Meet Mike Savage, one of my favorite Tri-Guys

Mike Savage (far right in yellow) during a summer training camp.

The first time I got to know Mike Savage we were together riding on a long climb near Phoenix, Arizona during a weeklong Experience Triathlon spring training camp. We’d already done a couple rides that week along with a run or two and a bit of swimming. Our bodies were starting to get into gear after the long winter away from serious outdoor training.

We both felt great pedaling up the increasingly steep hill out of the Phoenix valley. The residential streets were smooth, our water bottles and nutrition stocks were full and secretly I was thinking of pulling away for the fun of it. As the climb continued I glanced back to see who was behind us and noticed that we’d left much of the group behind. That’s when I glanced over at Mike and wondered, “How does this big guy do it?” I wasn’t dropping him any time soon.

Recently I asked Mike to talk about his sports background and his pursuits in triathlon. His answers reveal both a love of the sport and a practical ability to apply lessons learned from training to performance in races. He’s a multiple-time finisher in Madison’s Ironman Wisconsin, one of the hilliest multisport courses in the country. Here’s what Mike shared about his journey from a D-1 level football career to competing in triathlons.

  1. As I understand it, your main sport at one point was football. What positions did you play, and where? At what levels? 

While I played football, basketball and track in high school, football was my primary sport. I grew up in a smaller town in Michigan (Bay City) which is about 120 miles north of Detroit. Because there isn’t much population north of Bay City in Michigan, all of our games were against larger schools in the bigger cities of Saginaw, Flint, Pontiac, Lansing and Detroit suburbs. In high school, since our team didn’t have too many players (I think we dressed about 35 each game), I played both ways as a linebacker and offensive guard. Our team was pretty good and I was named as an All-State Football Player at Inside Linebacker in the State of Michigan (1979). All three all-state linebackers played in the same conference which is unusual. All three of us (Carl Banks, Jim Morrissey and I) were all pretty highly recruited. I ended up deciding to play out East – in the Ivy League after being recruited by most Big 10, MAC and Ivy League schools. I chose the University of Pennsylvania in Philadelphia.

At that time, the Ivies were still in Division 1-A (now they are in FCS instead of FBS level). I played four years as a linebacker and long snapper. At the time, I was an average size linebacker at 6’1”, 225 lbs, 4.8 40 yd speed. Today, I am barely big enough to play D-I free safety.

  1. You’ve been a triathlete for several years now, what are some of the most significant challenges you’ve faced? 
Mike Savage (front) with Experience Triathlon teammates ready to leave for Spring Camp.

I think I have had a number of challenges – I work probably 45-55 hours a week as an HR executive for Ulta Beauty, so fitting triathlon training around the job can be a juggling act. As a bigger guy (I’m still around the same weight as college but just in different places), I’m a Clydesdale in triathlon and this sport is generally geared toward smaller, faster, lighter athletes. It’s always good to compete against the little guys or the rail thin runner types because when I finish in front of them, it feels really good.  I somewhat kiddingly wrote in an Ironman blog that my combined age and weight is almost 290, which probably is one of the largest age/weight combos in any Ironman distance or Olympic distance race.  

  1. Of the three sports, which is the favorite, and which is the hardest to train for? 

My favorite is the bike. I have the leg strength and endurance for the bike and on a level or rolling hill course, I can keep up with the pack. I used to dislike running, but the more I run long distances, the more I am getting into it and enjoying it. Running expert Matt Fitzgerald wrote a book “running slower to get faster” which changed my whole outlook on running. In fact, this year I set a PR of 1:52:00 in the half marathon two weeks after I did Ironman Wisconsin. A month before IMWI, I ran 7:20 PR for the mile.  Not bad for a 225 lbs old football player! 

Mike Savage after finishing Ironman Wisconsin.

Swimming is the hardest to train for as I am not a learned swimmer. I had to take “Swim 101” twice as I had never swum correctly – ever. Thankfully, I have had some really good coaching on the swim so now I’m adequate in that event.  It’s all about training smart and consistent. 

  1. What role has coaching played in your athletic and triathlon career? 

Coaching has played a huge part of my athletic career and especially in my triathlon career. In football, coaching teaches you preparation and takes okay athletes and gets them able to compete with the best. It’s all about learning and improving.  Triathlon is a perfect example of a “you perform how you train” sport. Coaching has helped me build and refine my technique and improve my skill, strength, endurance and patience. Good coaches know when to push you, when to let you dog it and when to let you tell them what you need. I think anyone who is serious about triathlons needs some sort of coaching because if not, you run the risk of getting hurt or not adequately preparing yourself for race day.   

