All things being equal

Posted on January 2, 2017 by Christopher Cudworth

Sock.jpgIn the yin and yang of athletic performance, there is no more vexing question than whether women are equal athletes to men. If one looks only at the empiric evidence, the arguments might away. Certainly, the world’s best men athletes are still faster at every distance than women.

But that empiric measurement means almost nothing to the athletes with whom most of us train and compete. It means nothing these days for men to get beaten by women in running, cycling, swimming or triathlon. It happens every minute of the day and every day of the week. I would argue that makes us equals.

Hijabs and jobs

Not all the world shares this view. This weekend the television program 60 Minutes Sports broadcast the story of the Iranian women’s soccer team. Due to religious laws in that country, women are not allowed to compete without covering their heads and arms and legs. Yet the Iranian women did compete with success until FIFA, the governing body (no pun intended) of international soccer decided to ban the hijab from international play. Left with no recourse, the Iran women’s soccer team forfeited and withdrew from the competition.

Those women were caught between two male-dominated cultures. The decision to ban the hijab may have been intended by FIFA to promote women’s rights, but had the opposite effect in that case.

The Iranian philosophy was just as backward. The rule forcing women to play soccer in full body coverage and wearing the hijab in conditions reaching 100-degree heat was not in the best interests of the health or performance of those women soccer players. Not at all.

But let’s not pretend things are all that much better here in America. the women’s soccer team is far more successful in terms of championships and win-loss record than the men’s team. The women’s team has drawn television audiences numbered in the billions. Yet the women’s team players are compensated far less than the men.

Platforms

It’s a fact that in many cases where women either compete on the same platform or outperform men, they are still paid less. When a woman runs a 2:15 marathon, that is certainly an impressive achievement.

World Ironman triathlon competitions among men generally finish near the eight-hour mark. Yet the world’s best women complete the same races in a time difference of just 15-20 minutes over 140.6 miles of competition.

Again, that’s at the world class level. Among journeyman athletes, which is 99.9% of us, no such disparities exist. We compete on the same platform.

World class among us

I once raced alongside distance runner Grete Waitz in the Orange Bowl 10K in Miami. She was not in peak form, so my 32:00-time allowed me to finish ahead of her. Right behind were several other world class Masters Male runners including Ron Hill, a former Olympian.

That race alone taught me that relativity is a reality in the pursuit of distance sports. It was a thrill to race alongside a world class athlete such as Grete Waitz. It was fascinating to observe the economy of form and her rail-thin physique. Such a balance of strength and power. She had already accomplished so much in life, winning the New York Marathon several times.

Yet there was Ron Hill as well, on the downside of his competitive career yet still, at age 40 or so, able to race men twenty years younger than himself.

Equality is both absolute and relative, you see. The real measure of an athlete is found in our ability to appreciate the performance of all athletes. Not just the best of the best, but the best of the rest. And that includes you.

God Bless and may you have fun trying to best your equals, whoever they may be.

 

 

 

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A resolution to be honest with yourself

Posted on January 1, 2017 by Christopher Cudworth

move-pin

After many years of making New Year’s Resolutions, following through on some, while others fall away like bowling pins, there is just one that holds true year after year.

Be honest with yourself. 

If one does nothing other than that, all others tend to all into place.

Because if you’re honest with yourself, and you want to change something in your diet or training or personal life, you will do it. If you’re not honest with yourself from the start, then change is not likely to occur. You don’t want it enough. The resolution, or the resolve to do something, as it were, will fall away.

Being honest with yourself comes with some risks as well as rewards. If you are heartfully honest with yourself, there are occasions where you will plainly not agree with other people in your life. If what they are doing feels offensive or wrong, it creates a conundrum. do you speak up or keep your mouth shut?

Emotional intelligence

If you speak up, you run the risk of offending them. Some people insist that emotional intelligence is the ability to discern the right opportunity and method to speak without creating controversy.

Yet there are situations within our own heads in which being s0-called “emotionally intelligent” is not the path to success. In the middle of a race when pain is roaring through our bodies and even our brains, is it “emotionally intelligent” to keep going? Or is it smarter to back off.

Manic years

Our most competitive years may find us on the manic end of the spectrum when it comes to training and racing. Transferring that type of gut-wrenching emotion to the workplace may not be the best idea in the world. So to be honest with ourselves is to admit that we need a place to let all that crazy out. Sports are a good place to do that.

It’s still tough to distinguish sometimes whether it is better to be honest than be simply cooperative. Even when we see things that upset us or make no sense in this world, it makes sense to back away a bit rather than let honest thoughts and emotions lead the way.

Liar Liar

Recall the movie Liar, Liar in which the Jim Carrey character played a lawyer who through some sort of spell lost the ability to lie? It made his life a living hell. Perhaps his worst sin was over-acting. But then there are people who seem to have adopted the opposite brand of over-acting. They simply can’t be honest about anything. For the life of them, they become so good at lying it replaces their entire persona. Perhaps you know a person or two like this. Who lie their way to success. It happens all the time.

And when you challenge them, you’re called the freak. The intolerant. The bad apple.

Stripping away falseness

So the resolution to be honest with ourselves is both important and challenging. It can strip away the falseness that we might otherwise allow to enter our lives. Yet it can also force friends away who don’t want to be confronted by any sort of honesty, be it political, religious, social or cultural.

The simplest things can lead to divisions between people. In our little triathlon world there are disagreements that can grow over philosophies of coaching and allegiances that come and go. One would think that friendships built on hard effort and support would never disappear. But people are tribal by nature. They take offense too easily when people seek to change something in their lives. Even when this is done for the most honest of reasons, an admission even of the need to change something in themselves…it can still breed division. Perhaps you’ve seen that in your triathlon world.

