Never too early. Never too late. To get fit or race.

CCIWThe North Central College All-Comers meets are an annual tradition in May. The meets offer an opportunity for many runners to get in one more race using their hard-won fitness before summer rolls around. The meets are also important opportunities for runners that have qualified for national meets but have not yet met the time standard to compete.

That means there are quite a few fit and speedy competitors who show up each spring to race in the netherworld between track season and nationals. There are no rules except that you have to sign up. There are no divisions. No conferences. Not even any teams to consider really. It’s just show up and run your best.

Long nights

Sometimes (actually quite often) the All Comers meet stretches long into the night. That is how I wound up standing on the line at midnight with about 25 other 5000 meter runners. We’d waited since 5:00 in the afternoon for the chance to run. With so many athletes turning out for the meet some events took an hour or more to complete. There were flights of sprinters and hurdlers and 1500 meter runners to complete.

So we sat. And we waited. It was hard to know whether to take the chance of getting something to eat or not. If you did choose to eat and the race happened an hour later, all that food in your gut could waste you but good.

2005 New Balance Collegiate InvitationalThat meant most of us were lean and somewhat hungry by midnight. Otherwise conditions were perfect. 62 degrees and no wind. Just a calm and patient moon floating above the stadium light. Then the gun went off and it felt like flying. Everyone competed hard but everyone also worked together. Olympian Jim Spivey was there along with a host of other speedy runners ranging from D3 to D1. We all had our goals.

Mine was simple: Run the fastest 5000 I’d ever run. And it happened. My Nike Zoom spikes carried me to a 14:47. Not world class. But I was pleased.

Driving home at 1:00 in the morning after the cooldown felt weird. I was ready to go out and get a beer or something to celebrate. Yet I knew all my friends would be long asleep.

To her credit a work friend stayed that whole evening to watch me race. She’d gone out for dinner and come back. A stalwart buddy, she. Before heading home she gave me a warm embrace. I hugged her back noticing the whiff of sweat coming from my armpits. “Nice running,” she told me, eyes gleaming in the night.

Who would think you could run your personal best on a midnight evening in May? But it’s never to late to try. And so many runners did.

There have been many other strange efforts at strange times over the years. The Midnight Madness 15-Mile Race in Ames, Iowa was one such run. It started at 9:00 p.m. and consisted of five laps around a three-mile loop. It was fun, and crazy. We all stood around in hoses at the finish. Soaked and happy and summery feeling.

Just as strange are the early morning starts of triathlons. People emerge from shadows in wetsuits, trodding lightly on swept streets and grassy walkways in bare feet. Some start just after dawn. The surface breaks with their swim strokes. It’s never too early to push yourself either.

indoor soccerI recall one night however playing indoor soccer. The game did not start until 11:00 p.m. Our side had just six players. No subs. Just before halftime I was more tired than I had ever been in any other endeavor. Not even the 30 mile runs I’d done in training made me that tired. Nor the all-out steeplechases over 35 barriers and 7 water jumps. Not six hours of midnight basketball in a rural barn.

Yes, I was tired out all those times. But not like that night in soccer. When the ball rolled right past my feet outside the goal box with thirty seconds to play in the half, it was a good chance to strike it for a score. I was too tired. Literally I had no energy to move from the spot where I was standing. A teammate screamed at me to kick the ball. I just looked at the rolling sphere as it went past. Too tired. Don’t care. Blow the whistle.

Yet the second half went better. We even almost won the game. But at midnight when the match was complete it was indeed time to go home. I swore I’d never start a soccer match that late. Ever again.

Yet four weeks later I’d forgotten that fatigue and the late hour and the inability to take one step to kick a ball. We were back out there with eight guys this time. “It won’t be so bad with a couple subs,” we told ourselves.

It’s never too early. Never too late. To get fit or race. And compete to win.

Even if you can’t move your feet.

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No time left for you

Back in 7th grade my best friend and I were deep in the business of discovering girls. We dove into the social maelstrom that was the late 1960s lovefest with our eyes on being liked and liking back.

Part of our allure, in our eyes at least, was how good we could be in sports. Fortunately I was very good at sports. But somehow that connection did not always fulfill the promise of female adoration as I might have liked. You also had to know how to talk to girls. That was a skill to be learned as well.

Warming up for the 7th Grade basketball championship.

Warming up for the 7th Grade basketball championship.That’s me with the arm flying back after taking a shot.

Time out of mind

Of course there were moments when actions spoke louder than words. Like the time I sank a last second shot in the 7th grade basketball championship to win the game. That got me lots of girl attention. There is a Polaroid from that day, a washed out picture of me warming up for that game that my father took. The picture is so washed out there is no one on earth that would recognize me in that photo but me. Why do we keep such things?

Time matters

Because they are strange little records of our existence. Not long after that photo was taken my father announced to our family that we would be moving to Illinois. My best friend and I were devastated. He’d previously moved way for a year or so during his family’s difficult passage through divorce. He went to live with his father in Florida and that changed my friend in ways I could not have anticipated. He came back with a cynical side that I had not known before. He used it to protect himself socially. It also changed our friendship from open and innocent to something more calculated and cautious.

I had the coolest friend ever growing up.

I had the coolest friend ever growing up.

Yet we continued sharing our deepest secrets on many fronts. That included talking about the girls we were dating. He was one of the most popular and good-looking kids in class. I was also popular. Perhaps not as good looking.

