The fading light of September

Posted on September 11, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

photo (89)The month of August is such a beautiful thing with its yellow flowers, flat blue skies and crickets singing up the twilight.

It lingers into September, this feeling that summer lasts forever.

Then it occurs to you the light is fading fast come evening. That bike ride or run starting at 6:00 finishes in burgeoning darkness. If any clouds mask the western horizon the murk settles even quicker.

Last evening my companion and I managed to get on the bike by 6:30 and headed south with the wind. To the northwest the clouds looked like dirty dishwater. One lonesome cloud to the east, lit by evening sun, stood pink among a sky full of oyster shells around it.

We rode on a wide industrial drive and dialed the bikes up to 25 mph. Then the road curves and we cut through the wind from behind our backs, then the side. On we went together, spinning and winning some prized exertion.

Heading north the sky began to spit and sputter. Our sunglasses flecked with raindrops. “Here it comes,” I smiled and she chuckled something like, “Whatever.”

She is a resolute gal on the bike. Sometimes I cannot read her feelings or form for the life of me. She simply doesn’t let small things on the ride get her down. Not rough roads. Not spiraling winds. Not hills or heat or aching feet from riding hills in the heat on a long day in Wisconsin. She rides. She deals with whatever comes.

The stretch of road from Eola and Butterfield north into Fermi Lab is closed to traffic these days. A broad gate blocks the entrance where one could once happily enter the lab property from the south. It has long since been closed to the public. We creep our bikes around the gravel path and set up to ride again. The road is rough. Badump badump badump we go.

The wind is in our faces now, and the rain. We ride side by side because it feels like cheating to draft on this section. He strong legs work through each pedal stroke and by this time in the summer we are fairly fit together. It’s fun even though the conditions…well, they suck. That is one of the tarsnakes of riding. Sometimes the worse the weather, the more the ride means.

Tarsnakes wait to take you down. Across the intersection of Pine we go, curving into the wind with the rain horizontal and piercing. We’re at 20 mph again, into the gale, and we trade pulls. The light is pretty much gone now, dimmed even further by our cycling shades.

The long last stretch we ride to the west remains a windfest. We top 20 again and trade even more pulls. Then we approach the east gate and the rain lets up. We’re sheltered from the wind by a break of trees and all seems calm. A big truck pulls out from the industrial park ahead of us and she jokes, “Maybe he’ll help us get a light this time.”

Twice that evening we had not registered as real traffic to the stop light sensors at two other intersections. You fake it through on those occasions, riding into a red light hoping it will turn green for your side too. These are the things that motorists just don’t get. Our skinny bodies and bikes and tiny blinking lights barely show up in the big dark world as autumn lurks. We have to make it up as we go along. The rules of the road often don’t apply to those of us on bikes and on foot. We make it through however we can.

SchwinnAnother three miles home through town we keep the speed high and enjoy the sensation of rolling along in the half dark. It reminds me of being a kid again, of riding the Huffy 3-speed and occasionally borrowing the big yellow Schwinn Paramount owned by a friend. We’d ride around the little town of Elburn at night, crossing under streetlights in all seasons, not caring about cold or darkness. No helmets. Just hair to protect our heads, and lots of it.

At home we peel off our sunglasses and laugh. “It’s not that dark after all,” I joke.

“Yeah, right?” she chuckles in return while fiddling with her Garmin and Strava. At least someone’s paying attention to us. The satellite above the earth has watched our ride, traced our signals in a big square route that looks contrived on the app map.

We dismount and store the bikes. The next morning she is going for a run on her training schedule. The day dawns at fifty degrees. Chilly. Raw, even.

This is how it goes. We ride the summer right off our backs it seems. The tan on our knees fades with the light. Candles take over from citronella. The mosquitoes hang in there a week, hoping for one last suck of blood before buzzing their way into oblivion.

It’s not all bleak. There will be more mornings bright and warmer than we thought possible. It’s just this first burst of autumn that sets you on edge. The whirr of your bike tires matches the hum of crickets in the ditches. That can’t last forever. But every revolution counts. “The earth keeps turning,” she wisely notes as we enter the house.

Indeed it does. And so do we.

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Playing hooky on the road

Posted on September 9, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

ferrisWhen Ferris Bueller took his famous day off from school, he was able to pack a lot of activities into playing hooky. Ramming around with his girlfriend and nervous buddy was a work of art for Ferris. He knew how to play hooky the right way. 

Those of us less blessed with such skills were glad for the few occasions when sneaking out of school was possible. It was always a relief to have a ready-made excuse like an orthodontist appointment to get out of class. That was an obligation too, so the playing hooky part was reduced the small window of joy when your mom or dad picked you up from school until you came back to class. 

If you were really lucky the appointment might let you skip math and social studies and get you back in time for gym class before lunch. That was a good long time away from studies. Then all you had to deal with was the growing tightness in your teeth from the work of the orthodontist. 

Really playing hooky by faking you were sick required a bit of talent too. With Ferris the trick of getting the thermometer to read a bit higher (a fever!) was just part of the act. But that was just the start of playing hooky…

feris friedn

Anxiety

There was always a bit of a guilty, lonesome feeling when you’d actually fooled your parents into letting you stay home from school. You could hear the call being made to school, “Chris is not coming in today. He’s not feeling well…” your mother would say. Then she’d come back into the room and check you one more time before heading off for the day. 

My mother worked as an elementary school teacher so she was gone from 7:00 a.m. to 4:00 or so. That meant eight hours of lonely bliss and usually some more guilt about the unfinished assignment that made me want to play hooky in the first place. 

First there was morning TV to watch, often focused on the model hotties on The Price is Right. Then came the soup your mother set out and finally some actual sleep, or drawing, or doing something stupid you could not do if you were actually at school that day. 

Playing hooky from work during later stages in life had much the same pattern. But as a guy with nearly perfect attendance at work I never had much use for playing hooky. One day I was invited at 10 a.m. to the home of one of my fellow salespeople for the newspaper where I worked. When I arrived at his house three salesman were sitting with their feet up watching TV and eating snacks. “I can’t believe you’re doing this today,” I offered. 

“Today?” one of them replied. “We do this every day!”

FBgirlfriend

Anger

Honestly that really ticked me off. I went home to talk with my wife that evening and was exasperated while explaining to her that all of them had better sales territories. Business tended to roll their way. My territory was weak in retail and required a lot of hustling around to stay in good graces with the business owners to earn the few advertising dollars they had to spend. 

Ironically two of those salespeople with their feet up on the coffee table that morning went on to become managers at the company. I’ve often wondered how they would have felt if they’d known their top salespeople were now sitting home watching Mayberry R.F.D. and the Dick Van Dyke show. Just like they did. 

Running away from guilt

The only time I truly played “hooky” was during the lunch hour. Occasionally I’d find a place to change clothes and go for a run. The one fitness club in the community where my sales territory was located did not then have a shower. It was pretty much one of those “lifter” gyms where huge dudes and overwrought gals trudged in and out to lift major weights. There was a basic locker room with one light bulb. I’d run, come back, towel off, thrown on deodorant and head back to the streets and more advertising sales. 