  1. How do you mentally prepare for events these days, versus former lives? 
Savage cranking on the bike at Ironman Wisconsin.

I am big about setting goals and building a plan to get there. I set my race calendar by December for the coming spring/summer season.  I find my one or two “A” races and then build a training program along with some “B” event that will help prepare me for those “A” races.   I think that the mental preparation is as important as the physical preparation.  I also find training partners that have similar race event goals and outlook on training and racing. 

I’m a Goldilocks training guy – not too hot, not too cold, but something that is just right in terms of intensity, amount of training and attitude. My training partners have turned into terrific friends and we have an engagement that goes behind just riding a bike or running together or swimming laps at the same time. That also goes for many others I have met on rides or on the roads running.  Treat all athletes with respect and kindness regardless of ability or results, and it comes back to you 10x what you give. After all, we are all age groupers so let’s not take ourselves too seriously. I like to have fun during training yet take it seriously enough that you can’t blow off workouts all the time either.

  1. What are some of your favorite brands of gear and equipment; swim, bike and run? 

For swim, I like Zoot Predator goggles and Xterra polarized googlesI always wait for them to go on sale and buy a new pair. 

For the bike, I am all about being a bike nerd. I need to find things that help level out my size in terms of keeping up with the lighter, faster, younger guys and gals so I look for things that help.  I have had a Specialized Shiv (loved that bike until it got stolen off my porch), a Giant Trinity tri bike and now, I’m getting a new Scott Plasma 6 RC w/ carbon wheels and the gizmos that come with a high-end tri bike.  

I’m a data geek so I LOVE my Wahoo Elemnt and stare at the data outputs during and after a ride – always trying to eek out an extra watt or two of normalized power. I also like my Wahoo Kickr for indoor training. I have also found that the DeSoto tri-suits are awesome. Easy fit, affordable on sale, wear well and are great at keeping my cool. 

From a run perspective, I have worn New Balance 860’s for years and keep on going to Naperville Running Company for a new pair every 300 miles. They know what runners need and take care of me very well. This all leads up to nutrition – which is all about staying fueled. I am a long-time user of Infinit Custom hydration formula and Maurten gels and 320 and 160 mixes for the bottles. These mixes and gels are not cheap but they ABSOLUTELY work and keep me going!!   

  1. Name some of your favorite race experiences, and why? 

Ironman Wisconsin is the best.  I’ve now done Ironman Wisconsin twice and it’s an experience I’ll never forget. I play back those experiences all the time in my head; both the good and the bad when I’m out on a ride or a run or need a pick me up moment or a reality check. Finishing IMWI is so awesome.  The feeling of accomplishment and the months and miles of training are all worth it.  My next favorite IM race was IM Maine 70.3 which starts with a cold swim in the Atlantic ocean (water was 57 degrees on race day) and right after you cross the run finish, you are handed a plate of lobsters and corn on the cob! 

Enjoying the fruits of his labors. Mike Savage trains hard and enjoys the social and team dynamic.

The funniest race experience I’ve ever had was the Pleasant Prairie Triathlon.  I entered in as a Clydesdale in the sprint instead of an age grouper in the Olympic distance and when I finished the swim, I got out of transition on the bike and started riding really fast as I usually try to catch those in front of me from the swim. 

However, I go speeding down the road and suddenly two motorcycle police officers, pull alongside me with flashers going and then pull in front of me holding about 24 mph. I am thinking “holy crap, what’s going on here?” as in…what did I do wrong leaving transition? Am I on the wrong course? I eventually realize that because the Clydesdale / Athena and relays athletes were the first group to start the swim, I am actually LEADING the sprint portion of the Pleasant Prairie Triathlon. OMG!!  I’m in first place and the motorcycle cops are riding with me because I’m leading the whole pack.  

Wow. Wow. Wow. For about 2 miles I’m rolling along and they rode with me. I was tucked in my best-ever Clydesdale old man aero position with a toothy grin going from ear to ear. It must have been evident to the cops that this was new to me because the one cop kept dropping back to ride alongside me, looking over and smiling.  Soon enough, the young studs in the 20-24 age group came up blowing past me and the cops led those guys on to the remainder of the bike course. But for 5 minutes, I was the race leader. Best moment ever!!!   