The price of existence

Some of this is the price of existence. Yet some of it is small-mindedness, and a lack of ability to be honest over just about anything.

As long as you are truly being honest with yourself, following your honest instincts is always the right thing to do. If people can’t deal with that, then they honestly don’t have a place in your life. That’s not a lack of emotional intelligence. That’s a test of human spirit and what it truly means to be alive.

 

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The profits of a good gym

Posted on December 30, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

CHRIS Running Intervals 1In my mid-20s I had the opportunity to manage a gym called the Norris Sports Complex. It was a publicly-owned and managed facility attached to a high school in St. Charles, Illinois. As such, it was open for evening hours between 6-10:00 p.m.

Dozens of runners used the indoor track, which was eleven laps to the mile on the inside lane. Dozens more walkers and heart rehabilitation patients used the other lanes. This mix of people moving at different speeds required cooperation on the part of all those who used the track. More than once I had to counsel much faster runners to avoid the earliest hours the gym was open because the track could be crowded.

Interaction with the public included sports such as basketball, with an enormously popular open gym program. Players from towns up and down the Fox River came to play. This created consternation among some members of the community who saw the gym strictly as their own.

There was volleyball time, and indoor soccer setups as well. It was soccer that actually payed the bills and kept the lights on. Soccer as a sport was just taking off in Illinois in the early 80s. Indoor facilities were rare, and teams payed a premium to play.

Supply and demand

Such are the swings of supply and demand. The true profit center of the facility was hidden from view of the nightly public that came through the doors. Sometimes the soccer boards would go up on a Friday night and come down on a Sunday evening. The tall black curtains that divided the basketball or volleyball courts would be raised, and the gym would open up like an entirely new world. This was the rhythm of money flowing through the coffers. You can’t run a gym without it.

All gyms have some sort of similar dynamic. At the XSport gym where I belonged the last three years, the profit centers were clear enough to see. Beyond membership fees there were classes filled with aerobics and spinning. These were typically packed.

Yet the swimming course that was held in the four-lane pool ultimately had its limits. Only so many people can be squeezed into those lanes at a time if they’re not expert swimmers. Having people cruise the lanes at different speeds and abilities just doesn’t work that well. So the gym closed down the swim lessons. They weren’t making enough money to justify the instructor’s fees.

On to new digs

Which is why the new gym where I work out is a case study in exercise for the public good. The gym is called the Vaughn Center. It is run by the Fox Valley Park District, a publicly funded organization that provides recreational and fitness opportunities to a number of large and small communities along the Fox River west of Chicago.

The place is alive with people of different ages and fitness. Kids roll around on scooters inside a giant play area. There is also a pool playground featuring splash areas and zero depth pools for families to enjoy. The regular 10-lane pool is an immaculate facility staffed by alert guards who keep watch over the pool at all times. Youth and adult swim teams gather for practices.

The 200-meter indoor track is chartered out for early morning workouts by the Aurora University track team. Many others tracksters of all ages do workouts there as well. Inside the track there are always basketball games going on, mostly pickup and half court contests. But one court is used for the serious players as well.

The weight rooms have all the right equipment and go through the spectrum from treadmills and ellipticals to weight machines, weight bench setups and free weight areas.

Tri guy

So for a triathlete, the facility is perfect. That’s why Sue and I both left behind our XSport memberships to set up training at the Vaughn. The last two years we’ve been doing indoor track workouts at Batavia High School, which opens its fieldhouse to the public from 5:30 a.m. to 7:00 during the winter months. I wrote the Batavia Facilities Commission Report that led to passage of the referendum to build the fieldhouse and improve school facilities. So it felt nice to work out in a place in which I’d made a contribution.

But we were spread out over a few facilities to get in our swimming, running and weight work. We will still do Computrain once or twice a week at a local bike shop. But our new home has a room where our bikes are set up. So that’s a handy thing.

The Vaugh Center makes it possible to bring the rest together.

What makes a good gym?

These transitions have made me think more deeply about what makes a good gym, and why certain facilities exist. In some respects, I’ll miss the XSport scene. The facilities were always kept clean. There were plenty of weight machines.

But the towels were a bit skimpy. The lone basketball courts was often occupied to the point where it was hardly worth checking out a ball. The pool was like most pools; wait your turn or beg to share a lane. But with only four lanes, that could be a wait sometimes.

So I’d sit with my legs in the hot whirlpool and wait. Sometimes that was a nice little luxury to have. Yet a part of me still worries about whirlpools in public facilities. A few years back some people at a gym run by a chain of fitness clubs came down with a nasty illness.

I’m no germophobe in general. Things can happen to any club or facility. But when I visit gyms where the upkeep is not up to par, or the pool is murky or such, I do get a bit hinchy about hanging around.

Positives

Clearly the experience at XSport was positive. I wrote to the company a couple times to compliment the workers who kept the place clean.

Today I talked with an employee at the Vaughn Center about how much the cleanliness stands out, especially in a public facility. Obviously, that’s a top priority.

To me, that shows the value of both kinds of facilities. Publicly owned facilities can provide a great value to people. And many provide services that privately run clubs do not offer, or care not to provide. While shooting baskets one day last week, I watched a pair of Special Olympic athletes being put through some workout paces by their coach from the Fox Valley Special Recreation Association.

Later an entire team of Down’s Syndrome athletes showed up to play basketball as well. Their enthusiasm was obvious. One of the players had arrived much earlier and had been focused on his shooting for more than half an hour. I watched out of the corner of my eye as he rebounded his own shots. His form was consistent and his aim accurate. He took his game seriously.

Opportunity for all

As everyone who reads this blog knows, I’m a great believer in opportunity for all. That’s why I believe it is important for publicly funded fitness facilities to exist. They provide opportunities for people that might not otherwise havethe chance to work out because what they do, or who they are, is simply not profitable enough for some businesses to sustain.

