The wind is bully good outside

IMG_4202Winds with gusts of more than 50 mph are blowing through the Chicago region this morning. I sat with my little dog on the couch listening to the wind and whispering to him. The house creaked and he jumped. Then he spun around and laid next to my leg while looking out the far window at trees shaking and leaves blowing by.

The Chicago Tribune reported this: “Chicago police shut down part of the Skyway on Thursday morning after debris kicked up by high winds struck two semis.

The Skyway closed down between 91st and 106th streets around 2:20 a.m. after winds blew cables from nearby scaffolding onto the road and two semis were hit, according to authorities. One truck’s windshield was broken and another’s side mirror was broken.  No injuries were reported.”

Those of us that run and ride know the force of the wind all too well. If it kicks up on race day, throw that hope of a PR right out the window. The amount that the wind blows you from behind when running never makes up for the time lost trundling into the wind.

In cycling, it may be more of a balance. I’m never sure. Riding west from my house more than once I’ve averaged a meager 14 mph into the wind and come back my favorite route averaging 25 mph the whole way. Basically, that averages out to what I’d ride on an average or good day.  It’s a tarsnake of balance and proportion.

Running track workouts in a strong wind is an exercise in frustration and futility. Knowing that you’re going to come around a turn into a fierce gale every time works on your mind. You get almost paranoid about it, facing choices about whether more or less knee lift is better. Should I bound or should I scoot? Is it all just foolish and moot?

TarsnakesWe call the wind around here an Illinois Hill. Lacking many real hills on which to build leg strength, we depend instead on riding into the wind. It’s not the same of course. The body position tends to be completely different while riding into the wind or climbing. To make matters worse, as a road cyclist often training with triathletes, it is not possible to get into same aero position without aero bars on the road bike. I finally installed them on the Waterford and gave that a try late this summer, but the gearing on that bike is for racing criteriums. The experiment did not really work.

I humped along as far as I could and turned around at an hour rather than go out the full 1.5 hours and come back. I was worried the entire affair would turn into a slogfest. The wind had me down in aero full time and the longer I went, the more my lower back hurt. It was almost a spasm.

For an invisible source of anguish, the wind is certainly a proud and fearsome nemesis. One can only thank God there is typically not much of a current in the lakes or pools where triathlons are held. The swimming done in rivers tends to be done in the same direction as the current. Doesn’t it? If not, I will never enter a race where you are swimming upstream. I refuse to do that. Ever.

As for today, I have a five-mile run planned. Perhaps the wind will die down now that it has stripped the landscape bare and pasted the remaining maple and Sycamore leaves to the side of my house with glee.

Chris Cudworth 4Yes, the wind has a wicked sense of humor alright. I can hear it laughing at me from outside my windows now. “C’mon out, let’s playyyyy,” it whooshes around the neighborhood, brushing through my yard like a bully. “We can have Some Real Fun!”

First I have to walk the dog. He’ll hate this I know. His fuzzy ears pin back and he squints as we walk around the block. The wind today will nearly blow the poop right back up his arse. It’s blowing that strong.

We can’t get to winter if the wind never comes around, so I suppose all this is necessary. I’ll bundle up if it’s genuinely cold and choose a route in the river valley so the wind won’t beat me up too badly. They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger? When you wind up running or riding in the wind, there is no greater truth in the world.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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No time left for you

BrothersWhen I was twelve years old our family moved from Lancaster, Pennsylvania to the little town of Elburn, Illinois. The uprooting was ostensibly necessary for my father to find work. He’d been laid off at RCA and the job hunt out East had not gone well.

Departure from Lancaster was a painful period for my brothers and I. We all had our social networks and were involved in sports up to our necks. We loved the place and the Cudworth brothers were a part of the flow at Lampeter-Strasburg High School.

I had already discovered my distance running ability during a fitness test in gym class at Martin Meylin Junior High. Wearing Converse basketball shoes and running on a cinder track, I covered two miles in a twelve minute time trial in 7th grade.

Running through life

CudworthVersusCudworthRunning would turn into a lifetime avocation. Yet I’m not sure what would have happened had we stayed in Pennsylvania. Soccer was the sport of choice in our family, not cross country. So was baseball, not track and field. Thus, it all might have turned out very differently had my father found a job and our family had stayed in Pennsylvania.

Yet I have no regrets, and the curiosity about those possibilities have faded with time. Even the keen friend I’d left behind, a guy that had shared those critical years from age five through age 12, turned out to not be interested in reminiscing about what it was like to grow up together.

He was a popular, handsome kid with three sisters that taught him the realities of getting along with women. Yet it didn’t help him all that much when it came to his own romance. Somewhere in his 7th grade dating relationship with a girl named Brenda, one of the prettiest and most popular girls in school, things went a bit off track. She may have played him against some other guy, and that hurt him deeply.

He was already the product of an apparently bitter divorce between his parents. His father was a forceful man, and his mother could be a blunt pragmatist at times. That left little room or time for commiseration on such things as 7th-grade girlfriends. So he and I would attempt to talk things out.

Running from home

To get to his house, I’d run from my home at 1725 Willow Street Pike across the practice range and through the parking lot of the Meadia Heights Golf Club. I loved the feeling of running on that soft turf. In wintertime, we crossed the fairways during our comings and goings, but in summer we respected and avoided cutting across the fairways without checking carefully for golfers. We knew the rules and respected them.

Usually, if we needed to talk, my friend and I would crawl up into the giant apple tree in his front yard. That’s where we’d perch with broad limbs between our legs and talk about girls, sports and getting along in life.

photo (50)

There’s a fine line between a watch and a compass.

At the time when his girlfriend was giving him trouble, the song “No Time Left for You” by the Guess Who had just been released as a single. He pored through those lyrics for solace and to vent his anger and being played in love.

(No time left for you) On my way to better things
(No time left for you) I found myself some wings
(No time left for you) Distant roads are callin’ me
(No time left for you)

No time for a summer friend
No time for the love you send
Seasons change and so did I
You need not wonder why
You need not wonder why
There’s no time left for you
No time left for you

Now, you know that when a person is in love and hurt by their lover, there is a tendency to sometimes embrace that ache because the pain is delicious. To care deeply is fulfilling somehow. It’s like the middle of a distance race in which you’re pushing yourself hard and the pain starts to set in. Your body aches and your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re taking in breath after breath for all you’re worth and living on the edge. Love is like that at times. It tests our ability to persevere and hang on. To prove ourselves. It’s an ugly and beautiful truth at the same time. Evolution in action.

So my buddy was hurting. Angry. Confused. Not wanting to go on, yet determined to cling to the thought of her love. But it didn’t help that his family left held echoes of that sort of rift.