  1. Have you dealt much with injuries, old or new? 
During the Covid-19 IM Madison done independently with ET.

So playing D-I college football left me with ankles and knees that can tell you when it’s going to rain but thankfully I’ve been fairly injury free. I attribute that to my coaches who build me up and prepare me for the type of race I’m going to swim/bike/run or just bike or just run. It’s all about the training.  But I have had my share of occasional hamstring pulls or piriformis muscle issues.   Most recently, I hurt my lumbar spine due to sitting in a dining room chair (thank you COVID pandemic) too long and it put me out of training for almost 4 weeks. The best gift I ever got was the Norma-Tec recovery boots to help me  recover my legs.  My main advice is to always listen to your body. Get a good group of support people to keep you healthy (I recommend Eric@Patriot Training in Wheaton for stretching,  Dr. Amanda @ Doctors of PT in Lisle for PT, Dr. Brady McDaniel @ Elite Recovery in Naperville).

  1. What races would you like to do in 2021? 

COVID permitting, I plan on racing IM 70.3 Blue Ridge (Roanoke VA), then either Lake Zurich or Pleasant Prairie Tri, Horribly Hilly Hundred Bike, Ironman Wisconsin and then the Fox Valley Marathon. A busy year but it will be fun.

But the real race I’m looking forward to is in 2022.   For 2022, I will age up into the age 60+ Clydesdale group and I will finally race at the USTA Clydesdale Nationals in Chattanooga TN in June 2022 against people my own size, my own age. Prior to this May 2022 race, if I race Clydesdale division, I’m racing against other big guys who range in age from 18 to 59 or I race as an age grouper against guys who weigh 70 lbs less than I do. Finally, we even up the race field a bit.  

  1. Any advice for other taller, bigger athletes like yourself? 
Fueling up!

Enjoy it while you can. We are fortunate to be able to compete at a high level against other athletes who are usually smaller, usually faster, certainly lighter than we are but we have advantages too. People don’t mess with us during the swim.  Everyone loves to draft off you during a long training ride so you seldom ride alone. Going up hills usually suck but going downhill, inertia is our greatest friend. On the run, remember that a 9:30 / mile pace is the same whether you weigh 160 lbs. or 220 lbs. It’s all about endurance and who has a bigger desire to keep a steady pace.  So what if we finish in the middle of the pack? That means we beat the other half of the pack and I’m willing to bet a bunch of donuts that I’m older and heavier than they are. For the half of the pack that finished in front of me, I’m also willing to bet that on a weight adjusted finish, I’m a lot closer to the front than those little guys care to think about. Size matters.  

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Posted in aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, climbing, college, competition, cycling, cycling the midwest, doing pulls in cycling, healthy aging, healthy senior, marathon, riding, running, swimming, tri-bikes, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons, we run and ride | Leave a comment

“Am I smart?” is the hardest question in life to answer

Recently while filling out paperwork for some potential teaching assignments, I requested college and high school transcripts to send in with the applications. Looking through my academic record was a bit humbling in many respects.

Those Algebra II grades my junior year in high school were disturbingly low. I too well recall the horrid feeling of going into that class each day not knowing how to catch up with all the formulas I was supposed to know. I felt dumb and frankly lost in a fog of fear and dread. I failed the second semester.

Somehow that didn’t hold me back from graduating. There were other academic blunders as well. I received a D during sophomore year Spanish as well. Something about the way we were supposed to learn the language in that class left me numb. We sat in cubicles with earphones on our heads repeating whatever words we heard.

Earlier in school, I experienced many moments of feeling disconnected from the learning process. Either my head was in a fog of boredom or I didn’t care enough about the subject to apply myself and try. But if I found the class or teacher interesting I’d do quite well. A’s and Bs even.

That hot-and-cold learning pattern affected me in some sports as well. Learning an offense in basketball was never my favorite thing to do. Nor was picking up a full-court trap defense. During scholastic years I was more interested in the flow and excitement of the game than the subtleties of the pick-and-roll. Sometimes I felt stupid out there on the court.

Even in running, I made some dumb mistakes. Learning a cross country course in a ten minute tour was never my strong suit. I lost a race to a key conference rival because I failed to recall that we didn’t need to make trip around the far side of the track during the second loop. My two-hundred yard lead evaporated and I lost by mere steps at the end of the race. I felt really stupid after that.

My teammates recognized these traits in me. They’d nudge me to pay extra attention during the course tour. But with nerves and anxiety coursing through my brain, I’d still lose track and at times wind up frantically trying to recall which way to run. Were the yellow flags to go straight, or turn left? I could never remember.