But he had three sisters. That helped him understand that girls were real human beings. To me they were beautiful Martians. I struggled to understand them.

Time to compete

My friend’s relationship patterns were intense as a result of his knowledge of women. He knew they could be manipulative as well as sweet. One of his 7th grade girlfriends was playing him against another competing for her attention and this drove my friend insane. He took to a Guess Who song as a salve for his damaged ego…

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

And then I told him I would be moving away. We sat together on the elevated tee on the 13th hole of the golf course where we lived and cried together. He turned to me and said, “Why does everything I love have to leave me?”

CLC 1969

Lisa was my first real girlfriend. Cuddles was her nickname for me.

That hurt to hear. I was hurting myself and it hurt me to think I was hurting him by leaving. We’d grown up from the age of 5 to the age of 12 together. Those are intense years. The years upon which a lifetime of memories are built. Adolescence too. Time is the measure of our pain in this world, or else pain is the measure of our time.

Time to go away

When our family moved away from town, the kids in our 7th grade gathered some money to buy me gifts. There were two albums, Abbey Road and Let It Be from the Beatles. And there was a watch.

Sure, I’d borrowed my father’s watch to time myself running as a little kid. Yet I had never owned my own watch before. Suddenly time had very real significance. Having a watch on my wrist was like touching time, and it hurt somehow.

Branding time

Since then there have been watches of many brands and kinds. Late in my teens I started purchasing digital watches for use in running. There were Casios and all those off-brand watches that looked like time contraptions.

And then I got my first Timex. I’ve owned many since. They run without question for years usually. Then they either get so beat up they’re an embarrassment to wear or one of the critical buttons eventually wears out. Those get thrown in a drawer where they beep away for years like a pitiful voice from the Land of Long Lost Toys. I know. Sad, isn’t it?

Timex Reverse

Time to fix

But just try to replace a battery in a Timex watch sometime. As they’ve evolved in their waterproofing technology the ability to flip the back off a Timex and replace the battery yourself has disappeared. There are these tiny screws that require a jeweler’s touch to remove.

I’ve tried doing that myself and by the time I get the back off I’ve accidentally dinged one of the parts and the whole watch is doomed at that point. That’s why I have a small collection of useless Timex watches in my bedroom drawer. Some are still talking to me. They go off at 5:40 or whatever time I long ago set to wake me up for workouts or work.

Ironman Timex

My girlfriend has an Ironman Timex watch she uses for training. (So do I. She bought it for me two Christmases ago.) She also has a discarded Timex that still beeps at 5:35. Then my watch goes off at 5:45. Then her actual watch goes off sometime later. Then her alarm rings as well. It’s like a chorus of Timex and time awakenings. A battle-fatigued soldier could not sleep through all of that beeping, ringing and noise.

Did I not mention that we also have iPhones? These also have alarms. That means it’s like running the time gauntlet every time we cash out from training and wake up to swim, run or ride. In the morning it’s like a flock of addle-headed birds going off.

Does anybody really know what time it is?

With so much dinging and tweeting and beeping there’s almost no time to consider what time it really is. Or what time really means.

All those years of wearing Timex watches on my wrist has taught me a few things about the significance of time. How you remember some moments more than others. Why other moments drift away. All of time is lost to the past unless this happens, this recollection. Our personal histories, and history that seems to matter to all humankind. Time.

Best and worst

Those watches have seen me at my best and worst. They have thrilled me when the splits in an interval or a race match up to expectations. They have tortured me when the day or event is not going so well.

Timex Out of TimeSo it’s an odd thing when the screen goes blank on a treasured Timex. It’s almost like a statement about mortality. No time left for you.

That’s why I called Fox Jewelers in Geneva. They’re a locally owned shop that has solved all kinds of jewelry problems over the years. “Can you replace the battery on a Timex Ironman watch?” I asked.

“Sure,” he told me. “We do that all the time.”

What a perfect answer. We do that all the time. 

We do that all the time.

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Beware the opposite of insanity. It can kill you.

Over the River...

Last spring and summer was a weird training period. Every time I ramped up something stupid would happen to provide a setback. Of course the worst of the lot was crashing face first into a tree. That was kind of insane of me to do. And stupid. Not paying attention is a bad strategy on the bike. Especially at 20 mph.

Which meant that the base foundation of my training on the bike was not would it should be all summer. As a result, when it came to relatively long rides such as the 70 miles we did on the Ironman Wisconsin triathlon course, there was suffering.

No faking it

Here’s the truth: Without a base you can fake it for a while. Then comes some long stretch of hill where it doesn’t matter what cadence you ride or what pace you’re riding, it just hurts. And you slow. People pass you by without a word because they can see what state you’re in. You would rather not talk at that particular point in time. Just pedal.

Some of this suffering, I have come to realize, is poor fuel strategy.  A nibble on a Clif bar does not a good 70-miler make. There are nutritional needs to be taken seriously. Otherwise you can get insanely low on the things you need to pedal on. You bonk.

These things happen eventually to everyone in cycling. We simply cover so many miles the odds are against you unless you take your insanity seriously. Have a plan to eat. Do those base miles at a sane pace to start, but lots of them too. Keep it in the small ring for a few hundred miles at least. Build up those little muscle fibers that do all the real work. Climb and ride into the wind. Stop worrying about the cyclometer or the Strava or the heart rate monitor. Ride until you’re tired and insanely long at times. Just ride.