These days, that girl is married to a man from the same class at school. So the 7th grade romance was never meant to be. Such is life.

Moving away

When it came time for our family to move away in 1970, my friend and I retreated to the golf course to talk. It was late spring and we sat on the tee box of a drop hole overlooking a deep Pennsylvania gorge. “Why does everything I love have to go away?” he asked.

Years later, when he happened to move to the Chicago area, I called him up and tried to rekindle the friendship. But life had intervened. He’d gotten married and had three kids, then divorced. He was remarried, and seemingly happy, yet he wanted little to do with talking about the past.

Facebook friends 

IMG_3786He bounced back into view through Facebook many years later. We were Friends there for a while, but he cared not for my obviously liberal viewpoints. Soon enough he disappeared again.

His nature was conservative, it turned out. So perhaps we’d have ultimately split up as friends somewhere in high school if I’d stayed back East. Somewhere along the way those differences in personalities would have manifested in some way. It might even have been an argument over a girl. Or it might just have happened naturally. Friends often drift apart during high school and college. We meet new people, and we change. Surely that boyhood friendship is irreplaceable, yet as we age, our personalities solidify.

The question

In the first two years after I moved, my friend and I tried to keep in touch. I remember a long distance phone call from him when we were both still in 8th grade. Somehow he asked me the question. “Do you still beat off?”

Well, I was in 8th grade. What the hell do you think the answer was?

“I quit that,” he told me.

That was somehow important for him to tell me. That he’d cut himself off from self- pleasure on some sort of principle that I would possibly have understood, but never could have abided.

I remember feeling like something had broken between us at that point. We’d always competed with each other in many ways, and that’s a good thing. Yet somehow that question was a throw-down of sorts. Perhaps he knew that was a game in which I could never win. In turned out that he was willing to hold back on some aspect of the human spirit and its expression through the flesh that would distance us permanently. I had been part of his pain growing up, and his response to pain in life was denying himself pleasure, even when it was a youthful and essentially harmless indiscretion.

And the song lyrics came back to me. “No time left for you….no time left for you…”

Repression

In the intervening years, I’ve seen where this brand of repression has its cost across many fronts. The idea that you can shield yourself from the pain and grit of life by becoming more conservative is something I understand, because I’ve seen it in a thousand IMG_8591million people. Science is even discovering that our conservative and liberal minds are essentially wired differently. Some people simply think conservatively because that’s how their brains process stimuli. Then they develop gut instincts that tell them to batton down the hatches and contain the unpredictables rather than doing the liberal thing by going out to find even more trouble. It makes plenty of sense. But it has its limits.

In the end, we need a little of both, conservatism and liberalism. It might not help to be a liberal without limits, but neither does it help to be so damn repressive you lose compassion or become fearful or angry about anyone different than you. And how many times do we see a politician who spends their time raging against some issue of sexuality or morals only to find out they are cheating on their wives or denying their own homosexuality? Pretty much this happens weekly.

Fighting real battles

In the recent movie Fury about a tank crew in World War II, the personalities of the people in the tank vary widely. The tank commander is a complex, determined sergeant. The driver is a God-fearing, bible-quoting man. The gunners are a highly contrasting Latino and an American thug that have been through hell and back in the war. The last addition to the crew is a young buck named Norman, raw and scared.

But by the time the crew has been through a battle or two with young Norman learning the ropes, they pull together in time to make one last stand against a battalion of Nazi SS troops. Before they do, the sergeant says something important that pulls them all together. “This is home,” he says, glancing quickly around the raw innards of the tank. “Best job I ever had.”

But there’s one more surprise awaiting the bunch. When the Bible-quoting driver comes forth with a verse to inspire them all in battle, he quotes the following verse:

Then I heard the voice of the Lord saying, “Whom shall I send? And who will go for us?” And I said, “Here am I. Send me!”

 “Send me.” the driver says earnestly in quoting the passage. The sergeant turns to him and says: “Isaiah 6, chapter 8.” The whole crew erupts in laughter.  “That’s right!” the Bible quoter chuckles in quiet admiration. His seemingly godless yet godlike sergeant turns out to know the Good Book after all.

This is home

What matters most in the end is how we apply what we know in life. That sergeant had seen a lot of pain and death, and it had hardened him. But in the moments when it mattered most, he also came through. He did not say “No time left for you.” He said, “This is home.” Remember that next time you go into one of life’s battles. For better or worse, this is home. All of this.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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Like it or not, all of life is a competition

Yesterday’s blog about a found love note was full of intrigue. The obviously young man competing for the love of his wife with the rest of life brought back reminders of being a young man and in love. I was one of the most competitive personalities you could ever meet, racing at a fairly high level in track and cross country, yet I did not know or think one might have to compete in love.

IMG_2250As a result, it was shocking to realize at some point that despite being smitten beyond imagination with a woman I met in my very early 20s, she was hedging her bets all along, playing the field in her own inimitable manner. Looking back I could see by mentions in my running log that she was sending warning shots across my bow.

It was a harsh lesson in reality. My naivete was my own exploitation. Frankly, I’m not sure I’ve totally changed. Recently in an email exchange with a close friend, I expressed concerns over my own level of emotional intelligence. He provided some interesting counsel that I’ll share a little further down in this blog.

If you’re not up on the priority of emotional intelligence in the world, know that there’s a lot of emphasis on emotional intelligence in the workplace and beyond. Dr. Travis Bradberry authored a book on the subject that is worth checking out.

Emotional control

Whether we like it or not, life is a competition in the ability to control our own emotions and discern the emotions of others. Here is how the website AboutEducation describes emotional intelligence: “Emotional intelligence (EI) refers to the ability to perceive, control and evaluate emotions. Some researchers suggest that emotional intelligence can be learned and strengthened, while others claim it is an inborn characteristic.”

IMG_2251As competitive athletes, all of us need to recognize the relative merits of our emotional strengths and weaknesses. Every competitive effort is a measure of your ability to harness and apply your emotions and focus. Great coaches are able to counsel and guide this psychological process, encouraging where helpful and testing where necessary to bring out the best in any athlete or group of athletes.

Need for approval

Some of us are sensitive creatures. We live and die by how we perceive us, or how we think they do. As a young man with a powerful need for approval, the root of which stemmed from a brusque and competitive upbringing, the need for approval would manifest in awkward ways. People rapidly identify a needy personality. Generally it’s perceived as a sign of weakness. It’s true in love, business and friendship. Any perceived sign of weakness can be interpreted as a competitive disadvantage.

