“Legs for Days (or at Least Until They Reach the Ground)”
You know, there’s a fine line between genius and insanity, and I may have pirouetted on that line a few winters ago. I thought, “Olympic snow sledders make it look so easy, sliding down icy tunnels at breakneck speeds. How hard can it be?” So, I decided to give it a try. Just one tiny issue: I forgot the sled. And as my quads met the icy earth with a thud, I had an epiphany. Not about snow sledding, mind you, but about legs. Yes, legs.
Most of us don’t give our legs the appreciation they deserve. Unless you’re a model strutting down the runway with legs that seem to stretch on for miles, or the renowned swimmer Micheal Phelps, whose legs look positively stunted next to his ripped torso, you probably don’t think much of these appendages that keep you standing.
Our legs are, curiously, almost as long as our trunk. But why? Why would nature gift us with such lengthy limbs to carry around our torsos and heads? Was there a hiccup in the grand scheme of things? Did Mother Nature think, “Let’s give them stilts and see what happens”? Did evolution have a brain fart?
I’ve often marveled at how humans decided to evolve to be bipedal. Why didn’t we get six legs like an insect or no legs like a snake? But more so, why did we get such LONG legs? I mean, the longer the leg, the farther the fall when you’re imitating Olympic snow sledders, right?
Now, snarky people have been questioning this leg conundrum for quite some time. One such fellow had the audacity to ask none other than Abraham Lincoln about the ideal length for a man’s legs. Honest Abe, always quick with his wit, replied, “Long enough to reach the ground.”
I imagine that reporter was left looking more dumbfounded than a cat watching a laser pointer. There’s a reason he never asked another question after that – some burns just don’t heal.
In conclusion, while I might not understand the science behind our peculiar leg length, I have come to appreciate these two appendages even more after my ill-fated snow sledding attempt. They might not always save you from making a fool out of yourself, but at least they’re always there, reaching the ground just as Abe said they should.
And as for me? Next winter, I’ll stick to snow angels. Much safer. And requires far less leg coordination.
Nalla Madras 