For me, that means starting with 30-milers in the winter months of January and February. Steady with lots of hills.

Then comes March and ramping up to 50-60 milers. All still steady state with some increases in group rides.

In April and May the harder paced riding starts and by June and July this year it will be 80-100 milers on weekends.

Really fit

The last time I trained insane was about 6 years ago. My weight dropped from 178 to 163. Up the hills I went with far less of a problem. My group noticed this fitness, which meant longer pulls on the front were mine to offer. That’s how it is with the fit guy or gal in any group. You’ve earned it, but it’s your job to give it back. The Great Equilibrium of cycling is that it never gets easier. That’s insane, but that’s how it works.

So we acknowledge this thing we do is insane. These miles. These Shut Up Thighs miles. But if you don’t do them, the opposite of insanity can kill you. We’ve all been there. Being fit is a lot better than being rested. Rest runs out eventually.

Tarsnakes rule

It’s one of the tarsnakes of cycling that we are constantly being pulled or pushed to our limits. Sometimes we all wonder if it’s worth it. But those questions are best left for the base-building phase. Because by the time you enter the world of real riding, it’s always too late to ponder the insanity of why you did not put in real miles to begin with.

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Greetings from Angola, where all my newest readers apparently live

Yes today marked a big new milestone in the annals of We Run and Ride. We just topped 5000 views in a single day. According to the stats on WordPress, those views came from the nearby country of Angola. Here’s a map of where Angola sits in Africa.

Angola Reads WRAR I don’t know much about the country of Angola, but something tells me their citizens are not all that interested in my blog featuring original thoughts about running and riding.

Angola FlagBesides, their flag is really scary. Not sure what that imagery means, because it appears to be a machete hacking apart a sprocket of some sort. Perhaps they’ll cut your bike in half if you try to ride through the country.

Those of you brave enough to try might want to know that Angola is situated in the lower southwest section of the continent of Africa that if it were still connected to the continent of South America as it was back in the days of early continental tectonics would connect with the southeastern ass-end of Brazil.

Brazilian-bikini-girl-89Of course we know there are a lot of asses to be seen in Brazil as a rule. The nation appears to have some sort of law that says women who live in that country must have their asses on display at all times.

Wonders of the world

It all leaves me wondering why someone in Angola cares about my little blog here in the United States. Yes, We Run and Ride has readers all over the world. I get comments from Australia and India and Africa too. But 5000 in Angola alone?

Out of site

Of course this spike in readers from Angola is all some sort of deception. They’ve somehow piled those statistics up to get me to visit their website and use the Share links they want me to use on my site. And of course that probably downloads the corresponding information of visitors direct from my site to their database. Then they ship out junk to all those people. Or something like that.

Disconnected from reality?

The Internet is a really weird place that way. We’re all connected and yet disconnected from reality. For a long time my blog said that I had nearly 1000 followers. Then I changed themes and suddenly the numbers dropped. What the hell is going on out there?

I just write because I enjoy writing about running or riding. Honestly the top number of legitimate views I’ve gotten on this blog is 2500 in a single day. I wish it was ten times that number but it hasn’t happened. So I got a little excited when I saw the spike in today’s number. I thought my recent spike in Twitter followers had connected with some sort of Twitter maven who drove traffic to my amazing blog. No such luck. Instead it was some sort of Follower Spam Scheme from some nutwads based in Angola. Have at it fellers.

Genuine efforts

The one place where my writing took off was on RedRoom.com. That site is now defunct, sold off by the owners in a fit of concession to Wattpad.com, who bought the domain and then shut it down. One of my posts there got 25,000 views in one day. It was an excerpt that wound up in my book The Right Kind of Pride.  The success of that blog entry encouraged me to publish the book.

angolax-16-9

Some Angolan Olympians let people know their country of origin.

I guess I should not be ashamed. Nearly 200,000 people all over the world have visited We Run and Ride since I started writing it a couple years ago. And I’m sure there are all kinds of nice people in Angola. I’d actually like to go there someday. So if some of you over there actually are reading this blog and want to invite me to stay with you for a week or a month, I’d love to visit. We can run and ride together, and I can add dozens of species to my birding life list.

It’s happened before. One of my articles in Runner’s World lined up a gig as the official artist of the Brazosport Run for the Arts. I made all kinds of new friends and won a national award from Runner’s World for the best running art poster.

So strange things can happen. But I’m not holding my breath on this one.

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The important difference between “get through it” and “let’s do it”

IMG_8591So this morning at the indoor track my gal Sue was doing a tough interval workout. It was a ladder up from 200 meters to a mile and back down again. Ultimately the fatigue sets in with such workouts. We’ve all been there.

This past month she’s been considering her running form as part of preparation for the Ironman she’s shooting to do in September. There’s a running form coach working with a group of athletes at the indoor track and it’s been interesting to be around them while they practice their form with drills and tempo training.

Whoops Factor

I’ve been running workouts with Sue but did a stupid thing this past weekend and sprained my knee hurdling an orange cone during a snowy race. So I’m hobbled for a week or so, confined to slower running until my knee strengthens up. I lost focus during that run and got a bit out of my head in having fun. It will cost me a couple weeks of good training.