That’s why the world’s great religions seek to protect and even empower the weak. The sins of power are among the greatest known in the world. It seems unimaginable to some that the wealthiest citizens of a nation would see fit to further exploit the poor, yet it happens. Predatory lending as manifested by high-interest, sub-prime loans are just one example of this phenomenon. One learns through harsh experience not to expect the powerful to be your friend. Their version of emotional intelligence may be very different from your own. Some of them are simply sociopaths. It’s true among politicians too.

More than once I’ve been in a position “behind the scenes” in employment scenarios where executives in the company are considering how to fire a person that I knew quite well. The stunning lack of compassion or understanding witnessed in those decisions is quite instructive to the human soul. Often the executives had no real insight on the actual merits of the individual’s performance. All it took was some sign of weakness at a time when the company was undergoing change and that person was gone.

Competitors

IMG_1352Again, none of this should have surprised me in life. As an athlete, I had little mercy on my competitors in any sport. In baseball I took pride in striking out batters as a pitcher. In basketball, I coolly sank last-minute shots to finish off a persistent foe. In running, there was no better feeling than leaving the entire field behind when I could, and often did. To make matters clear, I also developed a low opinion of their efforts as a result. That’s how real competitors often operate.

And still, when it came to love, it seemed like life should be somehow different. Are we really trying to kill each other with this thing called love? Are our lovers really our competitors? Is that how it is supposed to work?

My friends that have gotten divorced can certainly testify how easily love can turn to war. That can make you question the entire concept of love, or shy away from future attempts in love at all. Yet people do find love again, and become happier, well-adjusted people in the process.

In other words, it’s possible to win in the game of life even if you fail at work or love, become miserable, or lose your credit rating in the process. That last part is the ultimate sign that we’re all in competition whether we know it or not. A few years ago when I purchased our Subaru my credit rating was 960. The dealership sold me the vehicle even though I was out of work at the time, and I’ve never missed a payment.

Yet credit rating has taken some hits through a few unexpected medical bills and the vagaries of the insurance and bill-paying world in general. Now I’m working to bring it back up to its former stellar level. That takes time, patience and persistence. But it’s a competitive world. Your credit rating matters whether you like it or not.

Friends and enemies

TarsnakesThe important principle to understand here is that life is not always your friend. Even your friends are not always your friends. Any middle school kid can tell you that. Competition for friendship and popularity is vicious. Trust and acceptance can turn on a dime. Your friends are as likely to manipulate you as your enemies.

As a result I always counseled my own children: “It’s not always your enemies you have to watch, it’s your friends too. It’s always a power struggle.” That’s not cynical thinking. That’s practical advice.

Competitive spheres

Sometimes we compete in spheres where we do not really belong. Somewhere during my sophomore year in college a biology instructor pulled me aside and said, “Listen, you’re not really cut out for a biology major. If you give me those six frog illustrations for use in future classes, and do a good job of stuffing that Virginia Rail skin because you’re good at that, I’ll give you a B in this course. But you need to find a different major. I’ve already talked to the art department. They’re ready for you to join them.”

And that’s what I did, along with an almost double major in English. It has provided me with many joys in life, including doing this blog, which is for pleasure, not necessarily for money. It’s gotten me work in writing however, and that’s a good thing.

Still, I’ll freely admit my own emotional intelligence is still lacking in some ways. I don’t always take my own advice about being tough or smart in business. I still trust that everyone has the same kind values… when nine times out of ten it’s really all about the money. I get that. Business is business. As Jackson Browne once wrote:

IMG_2897Down on the boulevard they take it hard
They look at life with such disregard
They say it can’t be won
The way the game is run
But if you choose to stay
You end up playing anyway
It’s okay

And what follows is a highly personal piece of advice offered by a friend about my place in the world. This is one of the most trusted friends I have, a person with whom I can share absolutely anything going on in life and not be judged. Well, I may be judged, but it is for my own betterment.

“What you perceive as your lack of EQ is actually a lack of cynicism to the point of innocence even. You have an open, liberal, inquisitive, sensitive soul. As such, the lens through which you view others and interpret their actions doesn’t often take into account that many people operate at a very base level and are selfish, arrogant, rude, ignorant, insensitive. You intellectually know this, but your heart always gives the benefit of the doubt to others. Like I say, you ąre a teacher, artist, and probably a pastor, too. The type of person who sees the best in others, brings out their best, forgives their flaws. As such, you have a purer form of EQ than most people.”

Those seem like rather complimentary values, yet the fact of the matter is they are not always a competitive advantage in this world.  In fact these qualities have cost me dearly when it comes to the very competitive world in which we live. Not everyone in business cares if you are a liberal, inquisitive, sensitive soul. In fact they tend to hate those qualities in others. Hate. They consider those qualities to be an obstacle in business. And, they are probably right.

Benefit of the doubt

IMG_1343In some arenas of life, one really should learn not to give the benefit of the doubt to others, or even forgive if you expect to thrive in business. And yet the people that I’ve forgiven, the folks that acknowledged their own wrongdoing have often turned into lifelong friends.

I used to say that you don’t really have the trust of a customer until you’ve solved a problem for them. Sometimes it is your own mistake, or the mistake of the company you represent that you need to fix, but in any case solving that problem and walking a client or customer through that process is critical to long-term trust. It has always been my philosophy that honesty, earnestness and a bit of sensitivity is actually an attribute in those situations. It was worked wonderfully on many occasions both in sales and marketing. But I’ll admit that my bosses have not always understood the approach. Many preferred the hard-line methodology to client relations. Kick ass. Take names. Don’t give an inch. And most of all, never admit that you were wrong.

Trusting our competitors to make us better

That might be a good way to look at life and competition in general, but I’ve grown to prefer a balance.

Chris thumbs upIt really is true that our competitors are ultimately our best friends. That may not mean we grow to like each other, or even trust that person so much as you learn to respect them. Yet our competitors are the ones that drive us to do better. You can turn to that person passing you during competition and thank them for showing you that it’s possible to go a little faster, a little longer and a little better. Because like it or not, all of life really is a competition. You gotta learn to love it or fall behind in the process.

That does not mean we cannot lay down our arms and help others. Because the real joy in life beyond our own aggrandizement is helping others succeed. When you’ve learned that lesson, life is a true joy indeed. Suddenly it’s safe to love. And you gotta love that too.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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A love letter found on the street tells a story to which we can all relate

Love LetterHeading out on a 3-mile run I glanced at a piece of notebook paper in the middle of the street. Often I’ll stop to pick such papers up. There are middle school bus stops on the block, and an elementary school two blocks south. Sometimes the notes you find and the homework you read can be quite amusing.

