In a Cheers episode from season 8, Frasier asks Rebecca, “Do you think I can’t be dangerous?” He then picks up scissors and runs around the bar, proclaiming, “I am running with scissors….” *
During recent NFL games I saw a quarterback trip on the turf as he dropped back to pass and a running back also trip as he headed for open field and a possible touchdown. It’s not that uncommon for people, even highly skilled athletes, to lose proprioception for a moment. That the trips occurred in NFL games put on momentary display the difficulty humans can have in keeping track of all their moving parts, causing both embarrassment and harm. Loss of proprioception can result in stubbed toes, jammed fingers, pulled muscles, broken bones, and even death.
Being bipedal has its drawbacks, but I wouldn’t trade my many trips and falls for the life of a clam. Yet, my own mobility seems a paltry accomplishment in world filled with multi-legged creatures who can move faster, often in places and on surfaces where I might find movement dangerous or even impossible.
When I think of an insect with six legs, an arachnid with eight, a decapod with as many as 38 appendages, and a centipede with as many as 354 legs, I wonder how their little brains maintain any semblance of kinesthesia. Sure, they aren’t bothered by interrupting thoughts during movement, such as a busy mother’s, “I need carry the laundry upstairs; stop jumping on the beds, kids”; a secretary’s, “I better get this report over to Mr. Smith’s desk”; or a quarterback’s “The tight end will be running a post pattern, the strong side wide receiver will be running a stop and go, and the tailback will hook as an outlet receiver.” We bipedal humans certainly have to account for more than just walking or running because we carry both thoughts and objects as we go.
Our multi-legged companion Earthlings, though not interrupted by complex thoughts, do have much to track as they move. Spiders racing across their webs to wrap a prey seem particularly fascinating. The Flying Wallendas, though entertaining, concerned themselves with placement on a single thread by comparison. Spiders move across multiple threads with apparently no mistakes—though this might be one of those statements like “no two snowflakes are alike,” a contention impossible to prove.
And now, there’s a new champion of movement on multiple legs: A recently discovered millipede with 1,306 legs. Called Eumillipes persephone, the critter lives underground in Australia.** Living like Persephone in the underworld can’t be easy. Interconnected pores in the ground might be hard to come by, especially at 60 meters down, the location where Eumillipes persephone was found. In contrast, we humans are used to more expansive environments at Earth’s surface, where we are free to trip and fall just trying to move on two legs.
The discovery of a millipede with 1,306 legs makes me think of our pride in bipedalism. Would a critter with 1,306 legs trip the way we do? How would one know that such a trip took place if the critter did trip? It isn’t similar to our saying, “I almost fell.” Falling seems out of the question for Eumillipes persephone, and not just because it already lives where Earth’s surface is up.
For bipedal humans, life here on the surface is one of avoiding falls WHILE doing everything else. We spend some of our neural energy maintaining our proprioception in order to accomplish all those “higher functions.” Millipedes and all other creatures with more than two legs get to spend more of their neural energy on simply moving, even when they are in hot pursuit of food or in hot escape from predators. In contrast, we might chase down an aisle after food in a grocery store while thinking of going to a party later in the day. We don’t just walk the way a millipede walks; we obsess over past and future, and the obsessing becomes a distraction. “Honey, I’m in the store; I got the milk, eggs, and bread. Can you text me those other things?”
If I asked you to walk and just think about your walking, would you succeed in that task? You are used to allowing neurons handle uneven surfaces while you concern yourself with “higher matters.” You can walk and talk, walk and think, and walk and chew gum. But we live in a time of increasing numbers of distractions that make a simple task like walking fraught with the dangers that gravity and hard and sharp edges impose. Proprioception isn’t easy for us bipedals. We have much to consider, which might be one reason that we’re told as kids, “Don’t run with scissors.”
Should we draw some lesson here? If so, would it be that motility comes with vulnerability in bipedal animals with more on their minds than mere movement? Would it be that only in being motionless can we focus without danger on self? Is our pride in our bipedalism unwarranted?