But I still went to the track for a 15-20 slow run. It’s important to keep up your workout schedule even if it’s reduced. It keeps your mental frame of mind in a positive place and intact.

In the flow

IMG_8607It’s all part of being in the flow. That brings me to the subject of the difference between “get through it” and “let’s do it.” Because when Sue and I have run together I’ve noticed an incredible thing about her running form. She really smooths out at a faster pace. She also rides much better at a quicker tempo than when we’re pedaling along at 15-18 mph.

This phenomenon is common for many athletes. As I was trying to describe the difference to her this morning while showing her a video of her running form, I told her, “You have two modes of running. There’s the “get through it” mode which is sort of a survival stride… And then there’s the “let’s do it” mode… in which you smooth out and run faster. Ideally you want to spend more time in the “let’s do it” than the “get through it” phase.”

Qualifiers

Well, that’s partially true for her. In an Ironman most competitors definitely depend on the “get through it” mode during the marathon phase of the race. There simply aren’t many people who can hop off a bike after 112 miles of hard riding and jump right into their normal marathon pace. In fact no one can.

But to compete in regular races such as half marathons or even marathons without 112 miles of cycling holding you back, it is important to understand the difference between “get through it” and “let’s do it.” A lot of us preemptively fall into our “get through it” mode before we need to rely on it. We’re either afraid to run or ride faster for fear of bonking or we simply do it out of habit.

Indeed, it really is true in cycling as well. We fall into that zone where cadence slows. We slump on the seat and hang onto the handlebars as if we’re chained to a beast of burden rather than a carbon fiber bike. We hang on and hang on. Even if we’re riding alone, we hang on and hang on. We’re just trying to ‘get through it.’ Whatever “it” is…

THE MENTAL SIDE

IMG_8455There’s a degree of mental preparation that goes into all this. Getting your head ready for the workout or effort you’ve planned is crucial to quality running or riding. For starters, it helps to be organized in advance of the run or ride. That helps you clear your mind of cluttered thoughts and distractions. A preoccupied mind is one that cannot focus on the task at hand.

Distractions

If you’re prone to distraction by nature or wrestle with any form of emotional or analytical challenges such as anxiety, depression or ADD, it’s even more important to organize your thoughts. You simply must clear your head in advance of a workout. Outside stressors are a normal parr of everyone’s life, so don’t make any assumptions about your abilities. It pays to organize your world, and thus your thoughts. That way you give yourself the best odds of staying focused, engaged and energized during your workout or race.

Conflicts

Otherwise your mind stands in conflict with your body. We all experience it at times. Everyone who runs, rides and swims needs to learn to control or guide those important thought processes so that your brain doesn’t want to give up during a hard effort simply because it’s already worked too hard just to get you out there.

Go ahead. Run or ride through a puddle or two. Or three.

That’s when you fall into “get through it” mode. So do yourself a favor. Before your workout do a review of your daily status in terms of relationships, work obligations and creative endeavors. If you feel conflicted or over-obligated in any of these categories, you’re likely going to feel pulled apart and wind up just “getting through” your workout rather than being fully engaged. A good mental exercise is to literally write down the thoughts that dominate your mind on a piece of paper. Make a list. If there are any that absolutely must be solved before you work out, then do them. Now.

The rest can be fodder for problem solving during your workout. That’s when many of us resolve our issues. It’s not a conflict of interest or a distraction to think about other things while we train. But if those things are immediately pulling us in two directions because they are impacting us in some material or relational way, then there may at times be work to do before taking them on the road. Personally, I find a mix of both is true. Life is full of gray areas. Sometimes you have to learn to love the color gray and move on.

If you can…

Stress=hot mess

Some people seem to perform best when they’re under stress. They actually seem to thrive on the jive of tension and pressure. But when stress is cumulative and you arrive at a workout feeling like it is no fun and just another source of stress, it is hard to draw anything out of that situation but survival instincts. You’re likely to do just about anything to “get through it.” Congratulations, you’re now a hot mess due to stress.

IMG_8310At some point when you’re overstressed you become distracted. You may start to complain to yourself and others that you can’t handle it. That’s when runners or cyclists either drift to the back of the pack or start trying to control the effort by taking control off the front. Either of these approaches can seem like a “let’s do it” mode but in fact it is actually a “get through it” response to overall stress and mental attitude. That type of training is not really healthy for you or anyone else. Better to find a way to cool the attitude a bit and get back in control of your instincts.

THE LET’S DO IT DIFFERENCE

So how do you get into the type of “let’s do it” training that actually takes you where you want to go?

Focus

As noted, the difference begins with a focused attitude. It may not always be super positive. We all go through emotional ups and downs during training. A little temper can actually work wonders if you know how to focus it. Being pissed at the world has made many an athlete greater than they might have been otherwise.

FenceThe ultimate tools are still focus, which means attention. Then there’s attitude, which means approach. Notice that these to words both relate closely to the idea of “let’s do it.” Being prepared is the first priority. Being focused is the next priority. Having full attention and the right approach are the most important components of a “let’s do it” mode rather than a “get through it” response to training.

Motivation

“Let’s do it” is an expression of motivation. That’s the trick to a successful workout and racing. Funneling your focus, attention and approach through the refinery of motivation is what gives you that “let’s do it” positivity.

Motivation can come from strange places within us. It can of course be diluted and distracted by stress or other factors.