Coming back from the run I stopped to pick up the piece of notebook paper. There was a set of hearts drawn at the top. One said Amanda. The other said Kyle. Next to them was a carefully drawn word: Love.

The note began. “Dear Amanda. My Queen, My Love, My Heart, My Soul, the only thing that makes me whole.”

For a moment, I could not really tell where this was going. Serious or not? Then the direction became clear. Note: The spelling and grammar are recorded as they appear on the love note.

“It has become increasingly harder not being able to talk to you everyday, yet also makes it that much more pleasurable when we do. I can not even explain the joy and happiness that overwhelms me when I see your beautiful face on our visits. or even just to hear your sweet voice.”

Seriously. This man is in love.

“I am so happy and proud to see you working again, even though I know its not your ideal job, and is very rough on you. I keep praying that you find better work and stay strong. I know we both rely on each others strengths, and can conquer this and become that much stronger in the end. Not a day passes when I’m not thinking of you and all the amazing moments we shared. My heart and soul longs to be with you again and share everything we deserve. Our beautiful home, wonderful life, and amazing partnership which will only grow stronger as time passes and we grow old together.”

At this point, we can only imagine what the young woman reading this note might be thinking. She may be of the same heart as her lover Kyle, or she may have taken her new job to start a new life. As for this young man Kyle, what a fool believes is always better than nothing.

“I cannot imagine a world without you as my beautiful wife and raising even more beautiful children. I do not care how hard I’ll have to work to achieve our goals, but I will strive everyday of my life to make it possible. You deserve your happiness and I’m truly sorry to have hindered it from happening sooner.”

The plot thickens.

“From here on out there will be no more mistakes or regrets, only overwhelming joy, and happy ever afters. The only tears from here on out shall be tears of joy, and new beginnings…”

He is one determined dude. If a bit naive.

“Long nights of cuddling and holding each other close kissing you hard and deeply. Feeling the warmth of your touch and embrace. Taking in every moment as if it were our last, because I appreciated everything we have given each other, and still have to give.”

One gets the feeling they’re either already married, or planning a marriage.

“You are my everything and life would be hopeless without you. I need your smile which brightens my day like the sun, your sweet soft voice like calming melodies in my ears, and your loving touch that couldn’t compare to anything else in the world.”

Stay on the rails, son.

“The day you set foot in my life I knew there was no other and now that I”m gone it only solidifies my feelings. Because without you by my side I feel weak and hopeless but I know that this will only be for a short time and am already ready and planning to make up for every last moment, and create more lasting memories that will overwhelm the mistakes of my past.”

We are positively Shakespearean at this point.

“I miss flowing with you, miss making love to you, honestly miss very little thing about you. I hate that I ever fought against and regret every moment I didn’t listen to you. Your laugh and smile make me so happy and I can’t wait to hear and see them again. Seeing you today was such a great moment in my day today and I wish everyday was that good of a day in here, and only reminds me of how quickly I need to get back home, and make sure we are never apart again.”

Military? Work transfer? School?

“I know it is hard, but I am so proud of how strong you have been so far. I know that we can both make it through the darkness into the light of another. Let our brightness shine through onto the path of tomorrow that we may walk together again in peace into a life filled with love and happiness that is never ending. Your King, Your Love, Your Life, Your Light, Your Husband, Your soul, and everything in between. Love, Kyle.”

Okay, that last paragraph solves a couple little mysteries, but there are some still intriguing unknowns. What caused the rift, and separation? And to what mistakes is this man Kyle referring to? There is certainly no shortage of passion or hope for compassion in his plea. He is, quite simply, a man in love. 

How fascinating a tale it really is. Perhaps a letter from his love Amanda will show up on the street tomorrow. If not, perhaps I’ll have to write one of my own, for it’s a running mystery to know the workings of love.

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Swim lessons

imgres-2When I arrived for a swim evaluation with a great coach I met at XSport a while back named Whitney, she was waste deep in the pool helping little dunkers get their face wet. The moms were sitting around in their mom poses watching their darlings learn to feel safe in the water.

Perhaps you have memories of similar situations. Learning to swim is a big event in the lives of most people.

So is learning to swim all over again. For the last year the struggle to develop a better stroke and endurance to use it has taken quite a few sessions at the pool. For a few weeks I worked with Whitney before the St. Charles XSport dumped her swim classes because they were only attracting six or eight people each week. Forget the fact that the little XSport pool could not handle much more than that at a time. The numbers drove her out of there.

But I remembered how she taught, and got back in touch with her to help me move to the phase of my swimming. Using her original advice, and building on it through things I’ve collected through associates, my endurance and technique have genuinely improved.

imgresWhitney was a little shocked, she told me. “Everything looks good,” she enthused. “Let’s work on some things that will help you.”

She gave me directions on hand and elbow angle going into and under the water. Then she noticed me doing this ‘hand flick’ thing back by my butt and pulled me aside and said, “I don’t know if I can fix this, but…” and told me to stop doing that. So I did. I knew I was doing it. Not hard to quit.

Then I asked about my kick. She tossed me a board and I warned her that I usually go nowhere. Or used to anyway. I’ve been working on my kick a lot on my own. And lo and behold, there I went down the pool with my legs working like they should. But I do scissor when tired, so there was that.

swimming_poolAnd then she told me to practice breathing on the left side now that my stroke is built in confidence.

We’ll see how that goes and return to the evaluation in three weeks. This is exciting. New. Hard. And fun. All at the same time. You should do it too, if you’re not already.

Swim. Right over the tarsnakes.

werunandridelogo

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I stand corrected on the Newtons

IMG_3979When I wrote about the Newton shoes I inherited from my buddy Monte, it was with some suspicion as to their design. However, I’ve run a few times in them now, and every new experience in those shoes keeps getting better.

The empiric evidence is there too. The three mile run I normally run in 25:00+ minute was completed in just under 23:00 yesterday while wearing the Newtons. For some damn reason, I run faster in them.

My humble theories are as follows:

They’re light: they feel light on my feet. Almost like racing shoes. I have not had that sensation in 10+ years.

They don’t get in the way: I don’t feel like I’m lugging the shoes around on my feet.

They require a forefoot strike: I’ve always run on my midfoot in some way, but the lugs on the Newton soles are like a step-by-step reminder and physical affirmation of the right foot strike.

They’re responsive: There isn’t much sole to them, but I’m not trying to run 10 miles in my new Newtons. I’m going to us them to train indoors on the track this winter. I could definitely see racing in them next year, especially in triathlons.

They stretch my calves: This is a healthy thing. My calves have been a little sore after each run but that is going way. Same with my Achilles tendon.

