Orange you glad your appetites have grown up, or have they?

Posted on November 13, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

CircuspeanutsorangeI don’t really like to talk about the Great Marshmallow Peanut Incident of 7 Years Old, but for the sake of journalism the events will be related here.

As a young kid with a Sweet Tooth the size of my head, it was impossible to resist any opportunity to buy and eat candy. Perhaps you can relate?

One summer day I chanced upon an errant dollar or two in change on my parent’s dresser. Two bucks was a Gold Mine in my youth. You could buy a lot of candy with that much money.

The Little Store

In fact there was a Candy Store less than a quarter mile from my house. All I had to do was cross the Death Trap of Route 222 south of Lancaster, Pennsylvania and walk through the driveway of a friend whose parents ran a Venetian blind business and arrive at the small business we called The Little Store.

They had two full counters of candy 4 tiers deep. I’m sure they had bread and other things that human beings should actually eat, but for us kids, the only thing that mattered was The Candy.

On a typical day with a quarter or two in my pocket there would be Smarties or Sweet Tarts, string licorice and Necco Wafers to bring home. The Little Store was a Godsend in terms of Candy Nirvana. Oh yeah, and baseball cards.

The Big Orange Appetite

But for some reason on a weekday in the middle of summer my little Candy Mind decided to go the Extra Mile down to the Fruit Stand where I knew they sold larger bags of candy. The walk to the fruit stand was not exactly safe for a little kid, but for some reason I always knew how to stay out of harm’s way when it came to being on the road alongside cars. That would come in handy as I aged and took up running and riding. But at 7 or 8 years old all I knew was to keep my skinny little butt well outside the white line.

So I walked along the narrow shoulder of Route 222 with my eye on the fruit stand a mile away. It shimmered in the heat. But I knew what awaited me there.

crush-040130Orange Crush

It was hot outside and as I passed the Venetian Blind factory on my right a longing for an Orange Crush came over me because my friend Lynn Wagner always pulled them out of the big yellow case where they kept the soda pop and handed it to me like it was Gold In a Bottle. Which it was, of course.

But like Ulysses, I made it past that temptation and kept walking in my Red Ball Jets onward, past the road that led to the Little Store and on to the Fruit Market.

The Old Mill

The road dipped low as it passed over Mill Creek, a tepid, brown little waterway that tumbled over a tall damn where an old mill once operated. The old mill building still stood with its intricate stonework and aged wood walls. At that age I did not know what mills actually did. All I knew about that mill and its dam was that sunfish congregated by the dozens in the water below. We once caught 50 fish in one morning.

100 yards past the old mill was the Fruit Market. Piled high in the racks were recently harvested cantaloupes brought to market from the fields of farmers in Lancaster County. Fruit flies buzzed about as I walked to the end of the bins where a candy mart lay.

orangepeanuts

Orange Marshmallow Peanuts

I knew what I was there for. The giant bag of Orange Marshmallow Peanuts was calling my name. I picked up the bag, paid at the counter and immediately pulled apart the top of the plastic to grab the sweet orange marshmallow peanuts inside.

One after the other I ate. Some I compressed between my thumbs and ate them like little slabs of salami. Others I bit in half and watched the compressed end ease back into shape. This candy was like sex, only I was too young to know it at the time. It went on like that as I made my way back home. Peanut after marshmallow peanut eased down my gullet in bites and gulps.

Orange insides

And then it started. The queasy feeling at the base of my stomach that told me there was too much sugar and starch and stretchy squeezy marshmallow now resting in the pit of my gut. It suddenly felt very hot outside. Humidity pressed in on my head for the sun had truly risen in the sky and was beating down on the black asphalt of Route 222. On I walked, still gulping peanuts because the appetite was now too intense to abate all on its own.

nopeanutsIt was comic, of course. A dumb kid consumed with a sick feeling from the inside. Half the bag of peanuts was now gone and there was half a mile to walk home. Finally I rolled the end of the bag up in my fist and leaned forward in a faster clip toward home. The summer heat spun around my sweaty head and it took real endurance to make it home. Somehow I kept going despite feeling like I was about to throw up any minute.

It all worked out fine. I went home and curled up on my bed for a couple hours until the horridly sweet taste went out of the back of my throat and the sick feeling in the base of my gut went away. I swore off marshmallow peanuts forever, but polished off the rest of the bag later in the week anyway.

Gatorade endurancechews

Orange you glad you’re grown up? 

The Great Peanut Marshmallow Incident still has significance for me every time I open one of those candy-like sweet athletic booster packages like Gatorade Endurance Carb Energy Chews. The package says “Consume Shortly Before and During Training and Racing” but I will admit to eating a few of them while driving home from work the other night.

That’s the tarsnake of energy sweets.

Who can resist them. They’re squishy and chewy and their texture has a slightly sugar-jellyish tasty treat surface that makes you want to eat one after the other.

Perhaps they’re better for you than Marshmallow Peanuts but who knows? The ingredients as listed are Corn Syrup, Sugar, isomaltulose, carrageenan, citric acid, dextrose, sodium citrate, potassium citrate, natural flavor and a bunch of chemical-sounding names that mean nothing to the average person

All they’re lacking is some marks on the top and the shape of a peanut. Then they’d be perfect, in my opinion. Cause they taste good. In moderation.