Tom and FredOnce during preparation for cross country nationals, our college coach overheard some of the team talking about “burnout” from the competitive season we’d been through thus far. The very notion of that idea sounded like poison to our coach. And he was right.

That night he prescribed a workout that was part mental and part physical. “Okay,” he told us in the team meeting. “We’ve done enough talking lately. It’s time to run. Tonight, no one talks during the workout. Not a word. We will cover six miles at 6:00 pace in an uptempo effort. No talking. See you back here in 40:00.”

And so we ran. The effect was magical. Nothing but the sound of breathing and footfalls. We were bonded in those moments in a new way. We arrived back at the fieldhouse with new attitudes. It felt good to run without the burden of distracting mental thoughts that come through conversation.

Our team that was fifth in NCAA regionals came through with a second place at the NCAA Division III national meet. To this day I credit that “silent” run for giving us the focus and the “let’s do it” attitude necessary to run our best.

Life lessons

The same concepts apply to many other forms of motivation in life. In business a “get through it” attitude reduces productivity. A “let’s do it” outlook is much more productive, engaging and motivating.

The same principles apply to relationships, parenting roles, education and avocations. The important difference between “get through it” and “let’s do it” is focus and attitude. Now let’s go do it. Right.

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The Run of His Life (A Short Story)

Pizza in OvenThere is an absence of mind that comes not just with age, but with obligation. That is, the things we do preoccupy us to the point of distraction. That results in consequences.

Such was the case with the pizza left out on the counter. There it passed from cool to warm. The regular procedure for pizzas, but not warm enough to cook. And then it went back in the fridge.

He was distracted by obligations. The act of putting that pizza back in the freezer was one of absolute dissociation. It had been cold outside. Colder than it had been in several years, for weeks on end. Even grocery shopping was painful. The in and out from the car. The wind-driven walk to the automatic doors. Back out with the groceries. Loading them in the back with the lift gate creating a vortex against the neck and head. It all took concentration to even care about going anywhere.

That’s how the pizza was forgotten long enough to be dangerous.

Pizza CutDays later he pulled the pizza from the freezer and placed in the oven. It did not occur to him that time out of the fridge could allow small organisms to grow and take hold within the ingredients.

Perhaps he should have known better. Much better. There was that incident back in college when he competed at the national meet and got so sick following his race that he threw up 27 times overnight. For years the narrative had been that heat stroke caused the illness. Then while reading a Harper’s Magazine article about the rash of food poisoning cases tried and failed against Pepsico, he realized the truth. The team had eaten at Pizza Hut the evening of his race. He’d gotten food poisoning. And almost died. 

In the interim there were many moments when he doubted the original prognosis that heat had caused him to get so ill. One summer road race was particularly hot, yet he’d stuck with the leaders and even kicked into the finish ahead of runners he had never beaten before. There were handshakes all around, and a kiss from his girlfriend, who seemed to glow in the thrill of his breakthrough. So the whole heat stroke argument had fallen away in his mind.

Yet we all seem to need to learn our lessons more than once. That spoiled frozen pizza went into the oven without a thought one evening. It tasted good going down. And then hours later, it threatened to come back up again.

Pizza WD-40At 10:17 p.m. he sat up in bed with that horrid feeling he was about to get sick. He got up and walked around the room. Things were spinning already. It was the same wicked sensation he recalled from that night of the Pizza Hut incident.

Only this time he was not going to give in.

The illness had sucked seven pounds out of him that long May night at Nationals. By morning he was dehydrated and shivering cold. That resulted in a trip to the hospital where they stuck an IV in his arm and forced him to drink a thick liquid tasting vaguely of orange but more like rancid sugar. There were bananas ingested too. All in an attempt to stabilize his electrolytes and everything else that keeps you alive.

That made him think about another incident with food poisoning. He recalled with sadness the death of a teammate that had not gone for treatment for a high fever brought on by cafeteria food brought back to the dorm room.  His teammate had died in his sleep. 

So the moment he got up to walk around his bedroom these were the memories confusing his already twirling consciousness. He was determined to beat this feeling on his own terms.

His reaction was swift then. He pulled out his running gear from the drawers and closet. He tossed on two pair of gloves and the balaclava used for really cold conditions. Laced up his shoes and lurched out the door into the cold night air. Perhaps he could run it off. 

Shadows from streetlights spewed in at least three directions every time he crossed under them. There was the main shadow from the overhead light. The secondary shadow from the light just passed and the new shadow emerging from the light ahead. He was moving through a reality defined by light in thirds. 

IMG_4930Between streetlamps there was the light of the moon. He looked up and saw the moon’s bright face with its wan patches. Oceans of dust. Then he began to retch.

Nothing came up at first. That sent him running. Something in his dazed state made him think that he could literally keep ahead of the nausea if he just got going fast enough.

His feet made crunching sounds in the snow. He glanced back to study his own footprints. This was something he always did. Out of habit. Form was important. Keeping the feet in alignment made sense. You got more out of every stride.

And so it went. The illness in his stomach sent crescendos of fear through his nervous system. Yet on he went. There would be no barfing if he could do anything about it.

For a mile he ran. Then another. By three miles his legs were warmed up and passing under the many streetlights became something of a flow. He was running on his mid foot now, the way he raced.

Waves of nausea kept coming, but it did not slow him down. He thought back to that image of the Olympic Trials marathoner that raced right through a total barf attack. Bob Kempainen was his name. That brave guy won the race despite projectile hurling somewhere during the marathon.

