When you take a hit, don’t lie there
walk it off
There’s a problem in today’s world dear reader. That problem?
It’s the proliferation of soccer culture in every single youth sport.
Kids get hit when they play sports.
Most of the time now, they just lie on the ground.
Sometimes they roll around even to draw a penalty.
You’ve seen this right?
A kid gets hit or hurt, then a hush falls over the crowd. The kids lying there like they are dead.
The next moment?
The ref calls a penalty and BOOM!
Up they get and start running around like a gigolo with one pocket filled with Viagra and the other filled with meth.
There’s no fucking honour in that.
But Jimmy, safety first! They need to be examined, checked out so they don’t get injured!
Fuck that mamby pamby nanny-state horseshit.
Next thing you know, there’s a team of paramedics, the fire department with the jaws his life, a trauma counsellor, and a guy with a clipboard ready to file an emotional impact report so they can complain to a human rights tribunal.
WALK IT OFF.
Even if it hurts. Especially if it hurts. Limp, crawl, shuffle—just don’t lie there
People need to remember how to walk it off.
It’s an essential life skill
Recently, I got shit canned early from my gig as a delivery driver’s helper for a global logistics company.
Abrupt. Sudden. Like a hit.
I knew it was coming and still it was a hit - a bit painful, a bit disorienting and it kinda knocked the wind outta me.
It felt a bit like an emergency.
Did I need 911?
Was there justice to be done?
Was I needing a rescue of some sort - a spinal board perhaps?
NO!
Sure I wanted to stay down and mope a bit.
I’ve met people - clients who lost their jobs when I worked in vocational rehab - who after the hit rolled around on the ground like a little kid at a soccer game.
They moaned and complained about how their lives were ruined.
It was so fucking boring.
I remember one conversation :
I’m only eleven years from retirement and now my plans are ruined!
This was their excuse for being depressed. This was their excuse for sleeping 18 hours per day, eating shit and loafing around.
Fucking boring right?
It was all I could do to keep myself from growling the same words I growl beneath my breath at a soccer game: GET UP.
My response:
Walk it off
It’s that simple.
But Jimmy, my plans! My retirement! I’m going to have to work an additional three years!
They whined like someone had stolen their lover and shot their dog. I had to hold myself back from slapping them.
Get up.
Then?
Walk it off.
If you have taken a hit and you have the ability to move, get the fuck up right away and start moving.
Walk.
It.
Off.
You can control more than you think.
Foul weather?
Keep moving.
Feeling ill?
Keep moving.
Depressed or anxious?
Put on your shoes and expose yourself to that which either scares you or turns you away.
I practice what I preach. I’ve taken a hit and every single day since, I’ve gone for a walk.
For example, I am outside with my phone in the night, writing to you, dear reader.
It’s cold, the sky is pissing ice on me, and I’m walking.
If you’re unemployed or going through some sort of hit, if you’ve taken a hit, learn from Gen X. Get up. Get moving. No one is coming to save you.
Don’t just lie there and treat it like a crisis.
Get up, and if you can move , walk, and if you can walk, go outside.
Walk it off.
You’ll get better faster if you do.
Do it every day, do it every morning. Take a 20 minute walk.
Movement is medicine.
You’ll find your way.
So if the winter blues have got you down?
Get up, get moving and stay foolish you beautiful turds.