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Friends can’t all be as cool as those of us who run and ride (ha ha)

Posted on November 12, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

There is more than One Way to look at what we do.

There is more than One Way to look at what we do.

Among the many friends you make over a lifetime, some share your interests keenly while others regard your activities with a degree of skepticism. Yet they are still friends.

It is particularly true in the fields of distance running and cycling that your social network may not understand your endurance pursuits. But relax, that’s a good thing. We need friends who share our interests in order to share our activities, yet we also need friends who think we’re nuts for doing what we do. It keeps our obsessions in perspective.

Limitless quips

In the work world it is increasingly common to find others who share your workout interests. Some office buddies even hit the gym together or play hoops.

Recently it has been proposed that running is the “new golf” when it comes to corporate bonding. So much for the friendly foot wedge to get your boss or client out of a tough spot in the rough on a par 5.

Yet there are always people who can’t stand the idea of running and riding. “Ugh, running!” you’ll hear them say. “The only place I run is to the fridge for a beer.”

Okay, you tell yourself. I guess I won’t tell them I just broke 40:00 for 10k. It won’t mean much to someone who doesn’t care and can’t possibly know what your PR really means.

When people ask about cycling they often begin with a qualifier such as, “I like to ride my bike too. I just rode up to (insert name of town) and back. I think it was 6 miles, isn’t it?”

You nod and confirm the distance, only to hear them ask. “Have you ever ridden that far?”

“Well,” you admit, knowing what’s about to come next. “I rode 75 miles on Saturday and 45 miles on Sunday this weekend.”

Blank stare for a moment.

“In a day?” they ask? “You rode 75 miles in one day.” Flat voice.

“I do that every weekend, pretty much,” you reply.

More flat voice. “You’re nuts. I don’t drive that far in a weekend.”

Distancing yourself

Yes, these exchanges can be awkward. They can create a strange feeling of distance between you and friends who do not run or ride. But the best thing you can do is offer your interests like an olive branch. Try to remember something they told you about their interests. Perhaps it’s playing in a rock band, in which case you say, “Hey, don’t you guys practice for four hours every weekend with your band? To me, that’s the same thing as my riding. It’s something you enjoy.”

“Yeah,” they’ll usually say. “That is. I love my band. I could play all night.”

“I bet you could,” you smile and say. “I guess we all have something we enjoy.”

“Not me,” your friend might say. “I could never enjoy riding like you do. My ass would hurt too much.”

And it’s best to leave it at that. Because once you start talking about asses the conversation can go in no good directions. Best to let the conversation settle like clouds of dirt in a puddle. They may never understand what you do, but you don’t need them to. Friends are friends for different reasons.

They can’t all be cool like those of us who run and ride.

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Running parallel with tradition of North Central College

Posted on November 11, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

At times one must accept that personal history is both a direct and parallel consequence of having lived. We all construct narratives around who we are and how we got here. As runners, we create an additional layer of history through the extra effort given to sports.Yet by necessity some of that history is embraced and some of it disregarded, if not discarded altogether.

Running under the radar

These are emotions many of us suppress. It does no real good to lament the past or even wonder what might have been. One small choice that seems inconsequential at the time can change your entire future. But you never know that. It’s like that episode when Homer Simpson goes back in time and steps on a mosquito in the Jurassic Age. When he flips back to the present it’s raining donuts outside, but he doesn’t know it because he’s no smarter for the rate of evolution that has taken place around him. The world’s evolution is no guarantee of our own. It’s like we’re running under the radar. Making it up as we go along.

Inside looks

That is how I felt standing in the hallway of the field house at North Central College in Naperville. I was there to support the woman I’m dating as she ran the inaugural Naperville half marathon. She’d trained well with a pulse rate in the mid-40s and blood pressure at 115/78 or some nice smooth measurement. My own training has been interrupted by the weird joint infection, surgery and recovery. So I was there as the support crew. And all good with that.

It was chilly though, and we stood with hundreds of others inside a long corridor next to the football field, keeping warm on a 32-degree morning.

photoAs she drifted over to talk to a friend my attention turned to the photos of North Central Cross Country teams on the wall. It happened that the spot where we were standing aligned with the very era in which I competed for Luther College in cross-country. Our team finished 2nd to North Central College at the national in 1978. For us it was an incredible triumph to finish that well after placing 5th in regionals just a week before. We peaked at the right time, in other words. But for North Central College, winning the national meet that year was yet another example of the quality of the nation’s very best Division III College cross country program. Coach Al Carius was eventually named Coach of the Century in the NCAA for his incredible ability to turn average runners into great ones.

Crossed wires

Al Carius once sent me a recruiting letter. I was the top runner for St. Charles High School. Having not gotten many recruiting letters it made an impression on me. However my other impression of North Central College at the time was not so positive. That year the cross-country regionals had been held on the North Central campus. Feeling the urge to go to the bathroom just before the race, I ran to the field house hoping for a quiet stall. Instead what I encountered was a line of perhaps 20 runners waiting to take a crap or a whiz at a lonesome toilet sitting on an open floor. It seemed barbaric. Hell, it was barbaric.

And I was horrified. There as no way a guy with a shy bladder was going to make anything happen in that circumstance. It stunned me that all those runners were willing to make a go of it in that circumstance. It made me feel weak and strange at the time.