So there was inspiration in his madness to keep from throwing up. He glanced at his watch. Approaching four miles he was now running 6:00 pace. This was truly out of his head. At his age, he did not even race this fast.

IMG_5128The legs were starting to feel it now. Yet the bracing cold also kept him in a strange equilibrium between thrilling motion and exhaustion. Soon enough it became a struggle, then impossible to keep the pace. Yet on he ran. The next mile at 7:00 pace. Then 8:00. Still he ran into the night.

Circling back toward home the violent waves of nausea seemed to subside. He felt less dizzy. Now it was a question of finishing before freezing. He kept going as fast as possible, but fatigue had truly set in. A passing car honked angrily at him. His effort had taken him out into the driving lane. He did not care. This felt like life or death in his mind. But if death took him by surprise, so be it. At least he’d gone down fighting.

Two miles from home his pace was down to 9:00 per mile and there was still no stopping him. On he clawed. At some point he almost felt like reaching toward the ground with his hands like you would in a bad dream where something is chasing you and you can’t get away.

One mile to go. He wondered if the cure had truly taken place. There was no feeling of sickness up toward his throat like before. Not wet tongue or lips. Only a dry feeling where the cold air had parched his mouth. Still he kept running, gloves off now. The cold air felt good. He was sweaty and a chill reached him through his gear. On and on. This was running the way it should be. Exhaustion setting in. He would sleep well after a shower.

At home he made tracks in the yard trudging around in circles. Finally he stood up and stood still. His breath made clouds and his body made multiple shadows. He stood stock still and stared up at the cold moon. Years ago the heat had not killed him. Neither would the cold. It was the run of his life.

By Christopher Cudworth. Author of the book The Right Kind of Pride. The accompanying blog can be found online at Therightkindofpride.com

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If you want to eat more chocolate then act a little more European

Chocolate Traffic LightWe like to think our cravings can all be broken down into statistics and neat graphs to help us explain the near addiction to foods such as chocolate. Consider this attempt by The American Journal of Clinical Nutrition to sum up American chocolate consumption (bold and italic highlights by the author): 

“Although consumed in some form since at least 460 AD, cacao (Theobroma cacao) was not used in confectionery until the 19th century when the cocoa press was invented. Per capita consumption of chocolate confectionery in the United States is moderate (approximately 4.6-4.8 kg/y) compared with that of many northern European countries (approximately 7-10 kg/y). Eleven percent of the US population reported consuming chocolate candy on > or = 1 of the 3 days of recorded food intake in the US Department of Agriculture Nationwide Food Consumption Survey 1987-1988; < 1.0% consumed chocolate every day. The Western region of the United States contained the highest proportion of chocolate consumers. More whites than other racial groups were consumers. Chocolate was consumed by more people in the winter than in other seasons and more was consumed at snacks than at meals. The mean amount of chocolate consumed was approximately 30-90 g/d, depending on sex and age group. Chocolate candy was only a minor contributor (0.7-3.4%) to the overall dietary intake of total energy, fat, saturated fatty acids, and stearic acid.”

Well, is that all very interesting. Despite the fact that Americans are supposedly one of the fattest nations of people on earth (1 in 3 Americans are obese) we eat about 3kg less chocolate per year than most northern European countries on average.

But here’s the rub as to why Europeans are thinner and can afford to eat more chocolate without getting fat. They exercise more by walking. They eat smaller food portions. They also have fewer elevators. In other words, even in apparently passive modes, Europeans are more active. Which justifies an additional 3kg of chocolate per day.

You could be positively European in your dietary habits and enjoy the amount of chocolate you really love to consume if you do more than walk, climb steps and eat smaller food portions. Why, if you train hours and hours to run marathons or half marathons or do triathlons, you must consume calories in order to keep up with your nutritional needs. And chocolate won’t hurt you. Some even say dark chocolate helps clear your arteries like red wine. And those two do go together.

IMG_3074So buy yourself a workout kit from Italia or Germania or Great Britain kit and have at it people. Bring out your inner European and turn that chocolate STOP sign into a green light for some really fine chocolate.

Just steer clear of that grainy American chocolate junk that comes in bars or wrappers. Find yourself some handmade chocolate by a local confectioner. You’ll find that the quality gap is equivalent to the difference between wax and honey. Enjoy yourself.

And remember, Valentine’s Day is coming.

Faire fondre du chocolat et de l’étaler sur le corps de la personne que vous aimez, puis le manger off. Il vous rendra heureux. Non?

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Posted in Christopher Cudworth, cycling, half marathon, marathon, running, triathlon, We Run and Ride Every Day | Tagged , , , , , | 1 Comment

A little bit crazy and somewhat hobbled, but much the better for it

Gathering all my bright green stuff for the Sno Fun Run. To be seen.

Gathering all my bright green stuff for the Sno Fun Run. To be seen.

Friday night we gathered at a friend’s house after dinner out with margaritas and food slathered in mole sauce. It turned out that both sets of friends were headed up to Lake Geneva, Wisconsin for a crazy little event called the Sno Fun Run.

Neither one of us was super convinced we should go. But when Saturday morning rolled around we had a good discussion about the need to Get Out of Dodge and it resulted in a few more phone calls to find out if the dog could be watched and one of the kids, too, and off we went.