I’d also change in the basement of a friend who owned a downtown barber shop. He had a hot tub so I could at least rinse off after a run. 

We’ll drink to that

Too many beers may have contributed to a hallucination of an apparition below the street during Ironman Wisconsin.

Too many beers may have contributed to a hallucination of an apparition below the street during Ironman Wisconsin.

My schmoozy boss didn’t like any of us taking time for workouts during the day. His idea of a perfect lunch was two or three martinis with a client, closing a deal on more business. Anxious young man that I was, drinking during the day simply made me more nervous. I could never process details after drinking alcohol during the day either. So HIs way was not My way.  

Getting in a run during that era was equivalent to playing hooky. Never mind that having time to think and process some of the pressures of sales might actually help performance and productivity. 

Changing times?

It seems like companies have grown in their perspectives in these categories of thinking. But most still have policies limiting employees to one hour at lunch. You can’t get to a club or get changed and get much of a workout in that way. People do it but one wonders whether the mental benefits of exercise are compromised by the stress of having to rush through so much. 

Now that I’m running my own marketing business there is a still a feeling of playing hooky if I go out for a run or ride during the day. It’s taking some time to realize that my main priorities are getting the work done, and done well. When that happens is not so important as how the client feels about the work, and how it works for them. 

So the occasional bike ride does happen at noon, usually an hour or so in length. Then I get back to doing the project with a fresh, enervated mind. 

It’s not playing hooky if you’re still contributing to the progress and the process of creativity and productivity. The more schools, companies and organizations that realize that, the better the world will be. But we’ve still got a long ways to go before feeling like we’re not playing hooky on the road. 

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On becoming an Ironman or something like it

Posted on September 8, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

An Ironman competitor runs up the spiral transition zone from the lake to the parking deck and bike racks.

An Ironman competitor runs up the spiral transition zone from the lake to the parking deck and bike racks.

The mission of Ironman weekend in Madison, Wisconsin was clear.

Drive up to Madison on Saturday. Hang with the Experience Triathlon crew for the pre-race dinner. Get up early to watch the swim start at dawn. Work as a volunteer during the middle part of the day at the first water station on the marathon course. Gather again near the capitol building to cheer ET people on at the halfway mark of the run. Then grab a bite to eat and wait for the marathon finish. 

It was a long day for all of us. Of course it was not so difficult for as for those competing in the Ironman 140.4 in Madison. As in…2.4 miles of swimming takes a bit of energy. So does 112 miles of biking. And running 26.2? Yeah, there’s that too. 

But for 2400+ people there was nothing they could think of better to do on a Sunday than compete for 8-16 hours. In fact the typical Ironman these days draws numbers like that, for which most local 5Ks would give their eye teeth. People pay quite a bit for the privilege of drawing themselves down into the abyss of fatigue and pain. It costs $675.00 just to enter the race. 

Entering an Ironman

Want to enter an Ironman? They’re held in some interesting places. According to BlurtIt (a website with which I was not previously familiar…) there are 7 Ironman races on mainland US each year. These include: Ironman Arizona, Ironman Coeur d’Alene, Ironman Florida, Ironman Louisville, Ironman St. George, Ironman USA in Lake Placid, Ironman Wisconsin and Ironman Hawaii. The world championships take place in Kona Hawaii for a total of 8 U.S. Races.  

That means about 14000 people will compete in an Ironman race each year in the U.S. with income from entry fees alone at about $9.5M in 2015. 

The line to sign up for the Ironman 2015 Madison race stretched 300 meters. And that's just for people who volunteered this year.

The line to sign up for the Ironman 2015 Madison race stretched 300 meters. And that’s just for people who volunteered this year.

So these are pretty big events in terms of logistics and budgets. The very next morning after Ironman, Wisconsin, the line to register for next year’s race stretched out of the Monona Terrace Convention Center for 300 meters into the parking lot. The orange shirts of this year’s volunteers colored the line because helping out means you get to register early for 2015. 

Brand me an Ironman

The Ironman brand seems to have gone beyond even the top marathons in terms of event pull and draws. A visit to the website documents the worldwide influence and events including Half Ironman events, Sprints and Olympic distances. 

Fans seem to love the events, and thousands lined the Wisconsin course in downtown Madison. Six deep in many places. Out on the hills west of Mount Horeb even more fans lined a series of steep climbs titled the Three Bitches, all situated in the unglaciated driftless region south of the Wisconsin River. 

Like all Ironman races, the course in Madison is a combination of urban and suburban environments where the start, finish and transitions take place. Then the rides take off through the country into scenic terrain. The runs begin for most in mid-day glory and end in ignominious but still-thrilling darkness. In Madison, it all centers around the capitol building with its 15-foot-tall statue of a woman holding an Ironman Water Bottle. 

Okay, we’re joking about that last part. But the city does pretty much turn itself over to the Ironman every September. The finish itself features the opportunity to circle the Capitol toward a narrowing chute filled with bright lights, thumping music and the chance to have your name announced with the words, “You’re an Ironman!” 

But I’m not an Ironman

Our merry band of Next Years. Suzanne Astra. Glenn Robieki. Julie Dunn. Lida Kuehn.

Our merry band of Next Years. Suzanne Astra. Glenn Robieki. Julie Dunn. Lida Kuehn.

Of course if you’re new to all this Ironman stuff, the whole scene is a bit immersive. There’s really no half way in the Ironman world. You’re either training for your first Ironman, recovering from your last Ironman, planning for your next Ironman, or wearing Ironman gear ranging from Ironman watches to every other conceivable piece of clothing, gear or skin onto which an Ironman logo can be stitched or grafted. Ironman tattoos proliferate on those who complete the Big Kahuna 140.6. 

Yes, it’s a bit rich, and overkill. So is the mentality in training for any event in which you’ll be moving for half a day. When you’re in the company of other Ironman athletes or wannabes, the question comes up all the time. “Are you doing an Ironman?”

Between ten and 30 times the question unfolded in my lap over the long weekend. Sometimes it came from sympathetic husbands or wives who, in seeing you in the company of a future Ironman athlete, asked you almost sympathetically. “Are you doing the race next year?” Then they handed you either a beer or a Kleenex, whichever seemed appropriate. 

Too many beers may have contributed to a hallucination of an apparition below the street during Ironman Wisconsin.

Too many beers may have contributed to a hallucination of an apparition below the street during Ironman Wisconsin.

I got asked the Ironman Question by hotel clerks, waiters and one bum lurking in the sewer below the street right on the race course. I was staring down at the water trickling beneath the sewer grate when a wise old bearded face appeared below my feet. His eyes creased shut as he winced, “Are you doing an Ironman next year?”