One wonders, with all the talk of privatizing Social Security and Medicare and every publicly run program in the universe, if facilities like the Vaughn Center and others will somehow come under fire as a “waste of taxpayer dollars.” A park district is a form of government, and many are known to provide a great return on investment. Some are also quite profitable. But they exist because they are supported by money levied on the public.

There are people who hate that idea more than anything else. Some are poor and only want to cut their taxes. Some are rich and only want to keep more of their money, and damn the rest. Sometimes the rich convince the poor they’re voting in their best interests by preaching about eliminating taxes or cutting government programs. On the surface, this sounds wonderful to people trying to make ends meet. But when they find out that their local gym is closing, or their health care is going away, or their Social Security age just shot up to 70 years old, they find out they don’t have that much in common with the rich after all.

Public servants

I didn’t make a whole lot of money when I was running the Norris Sports Complex way back when. It was a part-time job on top of my regular work. But it was a full-time job in the sense that I had to care quite deeply about the health and safety of all who used those facilities. That’s often how public servants go about their jobs. The paramedics and fireman and police typically don’t get rich off their public sector jobs. But if the benefits are decent they can live a fairly good life and provide for their families. Sometimes the system is generational, or has been, but public servants such as school teachers have been hit time and time again to cut their benefits in one way or another. Often this is the product of an administration-heavy philosophy, and those need to be corrected.

But government “waste” is seldom the product of the fireman or teachers who do their jobs. Nor is it a waste to provide opportunities for Special Olympic athletes to have a nice place to work out. It’s called quality of life, people. That’s an American value.

On a daily basis at the Norris Sports Complex, I’d talked with the people who came through those doors. Some of them I still see around town decades later. We share a nice bond from a period in our lives when gyms like those were a novelty. We’d shared time together, and smiles. And there is no putting a price on that kind of investment. It is its own profit center.

 

 

 

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What Carrie Fisher taught us about choking the beast of depression, anxiety and dread

Posted on December 29, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

Princess_Leia_Jabba_the_Hutt_big.jpgWhen the Star Wars character of Princess Leia Organa played by Carrie Fisher took hold of the chain that bound her and used it to choke the dickens out of her captor, Jabba the Hut, fans cheered at the triumph over such a lascivious beast.

Before that moment of triumph, things were looking quite bleak for the Princess, whose royal status meant little to the greedy likes of Jabba.

And while we must be judicious in claims over how life imitates art, there were some parallels between the character of Princess Leia and the life led by Carrie Fisher.

Her incredible testimony to the effects of manic depression during this ABC interview in 2000 shares what it is like to have an episode where the mind effectively runs away. And when asked to summarize what her life had been like since going on medications that helped her control her depression, she said, “It’s not happily every after. It’s everything ever after.

29BIPOLAR-1482962726808-superJumbo.jpgFisher lived with her dichotomous brain for many years before it came to the point where her condition was nearly out of control. But she’s not alone. Far from it.

I have a friend who experiences the same highs and lows. I also have many friends on the entire spectrum of depression and anxiety. Many also contend with ADHD on top of it all, or beneath it. All find ways to function, to come to grips with the degree of difficulty in their daily thoughts and perspectives.

We all wish it were so clear and clean as choking the Jabbas of our depression or anxiety. What is clear is that daily exercise can help. One might call that daily run or ride Choking the Jabba. It helps us take control of our own daily destiny. No longer chained to the chair or desk of ruminative thought, we strive to shake free, choke off negative thoughts that lurk in the background like an evil captor of the mind.

One can get good at choking off negative thoughts after a while. Depression and anxiety are hungry beasts. They feed on the dark sugars of rumination, multiplying and dissolving into the system like a drug.

29BIPOLAR3-master675.jpgTo break that cycle of rumination takes courage and determination sometimes. Getting those feet out the door even for a walk can be tough for those working through clinical depression. Yet people do it, and hide it. You may never know it. But for many people, battling depression and anxiety is like doing an Ironman every day. The dread of what could go wrong, or has gone wrong, follows the brain around.

Shifting that chemical balance around by replacing those Jabba feelings with endorphins and the proactive sensations that come with it can be critical to breaking free from cycles of depressive thoughts and behavior.

Denial is one of the significant challenges in all this. It is the enabler that stands guard for Jabba the Hut the Depressor. It smacks you down if you make unwanted moves. But be warned: denying depression or anxiety never works.

Denial is defined as, “the action of declaring something to be untrue.” There’s a lot of that going around these days. It’s even become a sort of national mental illness. People simply deny what they don’t want to believe, or are afraid to confront about themselves or their leaders.

Papa-et-maman-sont-très-fiers.jpgFor some people, denial seems a much safer, shorter path to truth. But in truth, turning away from hard truths only makes you unaware of the impact that your inaction has on others. This can become a permanent state of mind because a worldview based on denial is a house of cards.

That is why running and cycling and swimming are much healthier approaches to dealing with depression. By contrast, many people “deny” their depression and anxiety by self-medicating through feelgood drugs such as pot, alchohol or prescription medicines.

Understand that it’s just a short step from a state of denial to a state of repression. That is, some people become so convinced of their own methods and strength of mind through denial that they seek to impose their version of coping on others. We see it in celebrities and commentators whose own repressive tendencies pop out in angry ways. These folks often experience broken relationships first, or are forced to hide their drug or gambling habits, sexual affairs or sexual orientation from the public eye.

Typically, this can only last so long. Burying such secrets creates difficulty in life, to say the least. Like a tell in poker, the denial that drives repressive tendencies feeds back on itself. People pick up on these clues, or get sick of the strident methods by which repressive personalities attack the things they claim to hate, yet often evidence in themselves.