The road to Lake Geneva is paved with memories for me. There have been many such trips to ski, run and ride up there over the years. One of our favorite summer jaunts is to ride from St. Charles up to Fontana for a 70-miler followed by some swimming in the lake and some excellent chow at Chucks, an open-faced bar right next to the water in Fontana.

The start of the Sno Fun Run

The start of the Sno Fun Run

This time we were headed to the Grand Geneva resort. The property once served as the domain of the Playboy Club in southeastern Wisconsin. There are even provocative sculptures out on the golf course that make some suggestion of wanton sex and yet, you can’t quite tell what they are.

That’s the general feeling of southern Wisconsin, where engaging in sex indoors and out and getting a little crazy is actually an official state sport. In fact if there weren’t laws against public nudity, it is a fairly sure bet there would be Wisconsinites and Flatlanders humping like badgers on every level piece of land and farm fence from Beloit to Eagle River. It’s just what they do up there.

So that means the rules shift slightly when you cross the border from Illinois to the Badger State. The supposedly staid state of Wisconsin is actually rife with swingers if you make a study of it. Take the Don Q Inn in Dodgeville, for example. Every room is a different “theme” in that extremely cheesy Wisconsin way in which veneer serves as a public art form. That’s the entire premise of the House On the Rock, which is basically a gigantic Love Shack for the crazy “architect” of it all. That place has carpeted walls and secret grottos where one of the state’s original swingers go laid by showing off his weird collections of artifacts. The women who fell for that must have had insane experiences and really bad dreams later on.

Our posse dressed for action in 16 degree weather with a wind chill below zero.

Our posse dressed for action in 16 degree weather with a wind chill below zero.

So you have to be ready for anything when you see the sign that says Welcome to Wisconsin. And sure enough, the Sno Fun race was a mix of odd costumes and pink bunny ears and Hugh Hefner shiny bedroom jackets. When it was all said and done and everyone had traipsed five miles on extremely snow roads the massive entourage of 1000 people wolfed down shots of this and that and convened in a big ballroom for an afternoon and evening of happy debauchery.

Of course this idiot was a bit slowed by the fact that during the run it was my very poor decision to pretend I was a steeplechaser again. I hurdled a tall orange traffic cone and wound up with an acute knee sprain. It didn’t stop me during the run, but I knew something stupid had just happened. It would hurt later.

It's as important to keep pace with the party as it is when you're racing on the road.

It’s as important to keep pace with the party as it is when you’re racing on the road.

Which is precisely why I downed four shots immediately after the race. Then it was time for some dark beer in multiple phases. We danced and dressed up and generally enjoyed being free of life’s routine.

In our midst roamed some women in black bikinis and tall Fuck Me shoes. Both girls were so comfortable in their skin they became part of the scenery. Of course runners rather admire such nakedness, especially for the sake of nakedness. Most of us willingly change clothes in front of others or drop our drawers to take action when nature calls. Even our daily clothing choices while on the run are basically skin over skin. There are no secrets out there. Your butt is your butt and everything after just goes with the flow. Tight is right because it is aerodynamic. That holds true whether you’re on the road or in the bedroom.

My iPhone captured the glory of this pic lying on the photo table.

My iPhone captured the glory of this pic lying on the photo table.

But the dude who stripped to his Speedos or black shorts for a photo with the “bunnies” did seem to breach some sort of social etiquette. Not sure what that means other than it looked like he was trying a little too hard. That’s the strange thing with an atmosphere of public drunkenness and happy celebrations of sex. You want to enjoy it with some form of discretion. That’s the American way, you see. It’s why sex is all over the airwaves and is used to sell products. We’re all voyeurs but it is still considered important not to be a wanton consumer. It’s one of the tarsnakes of partying. Have fun but not too much fun lest you crash into your own crazed self image. This is especially true in the age of social media.

Still the dance contest was an interesting little tour de force in twerking and jerking bodies. The women’s contest featured a graduated prize system in which larger and larger sausages were handed out to the women who were judged to have been the best dancers each round. Frankly the best dancer got eliminated because costumes also seemed to have played a role in the dance contest. The irresistibly coy girl in a black flouncy tutu, pink hair and a glimpse of ass in tights seemed to get a pass despite the fact that she could not dance for shit. One trick pony. But her trick worked fine. She made it to the final round.

The guy’s contest came down to a guy with a bald head and a fit stud that everyone in the room agreed was gay because he was TOO buff and TOO together in his black outfit with LED blinking lights and not a trace of fat on his body. The women screamed for him each time but the judges awarded the price to the slightly better dancer. Mr. LED won the Most Attractive consolation prize. He likely could have had his choice of spectators by the time it was all said and done. And that was all good.

My babe in her party getup.

My babe in her party getup.

As a former winner of many dance contests over the years it was tough to stand aside and watch all this. As with my running, it is now my contentment to mix with the crowd and be a happy observer. Still, the hilarity of life catches up with you somehow. Late in the evening my girlfriend checked the race results and discovered I’d gotten second place in my age group. Of course that is a very specific demarcation. Awards are given out for Every Single Age, not just in groups.

Still it was nice to string some bling over my neck and continue drinking. We moved to the bar and mixed drinks to whet our whistles. Somewhere along the line the Bunny Ears made it onto my head and some bar food made it into our stomachs. The poor girl waiting tables was in way over her head in only her second week of employment. The entire wait staff looked shocked and a bit overwhelmed by the partying crowd of runners.