Okay, I might have been imagining that thanks in part to the three beers I’d just ingested at Capital Brewery restaurant in downtown Madison. The entire town is one big party for Ironman weekend. That’s Madison… 

And there really are some strange people in Madison and always will be. It’s a (thankfully) liberal town with a healthy dose of artsy hobos who sit on park benches talking as if they held their Ph.D’s in Park Benchiness. They look smart for homeless folks, in other words, and there’s no telling where they come from. One homeless yet well-known personality was named Art. He was a giant of a man and a window-washer by trade. His fame in the city led someone to produce a set of bright orange tee shirts that read, “What is Art? Art is a Window Washer.” So there you have it. Life imitates Art, and art washes windows. But he’s dead now. 

Orange tee shirts abound

Those of us volunteering on the race course also happened to be issued orange tee shirts so that we could be identifiable while handing out a feast of race goodies ranging from flat Coke to brown bananas. Seriously, race food is pretty gross. The goo packs and other seemingly ingestible items could be mistaken for suppositories. Yet when you’re doing an Ironman you’ll literally eat anything they stick in front of your face if you know what’s good for you. You simply can’t swim, run and ride for more than half a day without eating and drinking. You’ll die. 

Which fortunately was not the issue in the lake this year. The lake chop was low and the swimming was sweet. Even the heat held off on the bike and run, barely reaching the high 70s. So those of us in orange tees did not look like the horrid result of some heat-driven mirage. We did our jobs for a few hours and then retreated to bars in downtown Madison to drink and cheer the runners on. 

Marching on our next stop in the Ironman Wisconsin Tour. Eats and relaxation after four hours of handing out food and junk.

Marching on our next stop in the Ironman Wisconsin Tour. Eats and relaxation after four hours of handing out food and junk.

The plot to succeed

The other goal was to get inspired to race 2015. Our group of four plus me was in attendance to volunteer and qualify to get in line for early signup for next day. 

That meant keen attention was paid to the condition of all those competing. Were they fat or skinny? Tall or short? Big boobs or little boobs? Was anyone throwing up? The answer to all these questions was Yes, and maybe somewhere. 

Ironman people come in every shape and size, including unreasonably out of shape looking human beings who can still go the distance. In fact this former track runner cannot conceive any range of attributes that actually make you an ideal candidate to compete in the Ironman. Where distance runners are lean and cyclists are strong-legged, Ironman competitors look like they just spilled out of an XSport gym on a Tuesday afternoon in June. There’s no apparent rhyme or reason why any one of them is there or able to swim, run or ride faster than anyone else. They just do what they can the best way they can do it. And people cheer madly for their efforts.

 

A band of Experience Triathlon teammates blocks the setting sun while searching for signs of teammates running up the boulevard to the 14-mile mark.

A band of Experience Triathlon teammates blocks the setting sun while searching for signs of teammates running up the boulevard to the 14-mile mark.

The scene of an Ironman would be a horrid joke if it weren’t compelling in its outlandish, determined sort of way. There were people completing the race that I would not have bet $10 on to finish a local 5K running race, much less 140.4 miles of everything you can throw at them. 

Which is part of the appeal, we must suppose. It’s not about being a pro, or lauding the pros. It’s about promoting the idea that You Can Do It. That’s the plot to succeed. 

The long way home

Therefore the main theme (as mentioned) when you’re decently fit and in the vicinity of an Ironman or an Ironman training club is this: When will you do an Ironman. People repeatedly ask you if you’re all tuned up and ready to go for the next Ironman race. 

Conversations in such quarters feel like an Ironman slalom in which your primary goal is to get around the Ironman question without hitting any of the gates that would tip the person off. But when they ask, you learn to smile and say simple things like, “I’m still working on my first sprint triathlon.” But I’ve also been sarcastic at times, responding, “No, I tend to die when I swim,” or “I’d like to do an Ironman but I need a lobotomy first.”

This rather drunken fellow and his comely mate were later removed for being a little too enthusiastic in their cheering while spilling beer on the athletes.

This rather drunken fellow and his comely mate were later removed for being a little too enthusiastic in their cheering while spilling beer on the athletes.

Not so funny

Among true Ironman aficionados I have learned the sarcastic replies are not very much appreciated. People take this shit seriously and turn away or leave you to find your own way home after the party if you diss their favorite sport(s). 

I don’t really think Ironman people are crazy. I really don’t. I’ve done plenty of crazy endurance stuff in my life and am proud of it. Why should I deny anyone else their particular brand of craziness? After all, our Presidential elections run much longer than they should as well and the results there are often crazy. 

What I really mean to say about the whole Ironman thing is that it’s a great equalizer in terms of human experience. It’s not “just” men or women or anything inbetween out there competing and completing the race. Your tits and ass or the size of your crank don’t matter in Ironman World. It’s how long and hard you can keep moving, and moving on. As a New Rule, men are no better at Ironman than women. Blacks are no better than whites, and vice versa, or whatever. Race and religion simply don’t matter, unless you consider Ironman its own religion, and there is some signs of evidence for that. 

It all has a religious feel to it when people come charging out of the darkness into the light. They raise their arms and slap hands toward the close of the race as if salvation were near. The Finish Line beckons, and that’s where you get to emerge from the hell of movement into the heaven of repose. That’s when you discover the mystery of becoming an Ironman, or something like it. Indeed. 

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Present and accounted for

Posted on September 5, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

IMG_2214On Tuesday we went to yoga class at Shine in Batavia. A stand-in instructor led us through an incredibly smooth practice in which the mind fused with the moment. During her pre-practice talk she had emphasized the importance of being fully present. It’s not just the poses, she offered, it’s the mind as well that matters. 

Which reminded me of another practice years ago. The week before nationals in college cross country our coach had overhead some of us speaking negatively about training and how much we’d done. “We have an opportunity,” he explained, “And we must not let it pass.” 

To prove his point about the verity of our training plan and the nature of our opportunity, he had called leading coaches across the country to get their opinions about our program and preparation. One of the calls he made was to coach Ted Haydon, leader of the University of Chicago Track Club, home of world-record holders such as Rick Wolhuter, who happened to be from my hometown in St. Charles, Illinois. Our coach talked to other coaches from Wisconsin and smaller schools to gather input and prove to us that we should not view ourselves as burnt out from a tough competitive season. Instead we were ready to go when the national meet came along. 

He sent us out that afternoon into waning October light with simple instructions. “No talking. Just run.” For six miles we clipped along at the prescribed pace, saying not a word. 

It was magical. It was intense. It was what we needed to feel the moment and sense what was about to come. 

Later that week we placed second in the national meet despite the fact that we’d been fifth place in the regional. We beat all those teams and brought home the highest piece of hardware the cross country program had collected to that point. A few years later Luther College would rise again to take first place on a hot day at nationals. When other teams faded, Luther moved forward. That’s an art unto itself. It requires presence. 

Being present. And ready. 

It’s all about being ready for that moment when opportunity comes along. It’s also about not undercutting your preparation by saying things that bring doubt to the forefront of your mind. 