Finishing first in the Plainfield invite on an old quarry property.

Yet there were races where my “smarts” took over in other ways. During one invitational held on an old quarry property, the course cut through cattail ponds and up over humps of gravel piles. As a country kid used to climbing around that kind of landscape, I was in my element.

As the years went by I began to learn to compensate for the lack of attention and compensate for my seeming lack of smarts on diligent tasks. Those of us with forms of attention deficit disorder, I am told, often face the lifelong struggle of getting our minds to work on traditional fashion. It all comes down to “executive functions,” they say. Those traits that plug into corporate goal-setting and completion.

Ultimately I learned how to organize thoughts and chronicle paths from point A to Z. I conceptualized large-scale sponsorship programs centered around mutual benefits in collaboration with outside partners in the corporate and non-profit world. I grew especially proud of monetizing those efforts and getting a return on investment.

In some ways, I turned out far smarter than others in creating those opportunities. I still envy people who seem to be able to turn their skills into gold. I marvel at people making $350,000 a year when they don’t seem that much smarter than other folks I know. The corporate world organizes itself around those with talent for building teams, motivating people and accomplishing objective on-track and on-time.

So I still can’t answer the question as to whether I’m smart or not. But I wonder if anyone really can? It seems there is always someone a bit smarter than you waiting to snark on your Facebook post or cut to the quick on a Zoom call comment.

I’ve written this blog and others for 8-10 years and they’ve never really “blown up” as perhaps I’d hoped. Maybe I’m not smart enough to figure out how to make that happen. I do all the things the blog experts recommend. But there’s always something missing. Something other people know that I don’t. People are smarter than me.

What writing this blog and others has done is challenge my writing skills on a daily basis. That is an ability applicable on many fronts. Plus it’s been a form of therapy through the thick and thin of life. Some days I feel thick in the head. Other days I feel thin on insights about how to be a marvelous success in life. Most days I just pray for sanity, a coping mechanism for anxiety or depression, a hope for creativity and a love for productivity.

The thing I’ve always abided along the way is to keep on trying. All that running, riding and swimming is a reflection of that commitment. And…if that’s as smart as I ever get, that’s all I can ask for. These activities fuel creative thinking and help me solve problems. Not all of them, but most of them. That seems like a pretty smart way to live even if I never do thrill the world with my ideas.

But here’s my only little secret. I’ll never quit trying. And that’s smart.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, college, cross country, Depression, healthy aging, running, swimming, Tarsnakes | 3 Comments

Trust your doctor when the advice is to “Keep going”

I had my annual physical this past Saturday morning. It went pretty well, other than the fact that the doctor found the big purple bruise on my ass quite amusing. “How did you get that?” he asked.

Nice bruise huh?

“I came in a little hot on my mountain bike on a curve last weekend,” I replied.

“That’s a nice bruise. It could get a little granular in there,” he reminded me. Scar tissue, you see.

He noticed the bruise on the way to checking my prostate gland with a famous finger up the butt. “Well, that’s doing well,” he informed me. I was glad to hear that.

Prostates are a funny gland that can get unfunny in a hurry. If you’re a guy that has ever had a prostate infection, you know that it burns like crazy and can make you sick with a fever. You may recall that one of the astronauts on an Apollo mission came down with a prostate infection that nearly did him in.

Prostate infection

I had a prostate infection a long, long time ago and wound up calling the doc and visiting the 24-hour pharmacy to fill a prescription at four in the morning.

That was a lonesome, painful, bent-over journey in the car on a cold, black night. The pharmacist took one look at me and quickly handed over the meds. “This what you’re looking for?” he asked me. “Any questions?”

“No,” I muttered. Then walked out of the pharmacy like a night crab trying to get out of the moonlight.

Not long after that episode, the doctor called me into the office to strategize about why my prostate was behaving badly and feeling boggy. “Have you tried quitting caffeine?” he asked.

I cut out the Coke and a week or so later, things were back to normal. Turns out my hyperactive prostate gland was super-sensitive to stimulants including caffeine and cold medicines containing anti-histamines. I cut out both of those for decades and the prostate never gave me problems again.

That was good advice from my doctor. But I had to leave his care for a while due to HMOs and other insurance vagaries. Now I’m back with that doctor again. I’m glad of that. Like I said, he gives good advice.

Hormone problems

Lookin’ out below.