Some poor fellow wound up down on his knees in the men’s bathroom. Too much drinking and a slip of the shoes caused injury of some sort. His wife hung around with a phalanx of cops keeping an eye on him until the medical team could arrive. It’s sad when life goes from frivolity to fear in such a quick moment.

That dude on the left is an Olympic Trials Marathoner with a PR of 2:18 and a 1:06 Half Marathon.

That dude on the left is an Olympic Trials Marathoner with a PR of 2:18 and a 1:06 Half Marathon.

But those are the lessons in having fun. We shared many stories about past running adventures. One of our party had once competed in the Olympic Trials Marathon. His PR of 2:18 seemed like a strange aberration in a world where most runners are simply happy to run and then get drunk and dance.

Yet very late in the evening we stumbled on the actual winner of the race with his girlfriend, who got second. They stood out like two jewels in a bucket of acorns. All fit and young and shiny-faced. He ran 27:30 on roads where going that fast should not have been possible. Probably equivalent to 24:50 on a normal day. The lead pack came flying back past the mulling masses on the out and back course and it made me nostalgic for being in the thick of the lead race. It just doesn’t happen once you age.

Which is why it pays to get a little bit crazy rather than sweat lost speed. It’s the speed of life that counts at some point. Even if you sprain your knee doing something stupid out there, you’re much the better for it. Bunny ears and all.

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The man in the mirror

IMG_8448Some of us who run, ride and swim are a bit narcissistic. We look at ourselves in every reflection we can find. I know I do.

But sometimes the things we see don’t entirely please us. This is especially true in the chill of a long winter, following the holidays, when fat rules the middle and our profiles aren’t everything we’d like them to be.

I was running on the treadmill at XSport yesterday and realized there was a clear view of my form in the mirror on the other side of the gym. I looked at my running form and it was not bad. 40 years in the saddle have taught me how to run pretty efficiently.

But I looked, thick. And slow. Of course some of that is intentional. I’ve done the whole sprint on the treadmill thing and there aren’t really many benefits to that if you’re simply trying to burn calories and work up a sweat. Or the other way around.

Still, my inner critical side took a look at the guy in the orange shirt, gray Under Armor shorts and flashy Saucony Triumph shoes and said, “You’re too fat and slow.”

You might want to throw “looking old” in there too. If you’re particularly cruel. We’re all rather cruel to ourselves in the near term.

1978to2013The trick is in having the vision to be kind to ourselves in the long term. Don’t lose faith in the fitness process. Sure, there are a few extra pounds hanging around in spots where clothes get tight and middles look thick. But take the long view. It’s going to go away.

It has before, and it will again.

As for me, I want to dig up that blank journal I found while cleaning up the house. It’s begging for notes about workouts and progress. That’s the way that I find motivation. Words and charts and personal exhortations.

It’s not about resolutions. It’s about being resolute. And happy for it.

The man in the mirror is me. But not me in any sort of final form. We’re always a work in progress, with emphasis on the word “work.” There’s no way around it. You have to work on yourself every day. In every day. In fitness. In personal endeavors. In your occupation. It also helps to work for others. Take you out of yourself. You’ll be surprised how much that helps your vision in life.

Then you’ll like whatever it is that you see in the mirror. Because you’ll with the right kind of pride, you’re working on it.

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A trip to the gym turns into something more, or less

By Christopher Cudworth

I’ve run in some cold weather. 12 below. Things like that.

But I wasn’t in the mood to do that early this morning. So I went to the gym.

After a few miles on the treadmill and some lifting, I changed back into warm sweats and headed to the grocery store.

There I tried like heck to shop Lite but still spent $96. I think $25 of that was garbage stickers.

You can’t eat those. But at least they’re light on calories.

Then while loading groceries into the cart I must have dropped my wallet on the ground. Perhaps it fell out of my thick down jacket. The cold wind was blowing and I was hurrying just to get back in the car.

Stopping at the bank on the way home, the wallet turned up missing.

So it was back to the store and the parking lot. No wallet. I ran back and forth trying to figure out where it had been left. Checked the big stack of shopping carts. Asked the warmly dressed parking lot cart fetcher gal whether a wallet had been turned in.

No luck. But one more stop at the service counter discovered the fact that someone had called in about a wallet. They left a number. Which was written down incorrectly.

So I went home to check the voice mail and there was a new number resembling the one at the grocery store so I called it. Sure enough, a guy had found the wallet on the ground. It probably wasn’t there more than three minutes after it dropped out of my jacket.

As a person with a preoccupied mind, I try to be a creature of habit. Carry my wallet the same way. Phone too. Any exceptions pose a risk.

So I drove down to pick up my wallet and took a couple art posters with me to thank the guy. After all, I couldn’t stop at the bank and get him a $20 as a show of thanks…he had my wallet!

He was a very nice person. Seemed to appreciate the gesture with the posters. Turns out he works out at the same gym. “See you there,” he smiled.

And that was that. Thank goodness some identity thief didn’t find my wallet, or someone who ran out and charged the world. It’s a lot of hassle to replace all those cards and protect your credit.

I’d like to say I’ll be more careful next time. But I’m already really careful. Except when the routine gets mixed up.

So I’ll just say that a trip to the gym turned into something more this morning. A lesson that you can never be too careful in anything you do.

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