Lastly we must give one special caution with regard to taking the cut for an exactly accurate representation of what a man should do in order to become a fast walker. As the artist has finished the figure, many people might imagine that he had just made a spring from the toes of the left foot, which is in rear. This should not be done, as any weight sent on the toes soon tires out the walker, and although the foot is bent as in the cut, the weight is taken off the toes by working the shoulders. In fact as an English writer has well said, modern professional walking is a series of springs from heel to heel.
There are some other points in scientific walking which require the assistance of diagrams to explain them, and these concern the position of the feet best calculated to secure a long stride at the least expense of physical exertion.
If there is anything in scientific walking that is puzzling to a civilized beginner, it is the things taught him in childhood which he is now compelled to unlearn. A young savage who has never had any lessons in "deportment," walks correctly enough, though he does not generally care to exert himself sufficiently to make good time at that pace, preferring the "dog-trot." But so far as he walks, he always walks correctly, with a hollow back, stepping from heel to heel, his arms bent, his head thrown back, his toes turned in. The civilized boy, on the other hand, has a bad lesson given to him as soon as he can talk. He is told to "turn his toes out."
Now it so happens that if you take two men, equally good walkers, and let one turn his toes out, the other in, the "parrot-toed" man is sure to beat the other in the long run.
The reason for this statement will be made plain by looking at the following cut and reflecting on a few facts in connection therewith.
In the upper figure we have the foot tracks of a man walking with his toes turned out; in the lower one the same foot takes the same stride "parrot-toed." Note that both start with heels on the same line, and that before a step is taken, the man who turns out his toes has lost nearly an inch of forward progress, his toes not touching the same line as that reached by the other, who carries his feet straight. With the close of the first step the difference increases, both parties taking the same stride, measured from toe to toe. The parrot-toed man sets his heel down in advance of the other's heel, and gains a further advantage by the greater reach of his toe at every step.
The gain of the parrot-toed man is thus shown to be constant when both parties use the same exertion, and must always give him the race, other things being equal.
But there is another loss in turning the toes out, which is not less important, and which is shown by the position of the large black spots in the cut. These spots represent the point on which the weight of the body falls in the middle of each stride, and a very important difference will be noted in their position. In the case of the man who turns his toes out, this spot comes under the joint of the great toe, while in the other foot it lies between the second and third toes.
In other words, when a man turns out his toes he places all his weight on a single joint; when he walks parrot-toed it is distributed among five joints. This difference in strain is sure to tell in a long race. It is the experience of many a tramp in moccasins and bare feet that makes the Indians and other wild tribes walk parrot-toed, because any other way would soon lame them. Our civilized stiff-soled boots, by distributing the weight of the body over a large surface, permit us to go on walking in a vicious fashion, as long as we do not have to use much exertion, but when we come to serious pedestrianism, we must return to savage i. e. natural ways, or the strain will tell in lameness, inside of twenty-four hours' work.
The celebrated Indian-painter, George Catlin, gives in his "Travels" a striking instance of the difference of the two systems. He was a large, powerful man, and counted himself a good walker in the old times. Therefore, when, in company with a number of trappers, fur-traders and Indian employes of the Fur Company, he set out for a hundred-and-fifty-mile tramp over the prairie in moccasins, he made up his mind to lead the caravan and outwalk every one.
For the first day he did so, but then found himself lame; and next day, in spite of all he could do, he fell behind inferior men and became a straggler. At the evening camp-fire, the second day, an old trapper noticed his condition and told him the secret of his non-success.
"You are walking in moccasins," said the hunter, "and you must learn to turn in your toes, as the Indians do."
Catlin took the advice, went to the head of the line next day, and had no more trouble in keeping his place.
The moral of the story is obvious. If you wish to last to the end of a match, turn your toes in.
SCIENTIFIC RUNNING
If there is anything which the records of modern pedestrianism settles, it is that we have yet a good deal to learn from savages. Here we have been walking matches and running other matches for the last fifty years, only to settle down into the regular Indian lope, or dog-trot, for long distance traveling, as faster and less exhausting than the fastest walk.
This pace, introduced for the first time into civilized contests by "Blower" Brown, Hazael, Corkey and Rowell, is the very same which the Indian runners of the forest tribes have used from time immemorial. It is the same with which the Hindoo palkee-bearers swing through the jungle for mile after mile under a tropic sun without apparent distress, and the universal method adopted by savage and semi-barbarous people whenever they wish to journey fast on foot. The civilized untrained man when he tries the same pace commonly makes a mess of it. "Old Sport," alias Campana, was a good exemplar of the civilized idea of a dog-trot – that of the old volunteer fire-brigade of New York city. It was a fair trot, but it would not last forever. Campana put up both arms, working his shoulders as in a walk, and lifted his feet high before and behind, with a weary-looking, lagging step. It entailed about the same exertion as a fast walk and got over the ground no faster. Too much work was wasted in perpendicular motion.
A model of truly scientific long-distance running is found in little Charley Rowell, whose style is an exact imitation of Brown, Corkey and Hazael. All four are men of about the same size and weight, standing five feet six inches, and weighing from 130 to 140 lbs. The probable reason for their taking to running was their small size, which debarred them from success as walkers against men with six inches more stride. As runners they have all glided into the same system, which is fairly represented in the cut above, taken from the attitude of Rowell.
The first thing that one notices about this figure is its ease, and the absence of all appearance of effort. The professional walker, in the cut in preceding chapter, looks as if he was walking hard, but this fellow seems trying to run as slow as he can. The fact is that, while not actually trying to go slow, he is trying to save himself as much exertion as is compatible with getting over the ground a little faster than the fastest walk. Such a pace is from six to eight miles an hour, and such a pace can be maintained by a well-trained man like Rowell after he is unable to walk over three miles an hour.
There are several points to notice about the attitude, especially the position of the head and the way the nose is elevated in the air. When Rowell started after O'Leary on his dog-trot with his nose in the air, people laughed at him and thought he was playing monkey tricks; but when Rowell kept his nose in the air for six days it began to be seen that he had a reason for so doing.
If any of our readers will try the experiment of running for a distance with the head down and then change to Rowell's plan, nose in air and teeth tightly clenched, they will be surprised at the difference in ease of respiration. Throwing up the head makes the passage from nose to windpipe nearly straight, and the