Some of that prostate stuff from thirty years ago was hormonal, I surmise. At some stages in life, men are so driven by hormones their brains are connected to their penises by something like a separate spinal cord that only dissipates and melts into the body with time and age.

We come out the other end of the male hormone years slightly mellower around the midsection. Some guys lose their ability to get an erection altogether. There are a litany of products to deal with that condition. The Little Blue Pill and such.

I’m grateful not to be in that position. After that prostate deal a few decades back, I’ve always been honest with my doctor about how things are going “down there.”

Numb nuts

The only other problems I’ve experienced are an occasional bout with numbness in the nuts if the bike fit isn’t correct. That can happen on a rented bike during training trips. You go riding for 20, 30 or 50 miles and suddenly, the crank goes numb. I always carry a wrench for those moments. Tip the seat, hop back on and things tend to clear up.

It’s never fun having a numb crank, much less numb nuts. It’s interesting that the slang term “numbnuts” means a “slow-witted, unresponsive or inept person.” I guess in military terms it means a “recruit who is unintelligent or difficult to train.” At any rate, no one likes to be called numbnuts. And no one likes to have them either. A numb vaginal region is not much fun either, I hear tell.

While my prostate and crank aren’t as sensitive as they once were, things are still working pretty well. Still, I asked the doctor if there’s anything I need to know about keeping things shipshape when it comes to general operations ranging from bathroom business to sex, and he offered two words of advice that seem wise beyond their simple basic meaning.

“Keep going.” Truer words could never be said. About anything. Including swimming, riding and running. Keep going.

Posted in aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, bike accidents, bike crash, bike wobble, blood on the highway, Christopher Cudworth, sex | Tagged , , , , , | Leave a comment

Sometimes it takes patience to show patriotism

A few years back while hammering up a long stretch of road in rural Kane County, Illinois, I glanced over to see a barn decorating in Americana style. I’d been by it plenty of times before, but decided to take a break and shoot a photo. I’m no flag waver by nature, and I don’t view patriotism strictly through the lens of the red, white and blue, as some people do.

I’ve never been a “My Country, Right of Wrong” kind of guy. For one thing, I hate the way that slogan lays out on the page. If you take it as a politically literal statement, it means you either lean Right or you’re wrong.

In fact, the political Right is more often wrong than it is right about what constitutes real freedom in this country. I think back on the Reagan administration’s debacle with the Iran-Contra affair, in which George H.W. Bush was also mixed up, and it makes me cringe to know that the people committing those illegal money-laundering and militaristic acts in our country’s name thought they were acting on in the name of a higher power than our nation’s own laws.

The same happened with the Bush-Cheney debacle in invading Iraq when that nation had nothing to do with the 9-11 attacks. It was an act of political doctrine, and lies, not American security, that sent our troops and bombs into that country. I’ve still not forgiven Bush for that inane adventure. He may be a sweet guy these days, but his manipulation under the thumb of Cheney resulted in tens of thousands of our soldiers dead or maimed by a virtueless, unpatriotic war.

Yet Fox News cheerleaded that venture, and dinglebats like Rush Limbaugh too.

The Obama years saw America using faceless drones rather than soldiers to do our dirty work. I get why we stood back and fired away. We were also tied down in Afghanistan, the war that Bush forgot, along with Osama bin Laden, of whom Bush once said, and we paraphrase here “I don’t think about him much anymore.”

By the time President Donald Trump came into office, so much unpatriotic stuff had transpired in America in the previous forty years it was impossible to know what a true patriot even looked like. Anyone that spoke out against the aggressive militarism was branded a “traitor” while those who questioned the globalistic capitalism gutting America’s economy as was called a “socialist.”

Along the way, I listened to radio and news media on all sides of the arguments. Eager to know how the political Right views the world, I tuned in regularly to listen to O’Reilly and Hannity, Limbaugh and Beck, Ingraham and Coulter. I read liberal and progressive magazines as well as the National Review, and websites ranging from The Blaze to the Drudge Report. In every case I weighed carefully what was being said. But I also screamed at the radio at times, such as the time when I heard Rush Limbaugh state “There’s no such thing as hunger in America.”

I heard so many lies like that coming from the political right that a quiet rage against misinformation arose in me. It was there all along, but watching the likes of Mitch McConnell twist the political knife in denying the basics of government from his political opponents…such as blocking the nomination of Merrick Garland to the Supreme Court, made me realize that many people view patriotism from an extremely narrow and selfish vantage point.