So let’s face it. At that time in the late 1970s North Central College was not the world-class small school it is today. As a 17-year-old runner I could see neither the future of that college or even appreciate the quality of its running program. All I knew is that I didn’t want to take a shit at an open toilet for four straight years.

Sure, it was a naive judgment. But can you blame me at the time? Really? It’s all I knew of the place. At 17, sometimes that how decisions are made.

Parallel lives

So I attended Luther College, and that experience holds many treasured memories. Yet when I looked at that photo of the North Central guys against whom I competed in college and beyond, on the road racing circuit many years following graduation, it is almost like I knew those North Central guys like teammates. In many cases that become literally true. If that seems strange, then you don’t understand the bonds forged by competition, or how similar the programs at small colleges can be. And how lives converge sometimes.

Running into the present

While watching the half marathon that morning a group of current North Central cross-country guys ran up to watch. You could see the quality of their strides and knew they were each capable of jumping into the half marathon that day and winning it.

A North Central Track Club member leads out the 2013 Naperville Half Marathon

A North Central Track Club member leads out the 2013 Naperville Half Marathon

Probably easily. The winner ran 1:14 or thereabouts, which is credible, but hardly the work of an elite or sub-elite runner. I can remember running half marathon times in the mid 1:10s and finishing between 10th and 20th many of those races That was the early 1980s when road race competition was at its keenest.

Truth be told, nine out of 10 of those races seemed to be won by former North Central College guys. The program pumped out competitive runners with verve and enthusiasm for running. No matter how fit you were, you knew you were in for a tough race if you saw the vertical red pinstripes on the starting line.

North Central Track Club

For a while I trained with the North Central College Track Club, a group loosely affiliated with the college. We ran intervals on the new all-weather track. I ran my PR 14:45 5K on that track at midnight during an All-Comers meet, and got 14th place because so many other faster runners were prepping for nationals or other competitions that night. That’s North Central College in a nutshell. Competition for competition’s sake. I once watched one of their talented half milers throw on a pair of cutoff blue jean shorts and a set of borrowed spikes run a 1:52 half with no training per se. Crazy talent is a joy to behold. More guys were laughing than cheering at the insanity of it. That is what makes sport such a brilliant part of life. Tradition is always part planning and part inanity. You need both to succeed in life.

The college now has world-class facilities and even an innovative dormitory built around a fitness center. The sleepy little college in what was formerly a sleepy little town of Naperville is an integral part of a community repeatedly recognized as one of the best places to live, work and study in Illinois. There are no more isolated toilets on campus. I can assure you of that.

Cinders and directions

But those of us around in the early days recall when that track was nothing but a ring of cinders. I’d raced in a dual meet on that campus against a Naperville Central High School rival and lost on the second loop around campus when I forgot to go straight instead of run the backstretch again, which added 200 yards to the course. Was it my fault that I lost the race that day, or should someone have been on the course to direct the lead runners on the proper path? Those are the types of questions that vex you in life. What is really your fault, and what is not? Would life have changed in significant ways had I won rather than taken second by two meters to a runner who did not have the sportsmanship to call ahead and yell, “Go straight!”

It’s a dog-eat-dog world. Some of us think it’s fine to sit on an open toilet and take a crap in front of 20 other runners. Others do not. Some of us think it’s a sportsmanlike thing to correct a runner off course even if it means losing the race.

Some of us wonder about these things and mull on the histories that might have been even though it is fruitless, in many respects, to dwell at all on the past.

Tradition revealed

Yet when I returned to the Fieldhouse corridor to warm up a little while waiting for the half-marathon to finish, two women were standing in front of the same pictures I’d noticed earlier. They turned to me and said, “It’s fascinating they have all these photos here. They’ve never taken them down. They go all the way down the hall.”

“Well,” I told them. “I know almost all the guys in this photo right here. And most of them in the photos next to them too. I competed against all of them in college and in road races. It’s nice these photos are here, don’t you think? It’s their tradition…”

They both smiled. “Yes,” they said. “It is.”

“And that coach, Al Carius? He’s still here. And many of the guys in these photos are coaching at high schools all over the Chicago area. They really give back to the sport. That’s part of their tradition too.

Personal connections

I pointed to one runner I knew that had competed against me in high school, then went to North Central College and ran 250 miles a week in training. “He’s the sweetest, most intense guy in the world,” I told them. “He was an All American in cross country. But he has a mental illness, and the signs were there showing even then. Those of us in the running community understood it, and tried to help when we could. It’s interesting that his head is bowed in this picture when everyone else is looking at the camera. Almost symbolic. He’s done his best in life. I see him occasionally.”

You can take that story or a thousand other stories of all the runners who have come through the North Central program over the years. Stories of ascendance. Stories of challenge and triumph. They are all parallel lives.

Because it’s true: We are all running through this life together. You can put on vertical red stripes and call yourself a Cardinal, or wear Luther Blue. We’re really all on one team here on this earth. Running both to get ahead, and to stay in place. And once in a while, we stop to glance at a picture on the wall, and realize that it’s important to capture those moments when time stands still. Marking tradition.

We can admire that in others and even call it part of our own. That’s called unity, or community, as you choose. It runs parallel to our own realities whether we realize it or not sometimes.

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How to avoid running or riding over your own self-esteem

Posted on November 8, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth 

Our early athletic pursuits can bring important boosts in self esteem. But there are risks.

Our early athletic pursuits can bring important boosts in self esteem. But there are risks.