So that’s the take on these shoes. Hello Better seems to fit. And that’s an interesting surprise. Not sure I can yet explain it beyond that. Even the Newton website has troubles defining why they give back what they’ve put into them, or taken out.

Whatever, it seems to work.

Author’s Note: No endorsement fees or any other commercial consideration is involved in this post. All opinions are strictly the product of a personal product experience with Newton running shoes. 

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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Me and Vitamin D

IMG_4365This year more than other years, it seems like people reacted with shock to the strange conversion to Daylight Savings Time. Or whatever it is.

This patently unnecessary adjustment to our schedules is like an imposed jet lag. It left many of us sitting in the dark for hours, wondering what time it was, only to look at our watches or phones and realize it was only 6:26. Stupid darkness.

So it happened that I had time to go out riding during the day this week. The temperatures were in the low 70s (F) and while there was a bit of a breeze, it was not about pace or time with which I was concerned.

I wanted Vitamin D. Sunlight. Sunshine.

Come September I have this period where my brain goes through what feels like attitudinal mud. Even though I know the feeling from experience, and know how to manage it much better than I once did, it is still no fun.

The condition is known as Seasonal Affective Disorder. Otherwise known as, Fall Bums You Out.

Well, no kidding. Waning sunlight and less time to be active can make it feel like the world is closing in on you. The best antidote, I have decided, is to do two things. Get outside as much as you can and schedule a full program of evening activity rather than lying around watching television and eating. Which makes you gain weight. And further bums you out.

IMG_4361So my strategy seemed wise until reading up the difficulty of getting Vitamin D from the sun during the fall and winter months. It turns out that doesn’t work so well. Apparently the rays of sunlight that promote production of Vitamin D are filtered out by the atmosphere during autumn and winter because the earth is on an angle that forces sunlight to go through too much atmosphere.

How easily we forget that this whole “living on a planet thing” has its plusses and minuses. Perhaps that’s why Flat Earthers want to believe the earth is not round. If we’re just sitting in one place and the sun is going round and round us instead, we can exert a little more control on how our sunlight works. And it might also be true that running and riding and swimming might be much easier if the earth was genuinely flat. How does gravity work when the earth is flat?

But it’s not, so we’ve got to deal with issues such as a lack of Vitamin D because the earth’s atmosphere is sucking it right out of the sky.

It also turns out that our bodies need more Vitamin D as we get older. So that makes it even tougher to stay ahead of the Vitamin D curve and reap the corresponding benefits of vitality and wholesomeness as we age. Maybe AARP has a solution for that. They probably sell Vitamin D insurance. They sell everything else.

IMG_4363Sure, folks can resort to Vitamin supplements, and I might just do that this time around. My doctor already told me to starting swallowing unscented garlic pills and downing cinnamon tablets to keep my veins and arteries from developing symptoms of circulatory disease. That runs in my family history, but the prescription drug to handle cholesterol are no bargain on any front. I’m not at high risk, but preventative measures do make sense at any age.

So I’ll take some of that too. I mean what the hell? Isn’t there Vitamin D in Cap’n Crunch cereal or something fun like that?

But despite all this difficulty with sucking up sunlight, I still went out for an hour ride, and it was fun. Along the way I decided to stop, lay down the bike and sit in the sun for 15 minutes. The sky was so clear and blue it looked like a pair of circling hawks would just dissipate into the celestial abyss. The sun was warm, and it was November. I could have sworn I felt a little Vitamin D reach my beating heart. But one can’t be sure.

I walked down a path and studied the plant forms left over from this year’s growth. There was a young oak or two cropping up. They stood just a bit taller than me. It struck me that their lives were just beginning. Those trees often live 100 years or more. How humbling.

By contrast, the pods of milkweeds with their hopeful fluttering seeds anchoring angel wings of silk were preparing to let fly in the autumn breeze. What an act of grace, to just let go and grow wherever the world finds you with rain, soil and sunlight.

IMG_4362The fluffy remains of goldenrod were everywhere. Just weeks ago they were yellow and fervent in late September sun. Now they basked in sunlight waiting for the touch of snows and winter wind.

I climbed back on the bike and headed home with a bit of a tailwind to carry the bike and I along. There was a Strava segment along the way and for a few brief moments I lifted the pace and dipped down into the aero bars for a feel of how strong the wind would push me. But it simply didn’t matter. I didn’t want to go fast that day. I wanted to soak up the sunlight and enjoy the ride.

Me and Vitamin D were communing to the best of our ability, you see. And that’s a good thing.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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Running, riding and swimming gaily through the world

Fluorescent ChrisAt the conclusion of my happy little three-mile run in the new Newton shoes, I spied my friend and neighbor Ray walking into his father’s house with his longtime companion Joseph. We’ve known each other 20 years now, Ray and I. We’ve shared many life events during our association. His father has been through everything from strokes to West Nile disease, and is still living past the age of 90 years old.

Ray is a serious, faithful, Catholic man who has taken care of his parents all these years. He does their yard work and gardening. For years, he took his mother for walks until she grew too old to go very far. Now he drives her to church.

When his companion Joseph joined the extended family, Sunday barbecues became animated affairs, for Joseph is a man with a rich and playful sense of humor. He’s tall and boisterous, made from joy and focus.

The two of them make an interesting couple. This weekend they’re heading to the Madison, Wisconsin area to drive around visiting small towns and enjoy the food and fall weather, they hope.

Support

Ray was close with my late wife Linda. They stood together between our yards many times discussing their respective gardens. Ray would often tour her work with admiring eyes, asking questions about how she got certain plants to prosper.

When Linda took ill with cancer, Ray always checked in on us all the time. He told me that if there was ever a need for someone to sit with her at the home when I was away at work, he was available. He hugged her, and he hugged me when we needed it. And that was often.

Ray and I often talked theology. That was one of our connections. He shared books with me, and we’d discuss them. Ray’s faith is straightforward and true. He values the love of Christ above all else. He shows it in everything he does.

When my son came out as gay in college, I beckoned Ray over to let him know Evan had discovered his true self. It was a serious time for all of us in our family. My wife was back in cancer treatment and struggling some with the effects of chemotherapy. Evan’s acknowledgement of his orientation had come as a surprise to her. When Ray arrived at my door, he looked worried, thinking something bad had happened in her treatment. I thanked him for swinging by to talk and told him, “My son came out to us last night.”

Ray smiled, and let his shoulders sag in relief. “Oh,” he somewhat joked. “I thought it was something serious.”

Wisdom

That’s how wise and aware a man my friend Ray really is. He understood the social concerns with our son’s coming out, yet he knew that would all be fine.