Rush-Limbaugh-Submitted.jpg

Rush Limbaugh, a Jabba the Hut of conservative radio, is one such character. The man exhibits a largely repressive personality focused on denying liberals an opportunity speak or advocate for basic civil rights and freedoms. Yet his own life is a series of failed marriages and addiction to oxycontin that belie his deep insecurity and personal flaws.

But he is correct about one thing: liberals are just as subject to repressive tendencies, including the likes of Anthony Weiner, the politician who keeps texting pictures of his junk. Political genius that he was, Bill Clinton is no bargain when it comes to his sexually predatory instincts.

Likely there are underlying mental illnesses at work in  these personalities, and many more who hide their conditions from the public eye. Those who choose not to acknowledge their conditions actually increase their suffering. That’s why the example of Carrie Fisher is so bold and true. Her honesty may make her critically flawed in the yes of those who consider mental illness a weakness. Some folks believe the mentally ill are functionally capable of conquering their condition with enough courage or faith or confession.

In truth it is more than that, and much less as well. It all comes down to self-awareness and appreciation of the source of ruminative thoughts, and how they propagate. For those suffering abrupt or profound chemical imbalances, the right combination of prescription drugs can be enormously beneficial.

Let’s all rememer that life sometimes imitates art, and there was no better example of dealing with the hulking specter of depression than Princess Leia standing up to Jabba the Hut and giving him a good choking for the suffering he caused. Carrie Fisher will be missed in both her art and her real life. She was an inspiration in all the right ways, even as she faced some of the wrong things she did in life.

For those of us still running around on this earth, her example is worthy of imitation.

 

 

 

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Locker room talk

Posted on December 28, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

swim-footEven on race days, it’s not that easy to get up at 4:30 a.m. No matter how enthusiastic you might feel the night before, getting out of a snug bed is difficult.

Then to consider the cold drive from home to the pool? Well, that’s the stuff of daily legend, is it not? You’ve got to be your own hero sometimes.

Yet as we all know, the work of heroes is often humble business. Depending on the sport, that means your workout starts with getting dressed or undressed.

Oh, perhaps you’ve got the body of a goddess or a god. Getting undressed is like revealing the glory of all creation. Every muscle you own ripples with sinewy, sexual strength. The shine of transfiguration glimmers from your glossy hair to your gleaming toenails. Then you slip on some form-fitting suit and emerge from the locker room to bless the universe with your athletic presence.

Or maybe not.

Instead, you sit shivering on a worn wooden bench wondering if you can do this thing you’ve voluntarily chosen to do. Perhaps you’ve been sitting in locker rooms much of your swim-stufflife, with the same internal dialogue going through your head. Many of those locker rooms have looked like this. Gray metal lockers with slats at the top to let out the stink of sweaty workout clothes. Lockers. Nothing glamorous about them.

The clatter of latches flecked with rust is the real work of heroes in this world. Even professional athletes covered in cash and fame must still go through these motions. The getting dressed. The getting undressed. Putting on the costumes of effort and glory. That is the business. It must be well attended in order to have any hope of improvement or achievement.

We leave our marks in locker rooms as wet footprints on concrete floors. These last a few hours perhaps, then evaporate. Sometimes the wetness never stops. We get out of the pool to take a shower. From wet to wet. Removes the chlorine from our skin, lest we smell like kitchen cleaner all day. It’s all relative. The entire goal of the locker room transition is to smell less, or smell better. Take your pick.

This is the process by which we interact with the world. We get wet. We dry off. It’s the same in the locker room, the hotel shower or the welcome feel of your own bathroom after hours on the road or a long swim. Wet. Dry. Wet. Dry. Over and over. In and out of locker rooms or one kind or another we go.

swim-backSometimes we even stop to talk about our workout or experiences while standing around in the locker room. How did it go for you? Wasn’t that interval set tough? How much did you want to die after the last section?

When talking with strangers, the conversation must start with easy questions. How’s it going? Good workout? How did the race go?

One should be polite. Going straight for the locker room jugular by asking, “What was your time today?” is impolite. Too intimate. If the day has gone badly for the stranger you have just met, the probing questions are too close company to expect to keep.

Unless you’re simply a social dolt. You meet those in the locker room too. Guys or gals who stand too close or talk too loud. Ask weird questions or stand around too long, period. One of the guys at the club where I belonged the last three years spent hours getting in and out of his clothes. Pretty sure that was his entire workout. Getting dressed undressed. I never stopped to ask him his gig. But everyone in the place knew the look of his giant ass in those baggy white undies. That was his locker room persona.

With people you know, locker room talk can be more friendly. Think of the scenes in the movie Independence Day when the Will Smith character talks with his buddy about getting into astronaut school or shows the ring he’s about to give his stripper girlfriend. The locker room is often where true confessions can indeed occur between friends.

swim-faceYes, we all know that some locker room talk gets filthy and funny too. Guys and gals alike will let fly with banter that crosses the line of good taste. The locker room has always been a “safe space” or free zone for that kind of talk. I’ve done it. So has just about everyone. But when locker room talk and sexual braggadocio crosses the line to one’s public persona and behavior it becomes a problem. There’s a time and place. Reign it in.

We all leave our marks and gain memories from the locker room one way or another. I well recall those afternoons after high school cross country workouts singing with the boys in the locker room showers. Those events are unforgettable. Pinball Wizard. The Beatles. Choose your song and belt it out. Post-workout stress release.

As the years go by, those locker room memories get compressed into a memory wad like a wet towel inside your gym bag. In some cases it’s hard to recall some of those events even occurred. This is the Black Hole of athletic experience, when you’ve got so many years stuffed into your life that it begins to bulge and expand like a big old sun. Then time and memory contract into a dark energy from which even light cannot escape. You take that with you when you die.

swim-back-2But for now, that leaves you standing before the gray door of a locker with just one thing in mind: how to do the workout of the day. Or maybe you’re standing there thinking about how it went. Was your form okay? Did you pass the test of the moment?