As young athletes we grow up eager to impress our coaches, parents and friends. That habit can become addictive if you let it. Impressing others is fun and rewarding in its way, and our culture revels in celebrating the accomplishments of athletes from a very early age.

Self esteem is the method we use to value our own self worth. When we get into the habit of pursuing constant feedback on how we’re doing in sports it becomes a cycle where the athlete is not satisfied unless someone else tells them they have done well.

If that sounds familiar, you’re far from alone.

Self-esteem can be tricky business when it comes to sustaining motivation, especially when it comes to maintaining a sense of self-esteem outside of sports. If we depend too much on sports for our identity and our mission in life, where is the satisfaction in other pursuits?.

The consequences of self-esteem anchored too much in sports can have profound effects on any individual, especially when those forces converge with propensities for perfectionism.

Running away from success

One woman athlete at a Division III college became nationally ranked, taking All-American honors in track and cross country. The harder she trained, the more her goals became an obsession for her. Ultimately she did not feel fulfilled unless some sort of goal or challenge was on the line.

Even as her body thinned to a dangerously low level of body fat, she kept on training. Then one day during a big race she simply didn’t make the turn going past the lap line and ran right through the gate out of the stadium. She’d had enough. Her immense talent was the center of both her personality and self esteem but the burden of being so imbalanced toward that side of her personality had undermined the hope she felt toward the rest of her life. Something had to give.

Her response was that she chose not compete and temporarily dropped out of the sport. It took a couple years for her to return to casual and then competitive running.

Taking a World Class break

Year-round pursuit of sports can lead to burnout and frazzled self-esteem.

Year-round pursuit of sports can lead to burnout and frazzled self-esteem.

Similarly, world-class soccer player Landon Donovan took an extended break from his professional career last year. It was quite a risk to take time off, pursue some other interests and dedicate time to family. Yet soccer like running and riding can become a year-round pursuit. You can lose yourself in the game. But Donovan did come back with self-esteem intact and a new eagerness to play.

In the most confrontational of sports where one-on-one, mano a mano conflict occurs, having strong self-esteem can be a question of survival. Think back to the boxing match in which Roberto Duran threw up his hands in a “No Mas” gesture and you realize that the mistakes he’d made in lavishing himself in glory following the first defeat of Sugar Ray Leonard had dragged Duran’s self esteem away from the streets where he learned his toughness to the gutter where it temporarily washed away. Yet he too regained his self esteem even after his entire home country ostracized him.

Self esteem? No mas. 

Perhaps you’ve felt the same way at times in training or racing. You arrive at the Saturday morning group ride feeling stale and unmotivated. In the back of your mind are thoughts that you would rather be doing something else than chaining yourself to your bike for a 50 mile slog in the draft of people who don’t seem to care whether you hang on or not.

Those are moments when you should take your self esteem into account for a moment. Does it really matter if you make it through the group ride with the bunch one more week? Or should you take a break and fill your soul and self esteem with something else?

Dedicated to what? 

Self esteem is sometimes knowing when it's okay to put some things behind you.

Self esteem is sometimes knowing when it’s okay to put some things behind you.

Yes, training and racing takes dedication. You can’t quit if you don’t want to run and ride like shit. We all know that fact.

But there’s a part of you that needs to be protected through all your dedication and grit. It’s the real you inside the external you that competes and trains so hard. If you’re not careful, the “external you” can run or ride right over the “internal you” at times.

How do you know when to back off? Take a break? Get yourself back in order?

Here is a quick test of self-esteem measures to know whether you’re running yourself over in the process of trying to become the best athlete you can.

1.    Do you feel good about yourself even on days when you can’t run or ride?That’s one of the first measures of self-esteem in any category. A well-balanced person is one whose self-esteem is based on values as much as accomplishments or activities.

2.    Is your personality wrapped up too tightly in your sport? The athletes I’ve most admired in life are those whose athletic pursuits were a choice. Some of the best athletes are people for whom competition is an outlet for creativity and energy, not an input upon which they eternally feed for self-esteem. One national champion distance runner worked as a college janitor for a year before anyone on the staff learned of his other “identity,” and that was only because someone saw him running in the Olympic trials. Now that’s profound yet constructive humility.

3.    Can you share the spotlight? If you find yourself dominating social conversations to regale company with talk of training, racing or results, you might have a little self-esteem issue going on. Learn to listen more and talk less and you’ll likely find your self-esteem growing through the gains of others and the great friends you have.

4.    Are you seeking too much approval? Those of us who grew up with demanding parents can easily get in the habit of seeking approval from authority figures, and being petulant or angry when we don’t get what we want. If you find yourself jealous of other’s accomplishments or beating yourself up because someone is faster than you, makes more money or lives in a bigger house, your fragile self-esteem is at work.

To have the most fulfilling relationships in life, you need to be aware of your sources of self esteem. So take seriously the “relationship” you have with your sport and if you love it very much, treat both the sport and yourself with love, trust and respect, yet remembering that it is not the end of the world when everything doesn’t go your way. That’s part of living and your self-esteem should be able to stand up to the perils of both success and failure. That’s a healthy way to go through life.

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An itch can be a real pain

Posted on November 7, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Imagine if you were a turtle and had an itch inside your shell. Good luck scratching that.

Imagine if you were a turtle and had an itch inside your shell. Good luck scratching that.