That makes you present and accounted for. 

There is a paradox of sorts in being present. The shorter the race, the more intense the mental preparation and positivity must be. For sprinters that moment of opportunity is short and sharp. 

For distance runners and cyclists in longer events, the idea of presence must be sustainable. That is, you often have to recharge your brain as you go along. That takes discipline. You learn that in training. Then racing. All things point toward a certain day. It is the accounting of presence in what you do along the way that matters so much to your long term success. 

IMG_2157

Wisdom pops

Of course bad things can happen that take your mind off the goal. The morning following the amazing yoga session the ball of my foot started to sting like I’d been stung by a bee. It swelled after that, then turned purple as the day wore on. 

Apparently a blood vessel popped, possibly as a result of putting pressure on my left foot while doing side planks in yoga. It hurt when I was doing them, so perhaps I was a little too “present” and ignored a warning sign that trouble might be brewing. 

We endurance athletes all do that at times; muscle pulls, stress fractures and sundry other aches and pains crop up thanks to our ability to tune out pain. We’re so present we ignore the presence of those warning signs. 

That big gear you pushed in cycling 50 miles can come back to haunt you with knee pain the next day. That means you should be present enough to maintain a higher cadence rather than mashing along. 

Or you get done running and figure out that you’ve run 30 seconds faster per mile on a rest day. You feel so good, but the next morning there’s a dull ache in your foot or knee. Your body is telling you “Back Off.” 

Presently wise

A few weeks back while doing the first speed workout I’d done in several weeks due to achilles problems, my hamstring twinged and that was that. I pulled out of the workout and walked it down. It was better three days later when I started running again.

So being present has all sorts of iterations when you think about it. Being present means accounting for all kinds of responses from your mind and body. 

There’s no easy path sometimes. We learn our lessons the hard way. 

But one of the best ways to figure out what you should do is to shut down distractions and focus on the moment. What do you really feel? What is your body really telling you?

If you’ve done your preparations well, your body and mind will tell you, “We’re ready to go.”

That’s how I felt in the days leading up the first duathlon I’d ever done. I was excited even though training had been cut a bit short by tweaks in injuries that were now healed. 

So here’s the moral of the story: Being positive, realistic and present really is the greatest present you can give yourself. 

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Is sex before competition good for you?

Posted on September 4, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Is God Dead? No one can tell. They can't take their eyes of Susan Sarandon's geography.

Is God Dead? No one can tell. They can’t take their eyes of Susan Sarandon’s geography.

National Geographic wants you to know that having sex before competition might affect your performance. The linked article says it might be good for you, or it might be bad for you. Frankly we’re a little surprised here at WeRunandRide that this article did not appear in Time Magazine or Newsweek. Those two publications are famous for articles about controversial topics that teach you nothing at all about what the cover story or headline says it is really about. 

For example, back in 1966 Time did a cover story titled Is God Dead? The article leads off with this tantalizing bit of scandalous questioning (by 960s standards): “Is God dead? It is a question that tantalizes both believers, who perhaps secretly fear that he is, and atheists, who possibly suspect that the answer is no.” 

That’s a great start to an article if you want to confuse the ever-living crap out of people. But that’s the spirit of inquiry at most big publications. Magazines like Time or Newsweek or even National Geographic can’t actually afford to take sides and come to a conclusion about anything lest they be really informative on something an lose reader interest. That’s because these days most people don’t want to read anything that might actually change their opinion on a subject. They’ve worked too hard to build their fortress of partisanship and rock-hard convictions. God Forbid something should come along and knock down their house of cards.

That’s why more and more magazines focus on saying little while publishing articles such as this dandy cover headline from the July 2014 Runners World, which reads: “Run Strong. Stay Cool. Train Smarter. Hydrate Like a Pro. Get the Best Gear.”

Notice where that headline leads. Most of these articles are really designed to lead you to the interests of the advertisers, who pay for the magazine to be published and distributed to your doorstep or your Internet portal. See, there’s really not too much to be written about running or riding or swimming that wasn’t first published back in 1972. That’s when we all ran in zero elevation shoes, pushed on a light pole to stretch our achilles and stayed to the right side of the road so that no one would hit us on our bikes or during a run. It’s simple. 

But these magazines have a great stake in having you come back month after month in hopes of finding that secret training formula that will turn you into a world class runner, rider or swimmer. But if they give you actual answers there would be nothing left to publish, and no reason to come back for more. That’s how magazines have operated since the dawn of time. Even the Bible has the same philosophy. Just give them enough to be dangerous, and then invite them back to church each week to tell them another cryptic way to find God, be happy and keep your soul intact. 

Insufferable

But that reticence to actually teach rather than titillate might ultimately explain why so many print magazines are suffering these days. Instead of actually having the guts to tackle an issue in full, they walk a line that basically frustrates readers into thinking they’re not actually bright enough to get the real point and meaning of the article. That makes everyone feel smarter for trying even when they’re no wiser for having read 900 or so words on a particular topic 

Why else would National Geographic be writing about sports and sex? Isn’t the job of National Geographic to wander around the world taking pictures of Afghani women with spooky eyes so that we can all stare at her and marvel at the commonality of the human condition? 

Titillating publications

Wanna have sex? She dares you to stare at her boobs.

Wanna have sex? She dares you to stare at her boobs.

Yes, that’s exactly what National Geographic is supposed to do. Except National Geographic The Magazine wasn’t titillating enough all on its own to survive. Those photos of naked African women with their breasts hanging out were great for young males dying for titillation in the 1960s, but too much competition came along. As a result, most magazines have moved online where people can interact with the content and give wise opinions like, “I would agree with this article in principle but I don’t agree with it in principal. And I blame the Democrats for that.” 

Actually the article in National Geographic about sex and sports appeared on their website back in 2006. That was two years before Barack Obama was elected, so we can’t be sure if Obama is really at fault for an increase in athletes having sex the night before competition or not. We do know that plenty of people are complaining Obama is taking too much vacation and playing too much golf, and Clinton played golf and had sex in the White House, so there must a connection of some sort. That’s how Fox News looks at these things. 

Truth about golf and sex

In truth most men only wish that things like vacation and golf would lead to sex. In fact the only thing that really leads to more sex is a huge pay bonus that enables the household to buy an entirely new kitchen. That will definitely get you laid. 

Golfing? Not so much? Going golfing generally gets you higher credit card bills because if you’re the man of the house and go golfing for five hours you are going to have to deal with the fact that your neglected wife will want some retail therapy, preferable at a cute little dress shop where everything is overpriced and the women attendants flit around your darling wife telling her things like, “That looks great on you.” And she will agree. 

Advice about cute dresses

In case any of you guys didn't know, this is what a Cute Dress looks like. Memorize it an issue a compliment next time you see one.

In case any of you guys didn’t know, this is what a Cute Dress looks like. Memorize it an issue a compliment next time you see one.