And if you’re a triathlete, “What do I need to do next?”

Eventually you shower and change back into your clothes. Slide the slightly rusty latch up and into place. That familiar sound is something you’ve heard so many times and so many places. It is a mark of your existences. So many workouts. So many friends. So many races. So many dreams. So many numbers on lockers. Combinations to recall. So many coaches. So many wins and losses. So much internal dialogue about all these things you’ve experienced.

That’s the real meaning of locker room talk. That internal dialogue is the voice inside your head that helps you navigate it all. For better or worse, that is the voice you hear most often. Locker room talk. And how is it going for you?

 

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Long shadows and snow fences

Posted on December 27, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

This morning’s run finally felt better. The cold virus that has vexed my body for two weeks has relented a bit. That’s how it is with certain colds. They linger and force you to flirt with disaster if you miss some sleep or some other combination of stresses on your body.

So the hacking cough held up for days. Yesterday I finally ran five miles. But it felt heavy and hard. You know the feeling… when you drag your feet along and the road feels like it’s made of asphalt, because it is? That’s how it felt.

Picking it up

But today the enthusiasm was a bit higher. Plus I received a beautiful new Saucony running suit from Sue for Christmas. Talk about motivation! New gear like that is so great. Bonus benefit:  the sleeves are bright yellow and the cars go out of their way to move over when you’re running on the shoulder against traffic. Spiff.

It was 24 degrees out this morning for my run, but the Weather Channel app said it felt like thirteen. With that assessment I had to agree. Yet a carefully chosen route can make the first miles feel not so cold. So I ran South and East with the West wind behind me. My body was well-warmed-up by the time I turned west and ran up a long incline with some zip in my step.

Long shadows

shadow-runnerTurning north and east, the sun was at my side and low in the sky. My shadow was thus twenty yards long, nearly reaching a snow fence out in a cornfield next to the road. The soil in the field was now visible because we have had a warm spell followed by nights of driving rain.

So the snow fence looks useless right now. But the fact that someone got out into that field to install a snow fence is something we all likely take for granted. Because when the snow comes back around again, that snowfence is there to keep drifts from crossing the road. Otherwise traffic conditions can get bad in a hurry.

Shifting fields

Someday in that same section of field, snow fences will no longer be needed. The field is zoned for commercial development and the landholder is likely anxious to get a return on investment from that property.

If it’s the farmer that originally owned the land, they’ve been watching and waiting for that day. Perhaps they’ll take their money and move out west where farmland is cheaper. Or perhaps they’ll just keep the cash and huddle up in their four-square farmhouse and live out their days with traffic whizzing past. That’s what plenty of their formerly farming neighbors are doing. One certainly can’t blame them. Working the fields for all those years is hard and often speculative work. Socking away some cash for land and having time to take a vacation when you want is the tradeoff for all those years of tending dirt for a living.

The snow that covered the fields for several weeks was fun to view. Its clean white blanket made everything look so wrapped up and nice. While out for runs at twilight the snow kept the night from coming on too fast. Snow tends to be good company that way, and so is the cold, which keeps you from overheating if you dress right and keep the seams covered. You can run a very long time with the right combination of clothing keeping you warm.

Modern gear

Thank God for modern gear, which is definitely better than it was forty years ago when I was doing the big miles. You just made the best of it, and learned which items of clothing might not betray you. By the early 1980s, technical fabrics were being invented that wicked off moisture and made for more comfortable running. Those early inventions in running and cycling gear truly have cast a long shadow. I recall the first Salazar NIKE PR running shirt I bought with sleeves that wrapped over your fingers. It lasted until the fabric turned to gravelly bits of plastic, for it was made from oil-based plastics.

I still own a New Balance blue mock turtle purchased in 1998. It has not aged a day in all those years. The matching shorts finally gave out around the waistline, but the shirt still works as well as the day I bought it. That’s a long, long time to own a garment when you think about it. Yet it’s still so comfortable, practical and presentable there is no reason to throw it out. It’s almost been like a snow fence in a field to me. There when I need it no matter what.

Worn out

But that’s not quite the case when it comes to running shoes. When it comes to that kind of equipment, the long shadow is comprised of dozens of pairs worn out over the years. We wear them out and move on. It simply does not pay to wear them longer than their support and sole wear allow. At that point, the shock of the road starts coming through the shoes or the biomechanics of the shoe get thrown off. Then it’s time to resign those shoes to other purposes. Recycling perhaps, at your local shoe store.

Money spent at  local running shops is a good thing. Yes, we’re all apt to order some things cheaper online at times. But a good relationship with a shoe store or three will stand you in good stead over time. Usually, there’s a way the store offers to earn a better price on shoes or get gear through loyalty programs. Most importantly, getting a good fit is always a good strategy on your running shoes. That’s something you simply can’t do online.

Evergreen

Shadow cat.jpgThe local running shops in our area have proved to be fairly evergreen in the face of competition from online retailers and big box stores. That trust that builds up over time is a good thing to have. It’s a bit like we’re all pets in a big running and cycling household. Our local shops feed and outfit us, and give us a scratch on the back when we need it. Ego-wise, anyway.

AS for the remains of winter, that snowman out back that our houseful of twenty-somethings had built during that first night of moist snow was severely compromised by the warm weather. It spent its final days leaning, leaning, leaning until it finally fell over. Kind of gives new meaning to the words Just Do It. More like Get It Over With. His demise seemed timed to coincide with the Christmas holiday, when rain fell all night and made it hard to feel the spirit of the season any longer.