Which brings us to our impeached and disgraced ex-President Donald J. Trump. I never did hear the man explain one aspect of his policies in anything close to a rational manner. Instead he ranted about his supposed enemies who were only asking what he meant by branding white supremacists “good people.”

I used to listen to Senator Bernie Sanders on the Thom Hartman show. He took calls from listeners and answered questions about government policy in real time. He was lucid, honest, and principled in every answer he gave. If he didn’t know the answer to a question, he’d state that rather than make up some bullshit lie or dismissively concocted response. He respected people, in other words.

When Sanders lined up to run for President a part of me deeply wanted him to succeed. But political sloganism and the Trump Factor of low-level information displacing actual policy with stupid cheerleading like Make America Great Again made me realize that Sanders never stood a chance to beat Trump.

So while Biden is not perfect, he is principled. All the investigation into his past has been specious at best. Trump’s attempt to leverage his son’s activities into a case against Biden’s candidacy amounted to naught. Even the weird case of the Hunter Biden laptop seemed concocted as a smear tactic, not actual investigative journalism.

Which is why I’ve felt like patience was the best response to patriotism all along. Thus it’s fitting to put that Bernie image next to mine in the photo of my erstwhile patriotic stop that day on the road. Bernie looks both patient and a bit frustrated with what it took to get through the insanity of the Trump years. I’ve always thought Donald Trump was the biggest piece of shit on the face of the earth. The entire premise of his show The Apprentice was taking pleasure in telling people, “You’re fired.”

Well, Trump just got fired for inciting an insurrection, letting 400,000+ people die from Covid under his watch, and for generally disrespecting the duties of his office in every way possible. I hope he gets convicted in the impeachment trial and can never run for office again. Sometimes it takes patience for real patriotism to take effect. But people like Bernie and me have been waiting a long time for this. Mittens and all.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, coronavirus, covid-19 | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Freezing my face off

Yesterday’s run was a chilly affair. The south wind was bitingly cold. I trotted east-to-west and back as a result. That way I wasn’t freezing my face off the entire run into the wind.

Over years of training in cold weather, I’ve learned how to dress and manage the cold on my face, hands and other body parts. Way back when I was a kid training in high school and college, the equipment wasn’t that great. We wore the same mixed-fiber stocking caps every day. For hand coverings we sometimes wore multiple layers of tube socks. Nylon shorts were critical to protect the crotch from frostbite, and still we had days when it was tricky getting home without frostnip.

I once ran on a day so cold that my voicebox ceased working. My running companion Rob Serres started laughing so hard when I couldn’t talk that we almost had to stop because I started laughing too. But I couldn’t make a single sound. Nothing worked.It wasn’t often that I got caught off guard like that. Normally during our runs on cold days we’d wrap scarves on our heads or wear a hooded sweatshirt tightly drawn around our faces.

“You’ll freeze your lungs”

Many times I’ve been asked if running in such cold weather would “freeze my lungs.” It’s pretty simple to avoid anything of that order. Just put a gloved hand over the mouth and breath warm air into it.

Cold fingers are a problem now and then. Yesterday before going out to run, I discovered a set of mittens that had been kicking around my gear drawer for a couple years and pulled them out to wear. They have finger covers but function more like mittens than gloves with a retractable mitten-like flipcover. They are really warm. So from now through March they’re going to get more action.

After all that cold weather running yesterday in which the cold wind stung my face, I traveled to the dermatologist this morning for a six-month checkup after having a small bit of skin cancer taken off my right arm last summer. The doctor looked me over from the waist up. I laughed telling him that I had a bit purple bruise on my butt, and showed him the greenish bruise on my right forearm after sliding out the bike last weekend. He’s a cyclist too, and we commiserated about the vagaries of winter riding. That bruise on my butt is a work of art!

He walked around me like a sculptor looking at a slab of marble, looking for trouble spots. Then he started shooting any suspicious-looking skin with shots of super-cold nitrogen. The spots fizzed and stung. He zapped me in several places while telling me, “These are pre-cancerous. So we’ll freeze them out.” At one point he aimed the big silver canister at my right cheekbone, the spot most susceptible to skin damage thanks to its position on the promontory of the face. Hissssss went the spray. Ouch, went the skin.

Driving home in the car I still felt the sting of those treatments. It’s best to catch things early, and my father had skin cancer. Admittedly all these years of running and riding in the bright sun do pose a threat to my skin long term. So freezing my face off is the right thing to do.