The interesting thing about a same-sex orientation is that once you know someone is gay, it brings about a series of assessments in other aspects of life. Does being gay affect one’s role as a human being? Does it define your ability to do any of the things you want to do in life?

It surely did not limit Ray in any way that I could see. His compassion and care for his parents was exemplary. He often sacrificed his own time for them. He was a great neighbor in every respect, and his companion likewise.

Boundaries

Such is the case with millions of gay people in this world. There are no limits on what they can do except those imposed by people uncomfortable with the idea that their love for another person is somehow exceptional. Well, it is exceptional in a very remarkable way to be gay. In religious terms, love outside the boundaries of social limitations is exactly what Jesus Christ calls us to do. Ray recognizes that.

Yet there is still a segment of society that cannot accept that being gay is about experiencing love. As a result, there have been political legislators determined to prevent gay couples from having the right to social protections such as power of attorney, the right to share in health insurance benefits and all sorts of other normal, everyday aspects of life.

All because some people cannot accept the power of love to attract two people of the same sex together.

Love versus fear

There is nothing I want more for my son than to find a person who really loves him. It’s the exact same goal I have for my daughter. When my son came out, my wife asked my daughter what she thought about it. “I think we both like really good-looking guys,” she quipped.

This hatred of gays that still exists in the world is largely a twisted product of a religion that cannot control its own theology. Yes, there is prejudice against gays outside the realm of religion. But that’s only an element of proof that homosexuality has been a part of human culture ever since it began, and that there are always some people who cannot deal with differences in human diversity. That same fear and misunderstanding also drives racism, another false doctrine of difference versus some preconceived norm.

All the human race is the same species, and supposed differences in race and sexual orientation are simply expressions of human diversity at work. Being part of a species does not mean all individuals act, think or behave the same way.

Percentages

But perhaps that’s because too many people, as many as 44% of Americans, do not even accept the notion that human beings are a species at all. Their worldview excludes the theory of evolution on a simplistic notion that a literally interpreted Book of Genesis determines that all types of living creatures were created instantly, and that human beings were “specially created” in monogamous, heterosexual form. For many people, that definition also goes to another level, with a transfixion on the white race as the only true expression of God’s creation.

So you see, all this determination about what is normal stems from an abnormal fixation on a brand of truth that is really based on ignorance. To defend this horrific approach to scriptural fealty, generations of so-called Christians have persecuted all those who defy the literally accepted notion of bible stories. For centuries, the Catholic church punished scientists for daring to question an earth-centered universe. That was all the product of this self-centered notion of humans as specially created beings at the center of God’s focus. And it’s wrong.

Dissolving myths

One by one those myths have been dissolving under scientific and theological scrutiny. As biblical scholars have peeled away the layers and the language that serve to protect these fears over loss of control of the theological narrative, we’ve discovered that stories like Sodom and Gomorrah are not about the ostensible sins of sexual orientation at all. They are instead about abuse of others for any reason, and about engaging in excesses. The leveraging of that misappropriation of a biblical narrative is the real sin in this world.

Fortunately, America is waking up to these facts and moving toward equality for all rather than allowing some anachronistic definition of Christianity (or Islam, or whatever) to dominate its civil rights dialogue. The passage of legalized gay marriage acts as a catalyst to greater acceptance, but in truth it is just the beginning. Churches now need to engage their congregations in discussions of what it means to embrace theology that does not just tolerate gays, but welcomes all people into the family of God.

Personal experience

Perhaps you have experienced events in your life where you explored your own orientation. Those who claim that being gay is a “choice” like to mine this process for the contention that being gay is a “lifestyle” and not a hard-wired genetic reality. Well, let’s accept the fact that not everyone is hard-wired in any respect. That does not mean that people can necessarily be converted from straight to gay. It simply means that human diversity is by definition far more subtle than forcing choices on ourselves.

How ironic it is that the so-called “choice” so many people fear is not so much a choice as it is remarkable indication of the spectrum of human emotion and diversity. The same holds true for all human qualities from intellect to interests and professions. If we were all wired the same, we’d all be Stanley in Accounting, who watches Third Rock from the Sun on Thursdays and prefers his hamburgers medium well.

But despite the apparent desires of certain political parties and religious zealots to insist that we’re somehow “all the same,” which makes us “normal,” we’re not all Stanley from Accounting. Thus we need to discuss repression and the vicious effects it can have upon the human soul. Because quite often it turns out Stanley in Accounting, for all his supposed normality, longs to break out of that role he’s created, or others have created for him.

In fact, we find that all sorts of people living in denial and repressing their true orientation sooner or later get “outed,” but not in a positive way. Often a closeted gay man or woman or transgender person is scandalously exposed with their formerly “dark secret” impacting their lives on many fronts.

But let’s be clear here: we all recognize that genuinely dark secrets such as pedophilia are not socially acceptable because they exploit the innocent lives of children. Homosexuality is not parallel to pedophilia in any respect, for the relationship between two consensual adults is very different than taking advantage of a child for sexual gratification.

Sodom redux

We can turn back to the Sodom and Gomorrah story in the Bible for affirmation of that fact. We learn from this story that the intent to take advantage of another person is a dividing line in theology. The act of forcing sexual acts on another person is not about sex at all, but power. That’s what the people in Sodom wanted, to commit violence as an expression of their nasty proclivity for power. Incredulously, Lot offers his own virginal daughters up as ransom to protect the two “angels” taking refuge in his home.

The mob is never sated, but their motivations stemmed from the tradition that their laws perversely allowed the abuse of strangers who arrived after nightfall. This reflects the fact that the people of Sodom were themselves likely an oppressed and abused people. The social structure of ancient societies was much like a dysfunctional family, with slaps being handed down from father to son to sibling. Abuse was rampant.

Cycles of violence and hatred and fear and abuse are handed down in society. When someone is oppressed, as they are in a prison cell, they look for ways to release that anger, tension and feeling of violence on someone else. It is a method for maintaining a feeling of personal power in this world. All wars and many of our laws supporting violent weaponry are a product of these violent cycles having to do with fear of abuse and/or repression.

Brilliant love

By contrast, let us examine the brilliance and care of consensual love between two caring adults. All care and love begins with respect. Respect leads to trust. Trust leads to love. Sex that emanates from all such relationships is good. It doesn’t matter what the acts between two adults are at that point. Love is the driving force of all true intimacy.

It is difficult for some people to accept that something such as anal or oral sex between two men is anyway acceptable to God. Those tricky Bible passages about man-on-man sex or woman-on-woman sex being an “abomination” keep cropping up. But again, all such contentions are a matter of context and nuance. In the societies toward whom those accusations were directed, the primal directive was patriarchal in nature. Marriage was a monetary transaction as much as it was an expression of love. So the argument that homosexuality was an abomination was more about the money than it was about consensual acts between two adults.