Poor guy looked like he’d had too much to drink, and was pudgy around the middle until his entire middle just fell to the earth. Flump. Frosty bit the dust. But not before the sun rose the next morning and used his low-lying shape to cast a long shadow across the lawn. It goes to show that no matter how humble your status or purposes, or where you past self might be anchored, there is hope in every new day. So let that one melt your heart, and get ready for the next fresh snowfall. Go running. Grab your skis. Take the fat tire bike out for a spin. And enjoy the long shadows of your own existence.

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Do you believe in bridges?

Posted on December 26, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

 

community

Painting titled COMMUNITY by Christopher Cudworth depicts the Wilson Street Bridge and downtown traffic in Batavia, Illinois. The triple jumper represents personal achievement. 

Last night following a busy Christmas Day in which we celebrated at three different homes, my mind went to work when the head hit the pillow.

 

The dreams that came about were all about what it means to have a sense of place. That’s what the inventive part of your brain can do sometimes. The mind can really run you around when it wants to try. Thus I found myself dreaming about an obligation or commitment to an animal rescue facility at which I was supposed to give a fundraising speech.

But first I was scheduled to speak at a church about the book I published on religion. The pastor and I sat talking about the address, and the more we talked, the less things we agreed upon to talk about.

“I know the way…”

In fact, I offered to simply cancel the address to his church, but asked him for a ride to the next commitment on my schedule. We climbed into his car and within seconds were off into some neighborhood that I didn’t recognize. That feeling got worse the further we went along. Finally, I turned to him and asked why we were taking such an odd route.

“I know the way,” I told him. “Why don’t you just ask me?”

He turned to me and with full conviction said these words. “I don’t believe in bridges.”

“Any kind of bridges?” I asked him. “Even little ones?”

He shook his head. So we kept driving and I felt a sense of irritation growing within me. We showed up on the far west side of a town I partially recognized. When I hopped out of the car, we were parked in a vast industrial park next to an airport. It was a local airport I knew from the size of the hangars. Making my way toward down, the tips of the buildings disappeared below the nearer buildings. Slowly I felt a sense of being lost in a place where I did not know where to turn.

So I walked inside a building and it was some sort of official government office. An employee swooped over and guided me into a room where a woman sat me down for questioning.

I asked, “How do I get downtown?”

She was not forthcoming with answers. In fact, a series of increasingly oblique people started coming by trying to confuse me somehow. The entire notion of “knowing where I was” started to dissipate within the dream.

And then I woke up.

Translations

The whole “lost in the downtown” thing didn’t bother me. That’s a product of a loose schedule the week following Christmas. This zone between holidays is always a bit unsettling. One has the feeling of pending obligations, yet all sorts of people are taking time off. You have to do this dance between working diligently and letting things slide.

But the “I don’t believe in bridges” thing? It takes a little analysis to parse that out.

So…you know… they always say that dreams are all about what’s wandering through your own head. 

So I looked up bridges on one of those dream interpretation sites and this is what it said: To dream that you are crossing a bridge signifies an important decision or a critical junction in your life. This decision will prove to be a positive change filled with prosperity and wealth in the horizon.

That’s all okay with me.2016 has been a year in which many life changes have occurred. One could say that I’ve crossed a number of major bridges just this year: engagement, selling my home, finding a new home, melding our families as we all plant our futures together.

So it is not fear of change that might be holding me back. Instead, I’m going to defer that interpretation by considering the notion that it is resistance from others that more typically makes it difficult to cross those bridges when you come to them. When we set out to “chase those dreams” there are often people who tell us it can’t be done, or refuse to believe in the bridges we map out for ourselves. This can even occur at the macro level in a society. And so it has.

Real people dreams

It so happens that the pastor who appeared in my dream is a real person from my past. I know his belief system fairly well because he preached it from the pulpit for many years. He does not, for example, believe in science such as theory of evolution. He also takes the Bible literally on many fronts. To me, is symbolic of so much going on in this world. The idea that someone “does not believe in bridges” is simple an example of an obstinate denial of practical reality. Thus it is also evidential of the major impediments in rational discourse these days. People who don’t abide in facts cannot be convinced their beliefs are wrong. Thus it’s possible to let one’s fear of knowledge take over to the point where one might make the statement, “I don’t believe in bridges.”

Cultivate our garden

img_5583Certainly, we’re all about to face some of that in the year to come. 2017 will be a journey worthy of the book Candide, in which a band of liberal innocents stray into the world and wind up getting all kinds of spiritual and physical abuse before they straggle back home, having been robbed and raped and disabused of their idealistic intentions.

At the end of the book, they gather back home and admit to one another that perhaps it is best to get back to basics. “We must cultivate our garden,” they all agree.

It so happens that I’m at work on a book titled Nature Is My Country Club. The book uses the game of golf as a way to look at the natural world, and how we human beings interact with it. So that’s my garden to cultivate. It speaks about issues of sustainability and perception. It also places the human race in context with creation. To me, that is the bridge to sanity we all must consider.

The garden of fitness

The other garden I plan to cultivate is a better plan for personal fitness this year. I’ve been a bit of an “echo” triathlete, drifting along with whatever training life offers. But I know better. I need my own focus and plan and structure for swimming, cycling and running.

I know how to do that quite well. The training plans I’ve written for myself in the past were productive in achieving running and cycling goals. So that will be the bridge I construct this week. It will be done with pen on legal pad. Then I’ll set up a journal in which to map out and document the plan as it goes along.

Because I do believe in bridges, and many other kinds of rational structure, evidence of evolution and cause and effect in this world. There are some things you can trust to God, but there are many things you need to do for yourself. That’s how it works. And that’s the bridge between life here on earth and whatever comes after.

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Wrapping with the worst of them

Posted on December 25, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

gifts-toThe class they never taught in Home Economics class. Gift wrapping. One of the most useful skills in all human activity. Completely ignored.