Posted in aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, college, running | Tagged , , , , , | 2 Comments

The mixture of joy and relief after a hard race

The emotions following a hard race are often a mixture of joy and relief. You’re invited to share some of yours.

The desire to compete in races comes from many different places within us. For some, it is a test of resolve. For others, a raw test of fitness. But it’s always about proving oneself in the face of difficulty.

You’re perhaps familiar with the 2 Timothy 7 passage that reads, “I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith.” That applies not just to running or riding or swimming, but to life itself. Our races teach us lessons that carry over to other experiences.

You’re invited to share some particularly significant races in your life. I know several stand out for me. Races that stood as rites of passage, first time achievements, new personal bests, victories and losses. All have their meaning. Their combination of joy, or relief. I feel blessed in having experienced all those along the way and blessed to continue on that path in my current life.

Katherine Switzer in one of her most memorable races, the Boston Marathon.

I’d love if you shared an experience of your own that stands out in your mind. A moment or race when that mixture of joy and relief washes over you after a hard race. The pain over those last miles. The realization that you’re going to get it done within the race. Some of these moments are simple, but they’re real. A feeling in your head that says, “I did it.” The fulfillment of Nike’s slogan, “Just Do It.”

These recollections don’t have to be long. You can post them in the comments below, or send them to me privately to if you’d prefer to be anonymous. I’d like to hear about your achievements and your emotions, your goals and even your disappointments if they taught a lesson along the way. Feel free to share a photo or two. These can be long-ago or quite recent experiences. Let’s share and inspire. We need some of that going into the New Year.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, competition, cross country, cycling, PEAK EXPERIENCES, race pace, racing peak, riding, running, track and field, training, TRAINING PEAKS, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons, we run and ride | Tagged , , , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Have you ever been in love?

Perhaps you’ve never stopped to think about the times in life when you’ve fallen in love. There are many kinds of love. There is loving another person, of course. You can also love a hobby, a sport, or a passion of some kind. Your pets. Your family. Love is universal.

So it’s likely that everyone reading this has been in love with something or another during their lifetime.

Competing with a former teammate Bill Sanders in the Kaneland Invitational, 1974.

I can say that I fell in love with running at a fairly early age. My father nudged me into cross country as a freshman in high school, but even before that, I loved the sensation of running more than any other aspect of sports. Even as a ten-year-old baseball player I relished running from home plate around the light pole in center field and back. Same goes for running the bases. Run, run, run. I was a Forrest Gump kind of kid, I’ll admit. Not always the brightest bulb in the socket, in some ways. On many fronts I was critically naive.

But boy, I liked to run. That much I knew how to do. It wasn’t always that way. As a five-year-old child, I had a friend named Jimmy Morris who lived up the hill from our house in Seneca Falls, New York. One day we were playing and decided to run over to my house. He tore off ahead of me down the hill and I chased after him. Then he stopped and asked, “What are you doing?”

I was running with my arms at my side. I’m not sure why, other than I was shy or something like that. He told me, “Look, run like this!” while pumping his arms. So I followed his example.

A year after that we’d moved to Pennsylvania and our house had a side yard that had once been a tennis court. Somewhere I found a watch that I could use and stood out there on the lawn waiting for the second hand to hit the 12. Then I took off running the perimeter of that lawn. I did it again and again, trying to get faster each time.

Chasing the girls

In grade school I loved running around the playground. We played tag sometimes, and I remember a sweet girl with brown hair and a cowlick on her forehead named Cindy DeMora. She was as fast as me. That stunned me because I’d been taught that boys were faster than girls. I remember chasing all those girls. Betsy Hastings. Kimberly Tracy. Lisa Helsel. The boys in our class…all kept lists of the Top Ten girls we liked. Sometimes I felt like I was in love with some of them.

By junior high our participation in sports was all about trying to impress the girls in our class. In seventh grade we even gave $.99 rings to girls if they were up for “going steady” with us.

Then came high school, and my running became a keen part of personal identity. Having made the Varsity as a freshman, I hoped that girls would find me more impressive somehow. But at six foot tall and 125 lbs, those hopes were a bit vainglorious. Yet I do recall a certain cheerleader snatching me up during a dance in the cafeteria. I went home that night dizzy and dazed from that sudden burst of attention and affection.

It felt like I was in love.

Love is serious business

Ready, Set, Go!