For all the hi-tech gear now on the market designed to protect the body from cold, wick sweat and heat and compress the muscles for greater performance, there are still moments in training and racing when the unthinkable happens. You get an itch

Itches are among the strangest sensations known to humankind. They can be pressing and painful or they can be ephemeral and unreachable. In either case an itch can be a real pain. Perhaps you know the feeling of an itch that can’t be scratched or won’t go away. You rub and claw but it keeps coming back.

Or, it’s an itch with a history…

Lance and his pants

A e

An itchy Lance would scratch his pants.

Cyclist Lance Armstrong (set aside the whole scandal for a moment, this is a story about itches, not drugs) had some kind of itch that seemed to crop up only during time trials. He’d be hammering along and suddenly something in the region of his left buttock and hip joint would start to itch him. He’d be piling along at 35 mph or whatever while reaching back to itch the side of his butt. It happened almost every time he got on his time trial bike. Lance got the itch. Perhaps it was a nerve pinched by the aggressive time trial position. Or perhaps he was signaling to drop a bag of oxygen-infused blood into his water bottle. We may never know.

But at least the itch Lance had was a publicly scratchable itch. Which is far, far better than an itch down “there.” That would have been quite the sight on global TV, the world’s best cyclist (however doped or not) standing up in the saddle to scratch his button hole. How would Phil Liggett and Paul Sherwin have handled that little scene? Talk about itching to win 7 Tours…

Special itches for bastards and bitches

NakedTruthOf course an itchy butt is just one of the many types of itches that can scratch your performance as you run or ride. Men have special itches. So do women. All it takes is a mistake in forgetting to wash your gear and you can wind up itching for a week or more from jock itch or something worse, crotch rot. Those types of itches can be a real pain.

An itch can be something smaller and still drive you nuts. No pun intended.

Every little thing…

All it takes is the itchy, scratching edge of a tag on the back of a shirt to drive you crazy. You slap it and rub it and still the itch comes back. Some people have been known to tear off garments in frustration if the itchiness will not abate. Have you been there? Done that? I know I have. Stopped completely. Turned off my stopwatch and carefully tore away the stupid tag on the back of a singlet because it was itched a spot between my shoulder blades. It simple had to go or I could not keep running.

When an itch is actually a pain

An itch can become a pain. There is actually an unofficial point where an acute itch moves over to a realm where you can no longer tell what it is. When that happens when you’re in motion, it can really throw off your rhythm.

A really severe itch can be distracting enough to undermine your performance in training or racing. Anything itchy in your running shorts can make cause you to repeatedly adjust the shorts and throw off your stride as you strive to contain the itchy sensation.

C’mon, you all know what a pain an itch can be. Just get a cast on your leg for that ankle problem and find out how frustrating it can be to have an itch on your calf that you can’t reach. You’ll jam anything down their to scratch it. Soda straws. Combs. The house cat. Lighter fluid and a match. Please God just stop the itching!

Itches you can’t avoid

CHP-ZombieWorse yet, if you have naturally itchy skin or suffer from allergies, there are situations where you know the itch will not go away any time soon.

On a bike that can mean 3-5 sold hours of solid, itchy misery. If you wear the wrong kit on a hot day, for example, the itch can build up around the fabric breaks and wear your skin into a raw rash or a saddle sore. There’s a fine line between an itch and a wound in many cases.

People sensitive to latex or other materials in their garments have been known to break out in itchy hives. Folding back the latex bands along the thighs and arms may help, but it may not.

Even washing your stuff in the wrong laundry detergent can turn a normally comfortable garment into an itchy torture device. And don’t tumble dry your performance tees or good lycra cycling kits. That can curl the fibers and turn them into what feels like fiberglass. Better to line dry anything that costs over $30.

Inside out itches

runhugThe ultimate itch is the itch that gets inside your body and vexes you outward. A female distance running teammate was once training with the men’s squad when she felt the urge to urinate. She pulled back, dropped her shorts and did her business in the ditch. But then she wiped with poison ivy. Two days later her entire body was covered in itching, oozing rashes. Yet she kept training and placed 3rd in the Chicago marathon in just under 3 hours. She also ran 2:56 in Grandma’s Marathon.

She sure showed determination running with that poison ivy . For weeks she ran with bandaged hands and layers of pink medicine all over her body. But when you have the itch to compete it can even surpass the itch to crawl away somewhere and die.

But it’s a fine line sometimes. A fine line indeed. May you never have the itch to cross it.

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Do you know why you run and ride?

Posted on November 6, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

photo (1)

Photo by Christopher Cudworth

If you have not figured it out yet, it is movement that draws you to the road. To the trail. Down hills. Up hills. Through fields. Woods. Dreams. Keep moving.

As you move through the woods on a run or ride, trees meld into a fauvism of color and shapes. You put fixed thoughts behind you. The mind opens up. Sky blue or cloud gray comes down to greet you. You are moving. Alive. Spirited on in your own good way.

You are moving through time. Do you realize it? Time is a fixed object, each moment both an obstacle and a door. That makes it hard to move some days. Easier to escape on others. Then you get on a roll and all your runs and rides meld together. You are a painter with a wide canvas, choosing colors and shapes and brushes as you go. The world paints back, coating you with sweat or rain, snow or sleet, sun or invisible bits of pollen, dust and dirt. You shower off and begin again. A fresh palette.