I learned how to make omelets in Home Economics. Even a Baked Alaska. But they never brought up gift wrapping. Thus I wander through life as if there are never occasions when it might be helpful to know how to gift wrap something for someone you care about.

The manner in which a gift is wrapped does matter. A couple years ago my fiance’s daughter Sarah (1) brought home a gift from England for her best friend, whose name is also Sarah (2).

Sarah 2 was sitting at the kitchen table when the gift was handed over, unwrapped. Sarah 2 took a look at the gift and said, “No, I’m not taking it until it’s wrapped.”

Sarah 1 stood aghast. “Forget you!” she laughed, because they have been friends since they were little.

But Sarah 2 was adamant. And Sarah 1, if I recall properly, somehow wrapped the gift even if it was just a bag with some paper stuffed in the top.

There’s a lesson in that. Showing someone that we care is a two-way street. Sometimes it is our responsibility to hold our friends accountable for their conscience. In some ways that’s the best gift of all.

When it comes to running and riding and swimming, it is a great gift to encourage others. Just this morning Sue was feeling sick with a cold and was going to miss a workout. That is a total rarity for her.

“But you should go out and run,” she nudged me. And I did.

And I felt like crap because of all the food and junk of the holidays. But by the time I was done, the flow started again and I was running smoothly.

However my feet hurt a bit from all the shopping and running around. And I felt fat because well, right now I’m fat.

So there’s a virtue to knowing how to unwrap gifts as well. It’s my job to unwrap a few pounds in the coming weeks. I’m sure some of you will be joining me in that endeavor.

Merry freaking Christmas. That’s my wrap for the day.

 

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Breaking with Christmas tradition

Posted on December 23, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

bikeFor the last thirty years on Christmas morning I’ve gone for a run on a golf course north of my in-laws’ house in Addison, Illinois. But with family dynamics shifting around for our clan, we’ll be out in the Fox Valley on December 25 to open gifts with my wife-to-be’s kids.

And that’s okay. My Christmas run is not part of some streak I care about. I would never, for instance, insist on being in Addison that morning just to go for that run. Honestly, some of those runs were less than stellar. More than one year I huffed and puffed for two or three miles and happily dragged my Santa ass back to the house for some orange juice and gingerbread cookies.

Other years when I felt good or fit I’d do seven or eight miles. Some years were snowy and I had to stick to the roads. Then there were years when the temps were in the mid-60s and I jogged around a soggy golf course trying to avoid the winter’s collection of goose poop.

I suddenly can’t recall if I squeezed in those runs before we opened presents, but that seems like the case. That way I could safely eat what I wanted and not worry about holding off before a run. My stomach has never been happy about running with food in it. With most foods, it takes at least two hours to digest and be ready to run.

After a quick shower in the lone bathroom in the house, it was nice to put the slippers back on and kick around the house with the family for a while. The run sort of cleared my head after an often busy Christmas Eve running around to services and other homes and families.

Over the years, we had decided to dial back the Christmas giving. Not for reasons of economics, but to simplify the feeling of sharing time together. We’d do a drawing and get one bigger gift for the person we selected. For the rest of the family we found fun things to purchase. Each of us developed a style of sorts. My brother-in-law gave gadgety stuff and toys. My daughter made candles, pretzels and soaps. My son often put together a series of clues we all had to decipher together in order to get the meaning of his gifts to us.

Some years, this had the pleasant effect of making us all think as one. Because like the various nations affected by space visitors in the movie The Arrival, it helps to think together to think alike.

But we lost some members of our tribe these last five years, and my mother-in-law likes things super simple now. Her faith in Christ is one that does not require celebration to sustain. She loves family, but the long days of perpetual parties are over. She tires from too much company, and too long. So we’re all adapting. And that means my casual run streak is over.

Instead I’ll run from home this year. It’s supposed to be raining on Christmas Day, which is a bit of a bummer usually. I much prefer the delicate clip and chick of fresh cold snowflakes landing on their brethren and sisters. The crunch of running shoes on fresh snow is not a bad thing either. But you can’t have everything in this world. Nor would you want it if you had it.

And in that light, I wish you all a Merry Christmas if that is your tradition. And for those of you who travel in different circles, may you find your own path joyous and bright.

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Greetings from Bedford Falls. Or is this Pottersville?

Posted on December 22, 2016 by Christopher Cudworth

Bedford Falls Geneva.jpgThe coffee shop named Graham’s 318 is where I often sit to write this blog. It is situated in a pretty section of Geneva, Illinois collectively known as Third Street. Like many shops up and down Third Street, Graham’s is located in a former residence.  From where I sit the view out the big porch windows includes the corner where the Community Classic 10K used to start. The race was discontinued several years back after 30 years in existence. But my running history includes winning the first and third editions and a course record of 31:52 that stood a long while. Someone told me it was never broken but I have my doubts about that.

Years ago I also exhibited my artwork on the sidewalk right in front of Graham’s. There was a fantastic annual show called Artists in Action associated with Festival of the Vine, a September tradition in Geneva. I often sold quite a bit of art through that show. The connections earned by demonstrating your painting style in public often led to sales and commissions.

wonderful20bailey20park-thumb.jpgLittle brick bungalow

For eleven years between 1986 and 1997 I actually lived with my family in Geneva. Our little brick bungalow was the modicum of small decorum. 750 square feet of family togetherness.

As a bachelor, I’d rented a square coach house not far from that bungalow. It was the site of many a party with my friends. There were beers and pot and sex on the couch during those fun years. Largely innocent debauchery among twenty-somethings. Nothing that young people have not done for generations.

You may recall that in the early scenes of the amazing film It’s a Wonderful Life, George Bailey and his brothers cavort and flirt and live it up in true period style. Bailey even winds up holding his lady friend’s clothes as she covers up her bare skin inside the hydrangea bushes. “This is a very interesting situation!” Bailey chortles into the night.