Which brings up an important point. If your wife comes home from a cute little dress shop and you get home to find her admiringly transfixed with a pile of new dresses on the bed the very best strategy to get yourself laid is to tell her, “Those look beautiful. But they’d look even better on you. Why don’t you try one on and we’ll go out to dinner at the cute little place by the river where they serve wine in purple paper cups.”

Even National Geographic can tell you that’s some smart thinking, right there. It’s one of the tarsnakes of sexual pursuit that the harder you focus on the subject, the farther you drift from the goal. The way to a person’s heart is always through their interests and feeling good about themselves. It’s not the zippers that count. 

A few words about athletes and sex

But the reason National Geographic even got talking about athletics and sex is because athletes tend to run around fucking like little monkeys if they get the chance. Being in shape and being around other people who are in shape is just about the biggest aphrodisiac in the world. Lord knows the Olympic Village is typically one giant humpfest from the Opening torch to the Closing ceremonies. That sound you hear coming from the Olympic dorms is not the screech of some powerlifter working on their form. That is an Olympic-sized orgasm shared by two athletes wired for sexual success. 

Athletes are known to be pretty decent lovers. They are at peace or even thrive in their bodies. They are healthy enough to have sex, unless they’re on steroids, in which case their wooden nuts have been known to catch fire and explode into testicular flames or simply fall out like to numb little marbles with no other purpose than to roll under the cabinet and gather dust balls. Pun intended. So stay away from steroids. 

Hyper little distance monkeys

Here is an early morning photo of a distance runner hanging around hoping for sex.

Here is an early morning photo of a distance runner hanging around hoping for sex.

Distance runners tend to be really hyper lovers. They’ve got all this stored up energy and no fat to hold them back. Making love to a male distance runner is, I have been told, like fucking a gibbon. All arms and legs and opposable thumbs. The only thing missing is the prehensile tail, and there are rumors some male runners grow those now and then out of sheer hormonal fury stored up from miles of training. 

Then there are the cyclists whose super hot girlfriends in short little skirts stand around near the finish line looking like they’ve just wandered off the streets of Monaco. Go to any cycling competition, even the women’s races, and it seems like these short skirt girls are there. Some of them actually ride, but more of them perhaps spend more time riding the cyclists themselves. That would be certainly be an interesting for National Geographic to research and write about. Because it perhaps would provide real information about whether athletes do better or worse in competition after having sex.

From personal and associated experience it has been my observation that a bit of good sex of any sort is a very relaxing way to spend time the night before a competition. Many of my teammates over the years have even showed up at the team bus looking rosy and happy the morning of a meet. There is simply nothing more life-affirming than morning sex. One teammate literally ran from the bedroom in his spikes to line up and run a 4:18 mile and win the race. So don’t tell me sex is bad for athletes. 

Crazy Squirrel (Callospermophilus lateralis)The love given and received in the act of lovemaking is the most natural exchange of good feelings known to humankind and beyond. I’ve watched squirrels humping in trees. One has not lived until you’ve seen two squirrels smile with their big orange teeth and those cute little ears. 

That would make a nice photo for National Geographic too. 

One giant gene pool

Triathletes are evolving into one homogenous, transexual gene pool of fitness madness.

Triathletes are evolving into one homogenous, transexual gene pool of fitness madness.

It’s also becoming evident that the gene pool of the triathlon community will someday merge into one giant organism. That’s because triathletes are typically a little incestuous within their own sport. Scientists have studied the potential effects of this and determined that by the year 2056, all triathletes will have interbred, merging into one tri-umphant race of beings thanks to the power of recombinant DNA and a few too many energy bars. All those hyper-rich foods will someday make sex between triathletes unnecessary. They’ll simply be able to rub websites and transfer sperm and eggs like frogs in some Amazon forest. Both women and men will be able to give birth, and all children will be bornwater in a burst of Gatorade and Shot Blocks. The umbilical cord will be fixed to the drawstring of the wetsuit and able to be pulled free like a parachute cord. Welcome to sex and procreation between triathletes in the future. These abilities may re-define the notion of the core family and traditional marriage, but evidences points to the fact that process is already under way. 

Sex and sex and sex and sex and look at meeeeee….(Mick Jagger)

Mick Jagger never let too much slow him down. Why should you?

Mick Jagger never let too much slow him down. Why should you?

So let’s get down to the matter of conflict and purpose about sex and sports. Many coaches will tell you that having sex is bad for you leading up to competition. According to National Geographic, it’s never been proven one way or the other, except by the athletes themselves, who go humping their merry way to PRs and such without ever telling the coach.

We know the truth, don’t we? Sex helps rid you of anxiety, the killer of all motivation and determination. It can also make you feel loved, the most powerful force in the universe. Athletes know that sex doesn’t hurt your aggression the way coaches would like to make you think. Nor does it distract you from focus on the event if you accomplish the deed within reason. 

So we say go out and do it. Even Nike told you so. Just Do It. Hit It. Make IT Happen. You’ll run, ride or swim faster. But even if you’re not faster, you’ll still be a happier person, which is why we do all this shit in the first place. 

Just be advised that bad loving isn’t so good for performance. For all the good things that good sex can do for your performance, remember that good sex means having respect for the other person. And if you don’t have time for that when you’re in the Olympic Village, at least consider the importance of mutual lust and trust. These things are not just important for the whole sex thing to work, they help your head as well. Bad loving leads to bad performances. So you might as well make it good, very good. 

The End. 

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Freshman hopes and dreams

Posted on September 3, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

4ad1e6849It’s the light this time of year. So many strong associations of late summer training with warm days, rich twilights and cool nights. It always meant the start of school and training sessions two times a day. One can’t help draw upon those experiences as you build new fitness for the fall. 

Yesterday it was fun to publish a first letter home from college when I’d enrolled at Luther College in Decorah, Iowa and joined the cross country team. It was lonely work in many ways. First time away from home. Finding out how much talent you truly have, or do not. 

My second letter home traces these experiences in a voice so familiar and yet distant to present days. I was reaching out to family for support while trying to provide some of my own to them. It’s all laced with running and how it undergirds the whole experience of life. My younger brother Greg had gone out for high school cross country to get in shape for basketball. It was rough going for him…

“Dear Family,

Chris as a freshman

The long hair. The thin moustache. Must be freshman year in college.

Nice to hear everyone is getting along allright. Even Bessie (mom’s car.)

So the parents are ripping up the ol’ choir circuit! That church must be giving bonuses to their recruiters for finally hooking “The Cudworths!” The church will be struck down by a thunderbolt, I’m sure, if Gary joined. Or maybe a flood, or hurr’y’cane…something. 

Gotta talk to Greggy here a minute. C’mere Greg. I’m glad to hear you’re trying hard at cross country. We don’t all beat Finnestad or Andrews the first year. Knowing the guys is the most important part of running anyway. Believe in yourself, not matter how sh—– or how tired you are at times. I get the same way. I’m rated 8th-9th man right now—even though I’ve beaten the seventh and eighth consistently these past weeks. My early season hurt me. My training was hampered several ways, but the second half will be my strong suit. I’ve been anticipating success—even in my shitt–races–I feel my strength coming on. Your older brother ain’t no different than you. 

