New poles, still unused — working out the argument before Djouce settles it.
Two poles stood upright in the grass, teal shafts, black grips, price tag still folded somewhere in a drawer — planted like a question I haven’t answered.
The studies say: less force through the knees, a quarter less, some claim, and on Snowdon the pole-carriers came down clean while the empty-handed ached for days.
The studies also say: your heart works harder, your arms spend a currency your legs don’t have, and the two percent you gain climbing you’ll lose again if you never learned the rhythm — plant, push, swing, and stop thinking about it.
So here they stand, mid-argument, four points of contact against two, extra grams against saved cartilage, posture held a little longer into the miles where the legs stop negotiating.
Djouce doesn’t care either way. Madeira has staircases waiting. Better to learn this on grass than argue it out on a mountain.
Inspired by Charles Bukowski