Shocker

mr-potter-its-a-wonderful-life1-1Seconds later, his life changes as the police roll up to inform him that his father has just suffered a stroke. Bailey’s face goes from joy to dread in that moment.

I’ve lived that reality. Gotten that phone call telling me that my father just had a stroke. I turned to my wife at that moment and said, “Well, my life just changed.”

It would lead to fifteen years of caregiving for my father through multiple care facilities and finally at-home management with caregivers who became part of our lives. Within five years of my father’s stroke, my mother passed away from cancer and stroke. At the same time, my late wife was diagnosed with ovarian cancer and that resulted in eight years of survivorship filled with challenges and blessings that were unimaginable to me as that cavorting youngster living and partying with my friends in the coach house.

Sanity

cold-day-1Through it all, my running and riding have been sanity keepers. And while I ceased hard competitive training upon once my children were born, there have been many great times training with old and new friends. My two best buddies are guys with whom I raced and trained in high school cross country and track. One of them was a college teammate as well. We later lived together in Chicago. All of us take care of each other in manifold ways. I am so grateful for these friendships. There have been thick and thin times for all of us raising kids and managing marriages for better or worse.

And recently we carried the casket of our high school coach to its final resting place in a grave under an oak tree outside Big Rock, Illinois.

Bedford Falls

All these milestones resemble the wins and losses of life in Bedford Falls, the fictitious community where the movie It’s a Wonderful Life takes place. Yet Bedford Falls is based on a real place called Seneca Falls, New York. It sits on the northern tip of Cayuga Lake in the Finger Lakes region of Upstate New York. That’s where I was born and lived the first five years of my life.

So when George Bailey goes joyously trotting through the snow after his revelatory experience in another dimension… learning what life would have been like in Pottersville had he never been born, I feel a particular cpottersville.pngonnection to the skinny form of Jimmy Stewart and George Bailey. The real lesson of It’s a Wonderful Life is found in this dramatic contrast between a life lived with concern for others and a life centered only around the selfish plot to gain more money.

Parallels

george-baileyThe parallels between the last eight years of Bedford Falls and the potential Pottersville we now face are disturbing. Recall where we were eight years ago. That’s when Bush and that mimic of Henry Potter named Dick Cheney had made a miserable wreck of things.  The economy and financial institutions were collapsing under their own unregulated weight, yet were deemed “too big to fail” and in dire straits.

Millions of people were also living without health insurance. The world had a rough and depressing feel to it, just like Pottersville, as millions more people that formerly held good jobs could not find work. The middle class was reeling while the wealthy seemed untouched by it all. It was Pottersville to the max.

George Bailey and Barack Obama

But then the economy was rescued from disaster by public assistance. Remember that scene at the end of It’s a Wonderful Life when George Bailey’s friends all rush to his financial rescue by throwing cash into a big basket so he could meet his obligations and save the savings and loan? Well, that was America in early 2008 when President Obama, thin as George Bailey and just as considerate and caring, was called upon to bring Bedford Falls back from the lurches of Pottersville.

Obama did not stop there either. He moved to make health insurance available to millions of others who could not get it. People with pre-existing conditions, and twenty-somethings trying to get their start in the world could stay on their parent’s insurance until they got employed. All these moves were compassionate attempts to leverage the benefits of democracy to all. And that included full civil rights for gays so that they could get married and enjoy the legal benefits of domestic partnership.

Girls.jpegTrump and the Potters of this world

But the Henry Potters of this world found all this disgusting. Their selfish forgetfulness about the ugly truth of 2007 and Pottersville was lost to their shortsighted memories. Some of the wealthier citizens even scoffed at the supposed rescue of the economy because its effects had not reached them. Their investments rebounded after the recession and it was easy to dismiss all that as normal market cycles. They’d forgotten what Pottersville really felt like for milions of people in America. They even promised it would be better for everyone if Bedford Falls was pushed to the trash heap of history.

In the runup to the 2016 election, people seemed to lavish in the allure of Pottersville’s tempting delights. Their candidate Donald Trump bragged about his burlesque past and made promises for an even sexier future when people would not have to apologize for their politically incorrect lusts and prejudices. A good portion of formerly upright citizens of Bedford Falls fell for the sex appeal of a celebrity candidate with more money than brains. Pottersville started to creep into the public consciousness as a reality.

The George Bailey’s of the world resisted its pull, and were mocked for it.

Cynical nature

mr-potter-its-a-wonderful-life1Such is the cynical nature of the Henry Potters fo this world. And now we have the White Elephant President about to take office and create Pottersville all over again.

 

Which is why I wake up every day wondering whether we’ll be living in Bedford Falls or Pottersville in the very near future. I’ve seen the results of both in my lifetime, and the lessons are not lost on my conscience. Pay close attention if you watch It’s a Wonderful Life this Christmas season. Because just like the chief priests who had Jesus arrested and killed to protect their status on this earth, the dynamic is at large again in this world. Vicious selfishness demands a sacrificial lamb. We love that George Bailey was able to rescue that old Savings and Loan and protect the humble livelihoods of all those modest homeowners and immigrants in Bedford Falls. But if all those people had thought it best to vote for Potter rather than trust George Bailey to their best interests, where would they be?

That really is the question of the season, isn’t it? Do we want to live in Bedford Falls where consideration and compassion lead to prosperity for all, or fall into Pottersville where greed and selfishness rule?

Want to read more by Christopher Cudworth? Click here to read yesterday’s humorous yet pointed commentary about America’s First White Elephant President. Follow Chris on Twitter (@gofast) or Instagram. (genesisfix) His other blogs include: GenesisFix and The RightKindofPride.com.

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