On the bike on a clear summer day you look down and see the shining skin on your thighs. You are neither male nor female at the time. You are a cyclist. You ride. Not like the wind, but through it. With it. Against it. Beside it. Wind is movement. So are you.

And running. For all those body parts it is your feet that know the earth most intimately. You can lie naked and roll around and never know with the rest of your body what your feet already know. Hard earned knowledge. How to adjust to small hummocks. How to paw at dirt and trail and road for miles on end. Take the pounding and roll with it. Your feet take a lot, and they give back all those miles. You should thank your feet for movement. The rest of you. Moves with them.

You have figured some things out as you run and you ride. How your mind works. What it likes to do on the move. Where thoughts come from. Some arrive like birds, fluttering until you reach up and cup them, turn them around and see how they’re made. Birds. Thoughts.

Our dreams often fix us in one place, unable to run away.

Movement is life.

Other thoughts cover your face like spiderwebs laced with a dark core of worry in the center. You wipe them away and keep running. Shake your hands and arms, or stand up in the saddle and pedal the hill until the worry is tugged away by movement. Solutions emanate from will, and will comes from effort. Sometimes you define it. Sometimes it defines you.

You move from race to race and event to event asking “Why? Why do I do this?” The answers come from the faces of others who join you in that search for tangible thoughts and the will that goes with it. Their faces pull you along. Group rides. Long runs. Track workouts.

Then Coffee shops. Parking lots. Bars and restaurants. These are your peers. Your effort companions. Sometimes the only people you really seem to trust are those that keep moving like you. It seems like they know something too. Something you need to know.

Movement. The running movement. The cycling movement. You can feel it. Some take it to the pool as well. Then the lake as swell. Always there are challenges to keep moving. Moving. Moving.  Do you hear an echo? It is your thoughts and your mind. Reckoning with movement. Giving it a name. Mile. Marathon. Half marathon. 10K. 5K. 25K. Ultramarathon. Triathlon. Sprint triathlon. Olympic. Ironman.

Following movement comes rest. Recovery. Letting your thoughts meld in a different way. You have moved through the day in a hundred ways. Now it is time to rest. And dream about moving some more. Life is a moving experience.

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Dunkin’ Donuts asks: What are you drinkin?

Posted on November 5, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth
What's in a Dunkin' Donuts Coolatta? Probably nothing you need, and lots of it.

What’s in a Dunkin’ Donuts Coolatta? Probably nothing you need, and lots of it.

Those of us who run and ride love to watch or diets. Not too many fats. Nor carbs. Go easy on the beers if you can. Wine when necessary.

We go gluten-free or carb free or meat free depending on how free we want to be.

But the other day, I had no answer to the question on the side of a Dunkin’ Donuts plastic cup.

“What are you drinkin’?”

I only ordered a small. The lady at the counter either did not hear me or could not understand me. They served up this giant Vanilla Bean Coolatta.

Calories? One zillion. What’s it matter? It was freakin’ huge.

I drank some of it on the way home and proceeded to fall asleep on the couch, eclipsing my window to go out for a run. Friends were coming over. They found me curled up in a semi-fetal position next to the dog on the couch.

“What are you doing?” they asked.

I stared dumbly at them. Looked at my watch.

“I don’t know,” was my answer.

It was the Coolatta. It knocked me out

Not so Coolatta

What’s in that drink? Don’t think I want to know. Surely it isn’t much of a training food. Not something the nutritionist would recommend for superior performance.

Probably lots of sugar. Some milk concentrate. Perhaps. Maybe some powdered soy beans. And ice. Frozen water. It’s crunchy and tastes like the ass end of a vanilla. That’s all I know.

Spartan diet?

Yes, I know I know I know. Stay away from that stuff. If you want to run and ride well you have to eat and drink like the guys on the Tour de France. Suck water out of a napkin. Strain honey through your lycra. Ask the masseuse to rub Snickers bars into your calves for energy

I used to eat even more shit than I do today. Training 10 miles a day lets you eat anything. You can stuff cheese up your ass and not gain a pound when you’re burning off 5000 calories a day. Food absorbs and dissipates like cirrus clouds on a fall day. Hello, goodbye.

Then you age and your metabolism slows and your pace does too. Then you have to watch what you eat, and a simple question on a Dunkin’ Donuts cup does not sound so simple

“What are you drinkin?’ “ indeed.

Amortizing 

Actually I saved the Coolatta in the fridge and used it as dessert for three straight days. So I amortized my bad habit, you might say.

Temptation is nearly always long, tall, and often sweet. It can sweep you off your feet. You can wind up on your back after a run or a ride with a vice by your side and wonder, in Talking Heads style, “Well, how did I get here?”

It’s a habit that’s hard to break. Our vices have us in their grip. They gather on our lower lip. We smile and say it’s all okay.

Then run and ride another day.

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Understanding Cold Comfort when you run and ride

Posted on November 4, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Cold weather riding and running often calls for improvisation

Cold weather riding and running often calls for improvisation

Those of us who run and ride tend to spend quite a bit of money and effort trying to keep warm during cold weather. Fortunately, the evolution of cold weather running and cycling gear has led to fabrics that perform miracles in terms of heat retention and moisture wicking. The days of thick cotton sweats are thankfully over. All Hail Performance Wear!