Those birds you and Gar’ have been seeing have got me envious. Hawks! You muthas. At LaCrosse, Wisconsin we ran by the Mississippi. There were snow and blue geese flying by during the meet. Also American egrets. Cooper’s hawk. Gigantic garter snake got spiked during the race, guts and scales!

Hey Gary, my art teacher is not bad. He is really pissed, though, at the school policy of making models wear leotards. He makes me forsake some preconceived notions on drawing, for a better result. My draftsmanship is improving. I might take live model (a nude course, meant for second year, but Whelan got me in) drawing. 

My grades are steady, but got a low “C” on my first biology test. Nothing to worry about since my labs have been good. Today we cut up a rat. Last week we watched crickets fight and get it on. 

English is OK. Freshman Studies is something else. I have been reading (and researching) Mao Tse Tung. Some of his notions are feasible. Damian Archibold (our 3rd runner) knows much about the subject and we jaw on communistic notions during our morning runs together. 

I’m gonna get my haircut for 50¢ by some chick in Brandt who makes money that way. I’m growing a ‘stache.

Tell Trent (EN: HS cc coach) if you see him my season is fair, but I’m just starting to feel the groove of last year. Five miles is great. So constant. I’m improving. 

The weather is in the 70s, clear. Today supposed to be low 80s. 

The Luther Cross Country team circa 1975 included the first two women to compete at the college level.

The Luther Cross Country team circa 1975 included the first two women to compete at the college level.

How’s the gas holding out without me at home?! Speaking of that, PJ is itching me to come back fall break. He would drive me to Dubuque for the meet and we’d come home that afternoon. I might do just that, the 18th of Oct. Stay till Tuesday. Paul is coming home for Homecoming. If you see him you’re know it’s not an imposter. It’s safe to say hello. Hah hah. 

I don’t know if I’ve said…I ran 27:10 and 27:02 for five miles, both times sixth man. This week is St. Olaf Invitational at Northfield, Minnesota. I’ll break 26:50 I’m sure. Hope your golf game was nice mom. Dad, thanks for fixing mom’s care, she’s happier in her letters that way. I love you all, Chris.”

 

 

 

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A first letter home from college cross country season

Posted on September 2, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Letter HomeIn 1975 I was a freshman at Luther College in Decorah, Iowa. In stark contrast with admissions practices of today, I had not made my decision to attend Luther until July that summer. My application to Augustana College in Rock Island, IL. had been accepted but came with the proviso that I would start my collegiate career with academic probation. Even at a naive age I was aware that was a slap in the face. 

By contrast Luther showed confidence in me, noting the high level of extracurricular activity in high school. They must have forgiven my C average, perhaps at the urging of my potential coach and mentor Kent Finanger.

It all happened so fast between July and August. Suddenly I was on campus early for the cross country season and what an indoctrination to distance running that turned out to be. The team had a full compliment of talented runners already. But the freshman class that year was exceptional. No less than six of us had run sub-15:00 for three miles in high school. Two were All-State runners from Minnesota. Another lived right there in Decorah.

We would all become friends for life. But not without a compelling share of trials, injuries, girlfriends and studies first.

Memories of those first runs at Luther include a six mile run up and over Palisades Park, a set of bluffs overlooking the Upper

The road in Palisades Park ascends the hill that contains these bluffs.

The road in Palisades Park ascends the hill that contains these bluffs.

Iowa River and downtown Decorah. The run raced along at 6:00 pace from the get-go. By the time we reached Palisades the group had separated into clumps of runners clinging to each other in hopes of sticking out the hills. Up we went. Then up again. The view of Decorah from 150 feet above the valley was stunning. I also recall being faintly dizzy from the exertion, and almost frantic to keep up.

The downhill included a spiral taken at sub-6:00 pace. Then we caught the dirt road heading back toward town and campus. The blue and white shirts everyone wore spoke Luther blue, and it struck me that here I was, a real college runner.

All that new sensation struck me in amazing ways, and in a set of letters back home I tried to process all that was going on. Here in full context is what I wrote that first week of September, 1975:

“Dear Family,

It’s absolutely beautiful here lately. The weather has not essentially changed (only cooled off) since the first day. There are slow, dew-laden sunrises around 7:00 that seem to start in the west. The sunlight falls on those hills before it gets over the mound in the East. It’s 8:00 Monday morning. Classes are getting on now, and as all these students pile into building they leave puffs of breath in the 45 degree air we have.

HantsbargerCudworth

Racing for Luther College at the Grinnell College Invitational.

I’m feeling good because I’m all over my 2-day flu, the bug that kept me out of the intra-squad. My fever hit 101.0 and my head and glands throbbed–I thought I had Mono. It was agonizing to miss that meet. I’ve been in the Top 5 consistently. I’m going to train again tonight, however.

Classes have been alright. Nothing anywhere near above my head yet. I have read a lot thought, 2 or 3 chapters of several paperbacks. I read–cover to cover–“Louis Agassiz Fuerters, The Singular Beauty of Birds” at the library. Not as good as I would have expected, but nice nevertheless. I’m going to investigate paintings from some stuffed birds in the Bio lab–could be fun.”

Work was a bitch. Sunday I worked 10:30 -1:30, and 4:19 to 7:19. The brunch was easy–tending condiment tables. The night shift I was a dish unloader. Burnt my damn hands! Piles and piles of scalding plates. Mounds of trays. Blecchhh!!

Art class is OK. I sit with Kirsten sometimes, but mostly just any girl I like to watch draw. I’m always done before the others. My hand is freer.

Starlings whistling in the cottonwoods outside Main. I went birding Sunday morn. Palm warblers, goldfinch, chippies, House sparrow, killdeer, crow, water pipit, lark sparrow, ring billed gull, barn swallow, spotty, red head, downy, chestnut sided, nuthatch, grackle, starling, robin, house wren.

Hope you are well and doing fine.

Love, Chris

PS: PJ came home last Friday and his roomie had a girl in HIS bed. Paul kicked ’em out and went to bed. We are thinking of awarding him the Sterling Bedpan Award for Heroic Deeds in Dorms.

PPS: How’s Greg doing in CC? Also, any birds around there?

Have been thinking of making a way home on Thanksgiving. Will probably have a ride back with someone (back here too).

Anyone who has nothing to do, write!”

What a different world it was, away at college, no social media. Not even a long distance phone to use with any regularity. Calling collect was frowned upon. It was just me and my hopes and dreams running in a new land, as it were.

Things haven’t changed for college kids in one significant way. Kids are still trying to find their way in the world. College is still a new experience, full of opportunities, challenges and chances to make bad decisions, or good ones.

And young runners still try to cling to the pace on new roads far away from home.  