Taking a hit

The fascinating thing about all such contentions is that Old Testament law took a big whack to the balls in about 70 C.E. That’s when Rome rolled in and leveled the temple in Jerusalem. This forced the hand of both Judaism and Christianity and its fealty to an order of priests whose privilege of God’s authority was handed them by tradition and patriarchal lineage.

It has taken a long time for the faiths of the world to come to grips with the fact that nothing in this world is fixed in place. Not the religious practices and beliefs people claim as bedrock, nor the very God we worship, who it turns out is widely open to interpretation and change.

Sustaining faith

I have loved the faith that sustains me in life. All throughout my running journals from the earliest ages, I have sought answers from God. Some of this was to help me accept who I am, and who I was to become.

There were moments in my teens when my hair was long and I chose to wear tight running shorts that people shouted at me from street corners. “Is that boy or a girl?”

And another catcall that hurt me in a way that I did not well understand. “Keep running, faggot.”

So it was with some irony that when completing my run the other day, my gay friend Ray made a comment that I took as both a rib and a compliment. I was wearing a bright coral shirt, a fluorescent yellow cap and shorts, and bright orange Newton shoes. “That’s a lot of color on one guy,” he teased. “You look gay.”

I laughed and trotted off chuckling to myself. That wasn’t an invitation by Ray to have sex with him or his companion Joseph. It was a compliment of sorts that he understands that I know who I am, and also that the world is a colorful place.

All you need is love

Over time I’ve had ample opportunity to discern my orientation in this world. But the fact that I am not sexually attracted to men is not some signal of superiority in my mind. In fact, I’ll often comment to my girlfriend that a particular man is handsome. I can certainly appreciate why and how men find each other attractive and want to have relationships with one another. Same goes for women. I hope that transgender people can find love too.

None of that destroys my faith in the world. In fact it magnifies it. It’s all about the love, people. As John Lennon once wrote, and it’s still true. “All you need is love.”

Those of us who run, ride and swim should know better than anyone that our bodies are instruments of expression. As cyclists, we don’t need to hate runners in order to feel normal, but I suppose that happens. As runners, we don’t need to look down on swimmers, but that probably happens too. It’s one of the tarsnakes of existence that some people lie in wait for all those they fear. They want to trip them up and cause them pain if for no other reason than it makes them feel alive and powerful. But they’re nothiing more than tarsnakes, a rubbery rut in the road of progress.

There is still a long road to travel before some people can conceive the idea that love is more important that power and hate. In the meantime, those of us that have evolved our worldview in loving ways will just have to stand by our gay friends and relatives when others seek to attack or deny them the rights of everyday existence.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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A bit bent but not broken

IMG_4202In the last few weeks, there have been some good stories about David Walters, a distance runner from Illinois. At age 60, Dave ran 2:45 in the Chicago Marathon, then went out to New York this past weekend and polished off a 2:47. Those are both really great performances for a man of 60 because running does not get easier as you get older. To run sub 7:00 pace for the marathon distance is indeed an accomplishment.

In one of the articles, Walters mentions the effort it takes these days to run intervals at 6:00 pace. He speaks of throwing up from the struggle of keeping that pace.

This past summer I did some intervals at 6:00 pace. But only 400-meter intervals. It is a serious question whether running that pace for the full mile is possible. I did run a 6:00 mile in practice earlier this summer, but it was tough. And I raced a few 6:30 miles in the past couple years, but a 5K at that pace would be a challenge.

In his case, Dave Walters speaks about running “backwards through time” to accomplish his goals. That is such an apt expression. Knowing that you’re battling age while you’re trying to improve year to year is a strange phenomenon. It is compounded when you’ve run much faster in your career, as Walters has. His PR at 5K is 14:05,. He also ran a 1:03 half marathon at one point. Yet he calls himself “untalented.”

He was a two-time Illinois state cross country champion, running close to 14;00 as I recall. I think we ventured down as a team to watch those state meets. It was so tough to qualify through the York section I never made it downstate, missing by one or two places my senior year.

But we always traveled to Peoria as a means of educating and inspiring ourselves to run faster. I visited Peoria the year Craig Virgin set the still-standing state cross country course record at 13:50 or so. Watching that race was a daunting moment in my life, as was watching the likes of Walters, and later Ron Craker of York, all who ran 14:00 or lower for three miles. These guys knew how to hammer. Their training and talent was so obviously superior to mine it was unimaginable to go that fast. At that age at least. Later on a track at midnight in an All-Comers meet at North Central College, I’d run a 14:45 5k and finish 14th amongst all those fast runners. That mean I went through the three-mile point about 17 seconds earlier. Honestly, that’s about as fast as I could ever go. All levels of talent have their limits.

As for Dave Walters, he went on to run for the University of Illinois. Running Big 10 level track and cross country is a tough gig. The training alone can kill you. A friend named Evan Clarrissimeaux who ran for my alma mater in St. Charles, Illinois, walked on at the University of Iowa and dropped his mile time to 4:07. That’s no small feat.

Another friend named Doug Jones ran 14:28 for three miles in high school and competed for Illinois State University. He’s continued his running all these years and only recently has it become difficult for him to break three hours in the marathon.

Runners like Walters and Jones somehow keep it going. But many guys that trained that hard in their 20s and 30s are too bent and beat up to continue running. I suppose I walked a line at some point. Retiring from true competitive running at 28 years old probably preserved a little tread on the tire. A little.

It still hurts at times to go past eight miles in training. The hips start to creak. I can feel the fatigue start to build and realize that getting to the gym is critical to maintaining hip and hamstring strength to prevent that debilitating feel of going past my strength point.

But it’s still working. Saturday’s 6-miler in the rain was a joy. Yesterday I laced up those crazy little Newton running shoes given to me by my friend Monte and clipped through three happy miles in unbelievable weather. I’m a bit fascinated and pleased with those shoes. I ran 8:00 miles for three miles because they feel so light and I run on my forefoot. So that’s an experiment that is likely to continue. My calves seem to be lengthening, and that’s a good thing.

So I’ll admit to being a bit bent in some ways, but not broken. Last week while out birding I came upon a set of former wooden fenceposts in the Prairie Green property west of Geneva. The barbed wire now drops from their wooden frame and sulks along low and rusty through the grass. The posts no longer have a duty or purpose. Once they lined a property and perhaps kept some cattle in. But those days are 40 years now in the past.