Get your North Face on

To single out just one cold gear manufacturer, the entire North Face garment franchise has an underlying premise of stopping the cold from getting to your skin. Walk any urban street and you’ll see those North Face logos staring back at you from the shoulders of commuters. That’s a branding coup of course. At the same time it reminds you that cold weather is here to stay. Is North Face really on our side?

Milder winters?

Winter lasts 120 or so days here in Illinois. That’s 120 days that will require you to organize coats, mittens and hands whenever you go out.

We must recognize that winters have not been as severe here in Chicago as in the recent past. Last winter we never got temperatures below zero. We did not have that much snow cover for much of the winter either. So the perception of winter is not so dramatic when there’s less harsh cold and deep snow.

Indoor practice makes perfect.

Indoor practice makes perfect.

As a runner and cyclist the past few winters have felt like something of a reprieve. Other than some occasional icy roads it has been possible to get out for regular runs and rides. I much prefer outdoor training to running on a treadmill or riding on a trainer. The Computrainer thing is legitimate in terms of maintaining fitness, but I would choose an hour on the mountain bike over an hour on the trainer any day.

We’ve also been seeing extended thaws the past few years. Instead of snow in January and February we’ve gotten rain. Yes, it’s a sloppy mess if there’s already snow on the ground. There were lakes in our yard and the streets ran like rivers sometimes. So you need waterproof shoes in those conditions.

But you compare that to -12 degree temps and 16 inches of snow in terms of getting out for a run and the warmer temps make it easier.

A cold lover

A part of me relishes runs in really cold weather. But it does make me think of an old Playboy cartoon in which a young man erotically engaged with a snow bunny looks into her eyes and say, “You may think I’m a great lover. Actually I’m just frozen stiff.”

There are tradeoffs, in other words, to outdoor activities in the cold.

My record run was in -27 degree weather. It was the early 1980s and the cold snap lasted a week setting multiple records for cold. My run lasted only 10 minutes before my eyelids started to freeze shut so I came home and warmed up with hot chocolate, two pairs of socks and a friend who was a snow bunny, if you catch my drift.

Giving voice to the cold

On another cold run at -13 a friend and I were chatting amicably when we crested a hill into the face of a brisk northerly wind. I turned to complain about how cold it was and my voice was gone. The cold air had sufficiently chilled my larynx to the point where the voice box would not work. We both lost our voices in fact, so we began gesticulating that we’d better hurry to the turn one mile ahead and get back down off the hill and out of the wind.

Cross country cold

As an avid cross country skier, there are days when it seems ridiculous to be out but it is still far better to exercise for an hour in cold weather than just sit inside and get fatter. On one long ski my friends and I started at 9 in the morning and skied 15 miles making our own tracks. The day grew bright with sunshine and the temps warmed to 30 degrees. We kept on skiing while tying layer after layer around our waists until we had no shirts on at all.

Heading home I made a mistake on a turn and went down into the bright cold snow. But this time, it felt refreshing, not cold. Instantly there grew an appreciation for all those Scandinavians with their hot saunas and cold lakes. Your body can actually develop a craving for contrasts. Heat and cold in good measure.

Cold Comfort

There are times when cold air can actually be a comfort. On a long winter run you pull open the neck zipper of your gear and let some cool air reach your core. It is enervating.

But having good gear in all circumstances is a blessing. Many were the day that we ran with gloves stuffed down our crotch because the cotton sweats and shorts were not keeping the cold away from the crank. Not good. Frostbite down there would not be fun.

The cold and warm balance.

The cold and warm balance.

Recently I’ve needed to strike a balance between being comfortably warm and keeping cool enough that I do not sweat too much. The Picc line in my arm is sealed with a clear bandage designed to keep moisture and possible infections out.

So the trick is running in very little gear so that I get exercise without sweating sufficiently to undermine the whole Picc setup. It’s only 2 more weeks, with luck. But I’m learning the meaning of cold comfort. Sometimes cold can be your friend.

Learning how to chill

The trick is in knowing how to dress down in layers and still be safe. It is not wise to take risks on the bike in cold weather. If you get wet with a sudden winter rainstorm and have to ride 20 miles back into a biting wind, hypothermia can kick in pretty quickly. In those circumstances it is fine to be a Hard Man and gut it through if you know you can make it. But there is no shame in finding shelter and making a call home to request a rescue.

Running can be risky too. When you get sweated up running with the wind you must be prepared to turn around and manage your gear so that you don’t get too cold running back against the wind.

Many of your better judgments must come from experience, but there are smart ways to get it, and use it. That is, you are better off going out to do two 3-mile loops on a really cold day than one 6-mile loop. That way if you run into troubles after the first half you can either add layers or take them away. Same goes for cycling. Don’t put yourself so far “out there” on winter rides that you cannot get to safe haven quickly if the weather changes.

Making friends with the cold is a question of working with what it will give you. A good run or ride in the cold is a great way to celebrate a winter day. Just be sure you understand your Cold Comfort factors before heading into unknown territory. Cause baby, it’s cold outside. Maybe not like it used to be, but still enough to freeze your sorry but if you don’t take Cold Comfort into account.

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Insane x insane=perfect for a Reality Show

Posted on November 1, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

So the sliver that tried to kill me may be gone, but its entry point into my system brought with it some funky microbe that remains unidentified and must be treated with utmost caution.

Two hours of patience in a bag.

Two hours of patience in a bag.