Notes:
*Season 8, “Severe Crane Damage.” Found on YouTube under “Frasier Running with Scissors”
***https://phys.org/news/2021-12-millipede-legs.html. Accessed December 17, 2021.
During recent NFL games I saw a quarterback trip on the turf as he dropped back to pass and a running back also trip as he headed for open field and a possible touchdown. It’s not that uncommon for people, even highly skilled athletes, to lose proprioception for a moment. That the trips occurred in NFL games put on momentary display the difficulty humans can have in keeping track of all their moving parts, causing both embarrassment and harm. Loss of proprioception can result in stubbed toes, jammed fingers, pulled muscles, broken bones, and even death.
Being bipedal has its drawbacks, but I wouldn’t trade my many trips and falls for the life of a clam. Yet, my own mobility seems a paltry accomplishment in world filled with multi-legged creatures who can move faster, often in places and on surfaces where I might find movement dangerous or even impossible.
When I think of an insect with six legs, an arachnid with eight, a decapod with as many as 38 appendages, and a centipede with as many as 354 legs, I wonder how their little brains maintain any semblance of kinesthesia. Sure, they aren’t bothered by interrupting thoughts during movement, such as a busy mother’s, “I need carry the laundry upstairs; stop jumping on the beds, kids”; a secretary’s, “I better get this report over to Mr. Smith’s desk”; or a quarterback’s “The tight end will be running a post pattern, the strong side wide receiver will be running a stop and go, and the tailback will hook as an outlet receiver.” We bipedal humans certainly have to account for more than just walking or running because we carry both thoughts and objects as we go.
Our multi-legged companion Earthlings, though not interrupted by complex thoughts, do have much to track as they move. Spiders racing across their webs to wrap a prey seem particularly fascinating. The Flying Wallendas, though entertaining, concerned themselves with placement on a single thread by comparison. Spiders move across multiple threads with apparently no mistakes—though this might be one of those statements like “no two snowflakes are alike,” a contention impossible to prove.
And now, there’s a new champion of movement on multiple legs: A recently discovered millipede with 1,306 legs. Called Eumillipes persephone, the critter lives underground in Australia.** Living like Persephone in the underworld can’t be easy. Interconnected pores in the ground might be hard to come by, especially at 60 meters down, the location where Eumillipes persephone was found. In contrast, we humans are used to more expansive environments at Earth’s surface, where we are free to trip and fall just trying to move on two legs.
The discovery of a millipede with 1,306 legs makes me think of our pride in bipedalism. Would a critter with 1,306 legs trip the way we do? How would one know that such a trip took place if the critter did trip? It isn’t similar to our saying, “I almost fell.” Falling seems out of the question for Eumillipes persephone, and not just because it already lives where Earth’s surface is up.
For bipedal humans, life here on the surface is one of avoiding falls WHILE doing everything else. We spend some of our neural energy maintaining our proprioception in order to accomplish all those “higher functions.” Millipedes and all other creatures with more than two legs get to spend more of their neural energy on simply moving, even when they are in hot pursuit of food or in hot escape from predators. In contrast, we might chase down an aisle after food in a grocery store while thinking of going to a party later in the day. We don’t just walk the way a millipede walks; we obsess over past and future, and the obsessing becomes a distraction. “Honey, I’m in the store; I got the milk, eggs, and bread. Can you text me those other things?”
If I asked you to walk and just think about your walking, would you succeed in that task? You are used to allowing neurons handle uneven surfaces while you concern yourself with “higher matters.” You can walk and talk, walk and think, and walk and chew gum. But we live in a time of increasing numbers of distractions that make a simple task like walking fraught with the dangers that gravity and hard and sharp edges impose. Proprioception isn’t easy for us bipedals. We have much to consider, which might be one reason that we’re told as kids, “Don’t run with scissors.”
Should we draw some lesson here? If so, would it be that motility comes with vulnerability in bipedal animals with more on their minds than mere movement? Would it be that only in being motionless can we focus without danger on self? Is our pride in our bipedalism unwarranted?
Notes:
*Season 8, “Severe Crane Damage.” Found on YouTube under “Frasier Running with Scissors”
***https://phys.org/news/2021-12-millipede-legs.html. Accessed December 17, 2021.
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