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Sometimes a bump in the road comes from your side of the equation

Posted on September 1, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Not being the supremely mechanical type when it comes to bike maintenance, there are occasions when riding my bike is an experiment in physics. 

Like yesterday. When I got to the group ride it was disturbing to notice that my front tire had a pronounced protuberance near the stem. I pulled the tire free after letting the air out and tried to wedge the inner tube into the stubborn space under the tire. No go. Time was flying by. It was time to go. 

So I sucked it up and rode with the front tire going thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthump

32 miles it did this. At a 21.2 mph average. 

At one point I wondered how much efficiency a bump in the tire like that could cost you. 1%? 2% 10%? Was I forced to ride that much harder just to keep up? But let’s face it: Answers to those kinds of questions are best not considered during the ride. Save it for later. 

Yet your mind goes back to those poison calculations when the pace picks up. Then the tire goes even thumpier, faster, and you look around at the $7000 bikes with carbon fiber wheels and carbon fiber athletes perched atop their carbon fiber seat posts on carbon fiber saddles and your brain starts to work on you. 

Then they pull away at 28 mph and try as you might, the gap forms and you’re off the back. Going thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpt

On top of all that there’s a mild cold working. Not the achey kind with snot and difficulty to breathe. Just the type that makes you a little cranky and lacking social graces. 

Then a chain falls off and you’re forced to ride 30 mph just to catch back on. But you do it, and start to recover, and someone goes to the front and picks up the group pace to 25 mph. You cling (or at least I did…) as long as possible and it becomes a losing proposition. 

One must consider the blame here. Before a group ride it always pays to do a mechanical check from front to back, top to bottom on the bike. No excuses. Check your tire pressure and put your brake lever by the pads down into position so that you actually have brakes. It’s the basics of biking. Otherwise you get to a group ride and have to learn to live with this: thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpt

Did I mention that gets a little annoying after 30 miles? And that you don’t really want to talk to anyone when that happens, because it makes you assess all your habits and what a loser you can be for not checking your bike before taking it out for a workout? 

It’s all part of the picture. We all have our good days and our bad days. But then my girlfriend put it in perspectives. “You know, when it’s all said and done, we can be grateful to be the age we are and ride as fast as we do.” And that made me a little less grumpy, except for the sound of my heart in my chest, fighting hard to restore balance in my struggle with a mild common cold. But my heart talked back going thump thumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpthumpt.

And for that we call all be grateful. 

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It’s about time you thought about time

Posted on August 29, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

During one interesting but emotionally painful semester in college I studied the Philosophy of Existentialism with a professor named Richard Ylvisaker. We read the existentialism philosophers like Sartre and Camus. Somewhere along the way we encountered the concept of the irreversibility of time. It seemed like a solid notion that you can’t go back in time. Not without some miracle machine. Despite the many contentions of shoes like Dr. Who, the machine that can take us back through doesn’t really exist. 

Of course there’s no guarantee time travel is any bargain for those of us here in the present. The Simpsons dealt with many facets of time travel with Homer going back in time to screw things up. 

The idea of going back in time or controlling time in some way is all conjecture of course. Those of us who run and ride know this fact more intimately than anyone else on earth. We live and die by the clock.

But we do live outside of time in some significant ways. Our “best times” for a particular distance live in our minds like seperate realities. Our “PRs” or “PBs” (personal records or personal bests) are sometimes years ago. With age they become something out of reach. They can only be recalled with fondness or in some cases with digital verity. 

Is time standing still or racing ahead in this photo?

Is time standing still or racing ahead in this photo?

That’s what freaked me out the other day when I took a photo by accident while having iced tea with my gal Sue in front of Starbucks in Geneva, Illinois.

While scrolling through photos to post on Instagram that evening I noticed the odd image in my camera. A young women appears to be strolling right out of time and back into space. She’s entering the picture as if she emerged of the vapors. The front half of her body is in full clarity. The rest disappears into time and space. 

Spacing out

We’ve been warned by astrophysicists for years that our concept of time and space may be an illusion of sorts. If things in the universe get impacted by gravity or some other force that sucks up matter or light, the entire notion of time and space can get bent, warped or fractured. We hear about worm holes and other extreme compressions of space that might enable time travel if we could enter them and survive. 

Timing in

My own experience with time compression is limited, yet profound. During the national cross country meet in Rock Island in 1978, I was nearing the finish of the 8K race knowing that I was our 5th man, and thus a key to our team’s success. Rounding the last turn toward the finish, it felt like time began to slow. Every sound around me seemed to squish. I was keenly aware of every step and as I passed other runners, it felt like I could will them behind me. 

We placed second in the nation that year behind North Central College. The third place team was just a point or two behind us. The fourth place team just a few points behind them. It had all come down to those last few yards. 

For better or worse there were other races over the years where time seemed to slow. The feeling that you are unable to make up any ground on the runner or rider ahead of you can make it feel like time itself is your enemy. It’s as if you’ve entered a bad dream and can’t seem to make time work on your behalf. 

Dream time

Which is also weird because time does not seem to function the same way in dreams as it does in real life. Even the act of dreaming is compressed. So much happens in dreams. Our mind invents or relates all kinds of strange things. We wake up and try to figure out what it all means and struggle to connect the dots. Yet some dreams feel so powerful they almost replace reality. 

The Bible shows us moments when people vexed by dreams struggle to understand their meaning and how it affects their concept of time and place. At one point a great king keeps having the same dream and asks all his courtiers what it means. Finally he encounters someone that can interpret for him. It goes like this: 

28 but there is a God in heaven who reveals mysteries. He has shown King Nebuchadnezzar what will happen in days to come. Your dream and the visions that passed through your mind as you were lying in bed are these:

29 “As Your Majesty was lying there, your mind turned to things to come, and the revealer of mysteries showed you what is going to happen. 30 As for me, this mystery has been revealed to me, not because I have greater wisdom than anyone else alive, but so that Your Majesty may know the interpretation and that you may understand what went through your mind.”

The predictive nature of the dream is not a happy scenario for the king. It points to times ahead when the king will lose his kingdom and his people are scattered. That happened a lot back then. Being a king has never been an easy gig. 

Easy times. Hard times. 

Which is why statements such as “Your time has come” can have either  positive and negative connotations. 

Those of us who train and compete within the constraints of time recognize the significance of these moments in the continuum of existence. We purposely place ourselves in positions where decisions must be made.

Do we go with the surge in a running race? Jump the gap and get on the wheel of the group ahead. 

These are critical decisions because they determine how well we are able to keep up with others in time.

The same thing happens in our lives and careers. We speak in terms of “getting ahead” in life. But are we talking about time or compensation or well-being? The answer to that question is “Yes, all of the above.”

Yet even people who get ahead in life can suddenly look back and realize something might be missing. Too many of us tend to live with regrets as a result. We think back on how things might have been different. If we’d just done this or changed that.