The doctors only know they want to kill it. That means 3 hours a day of antibiotic infusions, done by me at home with a couple bags, a bunch of plastic cable and some plastic syringes. Every day. So far.

My house looks like a lab from Breaking Bad.

But I’m following instructions the best way I know how because infections of any sort are not to be messed with.

Still, when the call from a nurse at the infection clinic came, my jaw dropped.

“Your antibiotic counts are at 6.7,” she tells me. They need to be at 12.

“You’re too healthy,” she says. “Your kidneys work too well.”

She’s telling me this? I’ve been shitting my butt out for 5 days straight and she’s telling me my kidneys are too good? What else is working well?

“How often are you doing your infusions?” she asks me.

I sigh. “Once a day for three hours,” I tell her. “I’m doing my best.”

“We might need you to do two infusions a day, every 12 hours to get you to where we need you to be.”

Me. Silence. “What?”

“You’re working now, right?”

“Yes,” I tell her. “I have to work. For a living. I like working.”

“Hmmm,” she responds. “That’s a problem.”

“I could get up at 4:00 a.m. and do it until 7:00 a.m., I suppose. But that doesn’t leave me much time to sleep. Or do anything else for 3 solid weeks.”

“You could do that?”

“I didn’t say I could do that,” I answer. “It was mostly hyperbole. I was joking.”

“Well, I’ll talk to the doctor,” she says.

“Perfect,” I say.

Nurse calls back in 5 minutes.

“Okay,” she tells me. “You’ll be done with the drug that takes 2 hours to infuse. We’re going to inject a different drug instead.”

“How’s that work?”

“Well,” she says. “We have to do the first injection here. At the clinic.”

I’ve always hated the word clinic. Suggests some sort of social disease. But I must admit the sliver pretty much fucked me over. So perhaps it still holds true.

“Then do I inject the drug at home from now on?”

“Yes. It’s really easy. The syringe looks a lot like the one you do the saline with. Only it’s bigger.”

“Bigger?” I burst out laughing. “It’s bigger? You say that like it’s positive. But I have to tell you, most people don’t associate bigger syringes with happy circumstances.”

The nurse starts laughing now too. Then I laugh more. Pretty much we’re not talking at all any more. Just laughing as we hear the other person laugh. Glad I could make someone else’s day. And my own while I’m at it.

Fuck it, I think to myself. It’s a FRIDAY. We both deserve to laugh.

Because getting well from a random infected sliver disease is so insane, it’s almost perfect. Like a Reality Show.

Chris Gets Over It. What a happy ending.

But I’m going for a run tomorrow with barely any clothes so I won’t sweat and mess up the pick line bandage. Then I might ride half naked to keep even more sweat off me. A week is too long to knock off. Cold turkey. 

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Blood pressure 129/78. HR 54. I’m calm. I really am.

Chris

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The zen of running and riding

Posted on October 31, 2013 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

A martial arts student went to his teacher and said earnestly, “I am devoted to studying your martial system. How long will it take me to master it?”

 

The teacher’s reply was casual, “Ten years.”

Impatiently, the student answered, “But I want to master it faster than that. I will work very hard. I will practice everyday, ten or more hours a day if I have to. How long will it take then?” 

The teacher thought for a moment, “20 years.”

Zen fern. Zen can be the most frustrating thing. The harder you work at it, the more it seems to escape your grasp.

I am reminded of these lessons every time I see someone “working hard” on their bike or “running hard” on the track or road. Are they actually making things more difficult by trying so hard?

It is universally known that a high cadence makes best use of energy in cycling. Yet the art and zen of keeping a high cadence dictates that your feet must spin, not mash. No portion of the pedal stroke can exceed the other in force, or you lose power along the way. It seems counterintuitive. But that’s the beauty of it.

We face questions like this all the time. If it is raining outside, will we get just as wet by running to our car as we would by walking?

No sweat is no good.

The zen master might tell you that neither running or walking is the best answer. The best answer is to wait until it stops raining. Then you can run or walk to your car without risk of getting wet.

Are we too impatient for that answer? Are our training schedules trying to suck value out of every day, and as a result, squandering what we can gain in strength of mind and body?

If you cannot wait out the rain of a break in training or a lull in your schedule, it appears the real rain in your life is washing away peace or mind.

And If you cannot live in the moment and accept what goes around you, perhaps you are working too hard by keeping too busy or mashing the pedals of your soul.

We want to get better fast. Or else we better get fast. We place demands on ourselves that count as threats. If we fail, we lack forgiveness. If we succeed, we lack satisfaction. All so-called victories are balanced by the costs. Yet sometimes we choose pain because it brings enlightenment, or expresses a value that says we are willing to suffer for what we believe. That is the zen philosophy in many respects.

scorpionTwo monks were washing their bowls in the river when they noticed a scorpion that was drowning. One monk immediately scooped it up and set it upon the bank. In the process he was stung. He went back to washing his bowl and again the scorpion fell in. The monk saved the scorpion and was again stung.

The other monk asked him, “Friend, why do you continue to save the scorpion when you know it’s nature is to sting?”

“Because,” the monk replied, “to save it is my nature.”

Every hard effort in running or riding is like the scorpion. We save those memories in order to save ourselves. What we give to the universe comes back to us in some way.

Even if it stings.WeRunandRideLogo

 

 

 

 

 

 

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