I believe we all have these “set points” at which time our purpose and philosophy essentially must change. It does not mean we become like aging fenceposts in the fallow fields. But a triathlete I know is turning 40 and he freely admits that his “best times” are likely behind him. This is a guy who can still quite easily ride a solo century in five hours. He does so with some frequency. He has qualified for triathlon nationals and even international competitions. So he’s no slouch.

Frankly it might be tougher for such an individual to admit that he’ll not keep up with himself going forward. The performance band stretches for a while, but ultimately it does pull back a little. Certainly there are inspiring examples like Dave Walters who defy age as long as possible. They can beat competitors much younger than them.

IMG_4173As for my humble aspirations, I ran faster at this year’s Sycamore 10K than last, finishing 78th overall. And despite my age, I’m still one of the fastest people at the summer track workouts, and that’s fun. But it does not make me anything special. You still have to spread that effort out over the full complement of a race. I may be faster in some ways, but not necessarily better.

So for now, I’m simply grateful to be a bit bent but not broken. If that can keep me going for a long while, it is certainly a state I’ll be happy to maintain. The principles never change. You need to eat right. Train right. Sleep right. And recover at a rate that makes sense for your own body.

I still love the feel of moving fast, but I’m also in sync with moving slow. Perhaps that’s the trick that one learns through all those years of training. It’s the movement that counts, not the rate, at least all the time.

See you in the field.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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10 Lessons from Halloween

BonesIt struck me during a 6-mile run this morning in increasing rain that today is indeed Halloween. I can recall many a fall evening on October 30 being excited about the next day’s promise. Often a conference cross country meet in high school or college was held the last week in October. That meant not staying out too late or wearing out one’s legs being a juvenile delinquent in the darkness of night.

Of course I also saw the birth of my son one early October 30th back in 1986, so the time of year we celebrate Halloween has always been special to me in some way.

As I write this, my dog is over slobbering up the remains from a yogurt cup he dug out of the recycling bag. He’s a scavenger by practice, and I can’t leave anything out where he can get it. A couple years back he found a bar of dark chocolate I’d accidentally left on some shelf. The effects of eating that gave him the shakes so bad it required a trip to the veterinarian. They pumped his stomach and found the bright green remains of an eraser as well. That was the trick after his treat I suppose. At least for me it was.

The rest of the dogs at the vet were there because they’d eaten their owner’s panties. So my dog was the least embarrassing of all the animals in “the joint.”

IMG_3541Such is life with animals of any sort. It’s almost always “trick or treat.” We don’t need to wait around all year for a special night. There is always time for barf on the carpet, poop or pee on the floor and hairballs waiting by the door. Trick or treat!

But I do have some fun memories from Halloween.

  1. Winning is always a treat. There were several team conference cross country championships won over the years on Halloween or abouts. And I won some road races that weekend too. Of course one of the prizes I won turned out to be more of a trick than a treat. The winner was given a Marathon Santa Christmas Ornament. Talk about a confusing treat.
  2. Carrying kids and pounds of candy too. As a young parent, it was a joy to take my children trick or treating. Their cute costumes and eager faces made it fun, as it was to say hello to neighbors. But sooner or later the adventure turned into a slog. The kids would tire and legs would give out. I recall one long October night with cold winds and spitting rain. My daughter got tired and her cheeks were pink. My legs were exhausted from a hard 10-mile run that morning. The walk back home was one of the longest miles ever experienced, with a heavy bag of candy and a daughter heaped like a sack of potatoes in one arm. My eternally patient son trudged along in his spider costume looking like he’d emerged from a prisoner of war camp. But we made it home.
  3. Being scared of big kids was part of the real “joy” of Halloween. As a grade-schooler, dressing up for Halloween was fun. But the real fear was running into a group of older kids when it was just you and a buddy trudging along through the dark. It taught me that the darkness of the soul was not to be feared from spirits, but from real human beings who might very likely steal your candy.
  4. Eating too much candy is impossible. Despite all kind of lectures that eating too much candy would make me sick, it never really happened. I’d get sick of eating far before I ate too much for my stomach. It’s one of nature’s laws that parents forget too soon. Oh, I’m sure some kid has barfed from too much candy, but not any kid that turned out to be a runner, a cyclist or any other endurance athlete. We learn our limits by testing our limits.
  5. Apples suck. When you’re trick or treating, you want junk like chocolate, Smarties and caramel that sucks the teeth out of your head. You do not want apples. Yet people used to throw those in our bags now and then, and as kids we politely ignored this ugly transgression, especially because the kind of apples these people gave out were typically not hard and crisp. They were always soft and squishy and unfit for human consumption.
  6. Your sibling always somehow got better candy than you. Even if you went to the same doors at the same houses and said Trick or Treat in the same way, somehow when you got back home, your brother or sister always had more cool candy than you. It’s one of the laws of the Halloween Universe.
  7. Costumes seldom work out the way they are planned. Except maybe once in a lifetime…Most often the mask on your face carved a slice into the skin of your nose or your silky Superman pants were half falling down the entire night. Yet one year I crafted a Vampire outfit and makeup using some white powdered baking soda caked on with my mother’s cold cream. It was a truly scary look that I concocted for the elementary school band Halloween Party. Not even the teachers knew who I was, and I kept it that way. Then I won the Best Costume award and still would not tell anyone who I was. This angered some people, but I was resolute. I slipped off when it was time to leave and went home triumphant that night in my warped little world. It was delicious.
  8. The slutty Halloween Costume is a post-2K invention. Somewhere along the way, women of a certain age, or any age for that matter, decided that dressing up for Halloween was a good chance to show off their slutty side with a good excuse. Where was this tradition when I was a younger man? Well, apparently something in the social code after Y2K set off a post-millennial time bomb that turned a percentage of the female population into naughty vampiresses, push-up zombies and bloody nurses wearing garters. Every guy that loves such costumes sees Halloween as a blessed holiday, and that drives the ghoulishly uptight conservative right even farther into the hell of their imagination of what Halloween is about. Serves them right.
  9. Trick or Treating before dark is bogus. Well, it’s 4:15 p.m. as I write this. Soon the parents will come dragging their preschoolers around the neighborhood if the rain has not scared them off. Yes, it’s much safer than having them get run over by zombies driving Chevy Suburbans after dark, but you know, that can happen any other day of the week.
  10. That Halloween Candy won’t go away on its own. You’ll have to eat it if no kids come to your house tonight. That means your vow going into the winter season to keep off extra weight will be four pounds behind by Thanksgiving. So get up and run or hit the computrainer bright and early tomorrow. Then grap four of those small Snickers bars as a reward. You’ve earned it. Somehow.

Runoverthetarsnakes2

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