Certainly that happens with almost every race we run. “I should have run faster on the third mile” we tell ourselves. But we didn’t. And we can’t change that. “Wouldhavecouldhaveshouldhave” is not a dependable life philosophy. It’s an excuse for not living in the moment, responding to the challenge or Carpe Diem. 

Changing times

Some moments in time are so important they can be life-changing. When you say the right thing at the right time to the right boss, you might get a promotion. 

Similarly when you capitalize on your training and racing and break through to times you never thought possible, it is like a “time out of mind experience.” 

For these reasons I love the mystical lyrics from the Steely Dan song Time Out of Mind: 

Son you better be ready for love
On this glory day
This is your chance to believe
What I’ve got to say

Keep your eyes on the sky
Put a dollar in the kitty
Don’t the moon look pretty

Tonight when I chase the dragon
The water will change to cherry wine
And the silver will turn to gold
Time out of mind

One of my favorite sayings in life draws from reading a book in college Freshman Studies. I’ve quoted it many times before but it always has significance. “The purity of the moment is made from the absence of time…” was a phrase drawn found in the book Ambiguous Adventure by Cheik Hamidou Kane. 

The concept is simple, but it’s implementation is more profound and complex.

Doing the things you love makes time slow down. Being in love makes time more real and meaningful. Loving and being loved in return makes this world a better place. Do you notice the theme? It is love that ultimately drives our concept of time and appreciation of life.  

It’s about time you thought about time. After all, it’s all we’ve got. So I’ll leave you with this gift to take with you on the road today. The perfect little set of lyrics from Time Out of Mind that you can sing to yourself as you pedal, run or swim. 

Children we have it right here
It’s the light in my eyes
It’s perfection and grace
It’s the smile on my face

Time Out of Mind

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A middle school cross country meet may be the most inspiring event you can attend

Posted on August 27, 2014 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Jackie Robinson West Little Leaguers have been an inspiration to watch.

Jackie Robinson West Little Leaguers have been an inspiration to watch.

Here in the Chicago area the Jackie Robinson West Little League team inspired the city with its victory in the US championships and took second place overall in the Little League World Series. The performance of those middle-school aged kids and their personalities was truly inspiring. 

But you don’t have to win the national championships to give inspiration to others. 

Running buds

Yesterday evening I rode over to Rotolo Middle School here in Batavia, Illinois to watch my backdoor neighbor Beau Cunningham compete in his first cross country meet of the year. He’s now in 8th grade, but everyone who knows him jokes that he’s 13 going on 30. He’s a fun-loving kid with a serious mind.

I’ve known him since he was born, have babysat for him on a number of occasions and watched him grow his lawn-mowing business into an actual enterprise with nearly a dozen customers and a nice shiny riding mower. Frankly we were glad he finally traded in the smoke-blowing Montgomery Ward monster that sounded like a military vehicle on some occasions. 

For a thirteen year old kid, Beau is very much his own man. That is not to say he is not subject to the same vagaries as other 13 year old young men. He’d be the first one to tell me that no one is perfect. We talk at times about life and work and play and always he’s up for a chuckle about the foibles of being human. 

BeauAnd to that end, we’ve shared quite a few conversations about what it’s like to be a runner. He’s following in the footsteps of his older brother Alec who just graduated from high school and is headed to DePaul. The Batavia cross country team made it downstate last year for the first time in its history. No small feat in the competitive Chicago region. 

Beau has been running for a couple years with the Accelerators Running Club, a local organization that gets kids involved in running. The coach has a great attitude about involvement and is encouraging without being pushy. 

Called to run again

In fact Beau is the one that encouraged me to come run at a summer cross country meet a few years back. I had not raced in several years and it felt great to race on the grass in a park where I’d done training years ago. I finished three miles in exactly 21:00 and the spark to compete again was re-lit. That day I had wound up running the last mile with a young woman that had passed me in the first mile. When I caught up I told her, “Run with me, then kick it in at the end.” She did just that, sprinting the last 200 meters. That inspired me too. 

So it was fun to cycle over to the middle school and watch the boys and girls race a two mile course. The open fields of the middle school are perfect for parents to see their kids in action. The well-designed course has some short climbs on it to make things interesting. 

In the first mile Megan Ronzone pursues her able competitor from Yorkville.

In the first mile Megan Ronzone pursues her able competitor from Yorkville.

The race is on

When the girls race commenced two young women took it out fast. The runner from Yorkville has a quick stride and took the lead. She was followed in the first mile by Megan Ronzone, whose smooth stride belies her age. She’s an 8th grader but runs with the maturity and form of a much older runner. 

For the first 1.5 miles the Yorkville girl held the lead by 10 yards. Somewhere in the Back 40, out of sight from the crowd, Megan made her move and strode home for the victory. 

The Yorkville girl finished strong, just 30 yards back. She walked with eyes gleaming and furiously engaged in a review of her race.

Megan Ronzone finishes her race at a strong pace.

Megan Ronzone finishes her race at a strong pace.

The glint of competition was still sparking off her sweat brow and her breathing wheezed a bit in the humidity. She was the picture of

Megan and her mother Liz Ronzone posed together after the race.

Megan and her mother Liz Ronzone posed together after the race.

determination. Every man and woman who ever competed in a race could draw lessons from the look on her face. 

Megan cooled down and met back up with her mother Liz, who chuckled that she was just about as sweaty as her

daughter from traipsing around to cheer her on. The two paused for a picture in the late summer sunshine. One could only imagine how many more photos there will be of the triumphant daughter with obvious talent and the mother who clearly appreciates the opportunity for her daughter to shine. 

Jack DeTraglia rounds a corner in full stride.

Jack Whitcomb rounds a corner in full stride.

But it’s not just the “winners” at a middle school cross country meet that count. Every child out there running got equal cheers it seemed. The importance of such physical activity is so clear these days. There is triumph in every footstep. 

My friend Beau did well in his race, which featured a brisk early gallop down the starting hill. The race centrifuged quite quickly and it was up to every kid to make up his mind on his own how fast to go.

Ines DeTraglia, whose father and mother are triathletes, competes in the two mile race.

Ines DeTraglia, whose father and mother are triathletes, competes in the two mile race.

Some bounded up the short hill near the center of the course with a burst of determination only a middle school kid could muster.

These programs have pumped new athletes into the high school program where the freshman class of cross country runners is bigger than ever. There is perhaps no purer sport on the face of the planet, and its participants often achieve good grades because the discipline involved in running is effectively transferred to the classroom. Persistence. Perseverance. Creativity. All those traits help you excel in running. They also help you study and learn.

Plus there’s no more loneliness of the long distance runner to worry about. Kids who run are no longer the outcasts or the skinny geeks or nerds. They are runners, plain and simple. There’s much to admire about that, and be inspired.

Note: A reader of this blog Nancy Mansfield pointed out the following: “Hi Chris Just FYI~the RMS cross country team went to state the last two years. Erika was on both teams. Last year was the first time that both the girls and boys teams placed 2nd at state.

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