigidity allowed organisms to exploit internal leverage — to devastating effect. By propagating muscular impulses from the tight wrap of tissues surrounding the “spine" toward the extremities, early vertebrates were capable of unprecedented power. When I move, I feel the thrumming spinal engine in me. Cambrian energy charges my spine. When my fingers lash out to grab a hold, I know they are driven by an ancient force. By time and sinew and survival. 

We are the benefactor of billions of years of trial and error. The resultant nervous system is the most complex structure we know of. We have access to an array of musculature, capable of both nanometer accuracy and crushing power. We are built to run, climb and leap. It’s no wonder our bodies and minds function their best when subject to frequent bouts of stress [4]. 

Forget all this, and the squat rack becomes a cage. The treadmill, a farce. Too rigid for such a formless, timeless shape. Missing the forest for the trees, some even claim a “proper” way to squat. 

To break free, conceptualize movement not as exercise but as practice. Twisting, breathing, exploding, pausing in balance. This is how we nod to our ancestors. The practice becomes a responsibility. A habit. A way of being. I practice so my movements will cascade through time for those I am the ancestor of. Through practice I become a conduit connecting the past and future. A wave in an ocean of happening, an expression of genes billions of years in the making. 

The rewards of consistent and mindful practice are beyond the self. On the surface one earns a hard body, resilient and capable. Continue practicing and we reach beyond. We realize that there is no destination. Anything that has the tendency to arise will also pass. The six pack abs will pass, like the pain required to earn them. The honest practice contextualizes the body as an infinitesimal piece of the 3.7 billion year ancestral whole. 

With that said, time to practice.