Then came college and dating became a semi-serious business. I didn’t realize even at that age that some women viewed the dating process as a marriage qualifier. We were too busy running dozens of miles and trying to look decently macho and presentable in 70s fashion at the bars. The other factor is that running was just gaining in popularity at the time. The first women runners joined the squad in my freshman year in college. Their numbers increased as the years progressed. But our worlds still seemed separate.

I finally, truly fell in love heading into senior year in college. I was in deeply in love with running at the same time. I lived it, breathed it, and devoted hour upon hour to running. I enjoyed some success at last on both fronts. Love and love.

Then that relationship broke off after college because she was playing for keeps and I wasn’t ready for that.

So I went back to running in a serious way. Had more success. Then I fell in love again. Married. Had two wonderful children. Lived twenty-eight years together. Then lost her to cancer.

But I kept on running. It kept me sane through it all. I still loved running.


Now I’m remarried. Found genuine love again. We run together. Ride together. Swim together. For those who’ve loved and lost, I say to you: Don’t give up. If you’ve ever been in love before, with anything or anyone, don’t give up.

There is love in the world if you keep on looking for it. It may be pursuing what you love, getting out in the mountains or walking by a river to watch it flow. Love is there.

The way I look at it, I’ve helped propel the world in its rotation with my own little feet. Like gerbils on a wheel, we run and run while the world squeaks away around us. What goes around, comes around.

Now go out there and love it up, with all you’ve got.

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I keep smiling. It’s the only way to live.

Through years of competition and many sports injuries, it pays to keep on smiling.

At the age of five years old, I was in the backyard of another kid that would become my best friend through the age of twelve. Our mothers were in the front yard talking about how we might get along when my new potential friend swung a golf club and cracked me in the skull so hard I nearly blacked out.

I still recall the dull ringing sensation of that possible concussion. A lump grew on the side of my head and we headed home with an ice bag clamped to my skull.

That was the first of many such incidents over the years. As an athletic kid with two older brothers I was always trying to keep up and prove myself on any field of competition. It quite often resulted dramatic injuries.

During years of elementary school recess, I ran into the swingset metal poles so often that my mother finally told the school, “You only have to call me if he’s knocked out.” I’d be chasing after some kickball headed over the swingset and KONG! hit my head on the metal pole again. A lump would rise on my forehead like a cartoon and off to the school nurse I’d go.

Playing catcher in softball in fourth grade, I saw a fly ball pop up from home plate and ran toward the pitcher’s mound to catch it. The pitcher came running toward the ball and his buck teeth gouged into my cheek below the eye. That cut was so deep it required stitches and I had a black eye for weeks. But I still caught the ball.

That same year I was chasing down a fly ball in kickball when a heavy set kid named Jim ran across my path and I crammed into him at full tilt. He bit a hole straight through his tongue. It didn’t heal properly and he reminded me by sticking a pencil through the bottom of his tongue to show me where the hole still was. I wasn’t the one injured in that incident, at least not physically. Yet it scarred me for years.

While playing pickup football in the side yard of another friend, his older brother tried to stop me from scoring a runback touchdown and wound up shoving me into a rough concrete ditch. My head clonked on the cement and I was knocked out completely. I woke up quickly but my head hurt like never before. Plus I was seeing double. Angry and stubborn, I insisted on walking home alone but had to cross Route 222, a busy road south of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. I took a chance and ran across but approaching cars looked like two or three at once. I wound up at the doctor’s office for stitches that day, and several day’s of rest.

When I started playing organized sports and the risks of not performing grew higher, I had to put fear of injury out of my mind. That was tough during sliding practice in baseball, where the raw bruise on the back of my leg and butt grew worse at every attempt until I learned (the hard way) how to slide smoothly and stand right up at the bag. There are few more difficult lessons I ever learned in sports than how to slide in baseball.

I was thinking about all this rough and tumble stuff because last Saturday I rode my mountain bike for twenty miles and wound up wiping out on a slick downhill section where the road turns and I came into it a little hot. But knobby tires slid out from beneath me and I went into a decent slide while striking my right butt cheek on the road. Getting up, I was a bit embarrassed but not too badly hurt. Thankfully the approaching car was no closer and I didn’t smack into his front end. He drove by without a word but the woman in the car behind him rolled down her window and yelled, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” I muttered. “Just a stupid mistake. I came into the turn a little hard.”

“Well,” she said in reply. “You’re braver than me. I wouldn’t go out in this stuff.”

I’ve cracked up on my bike a number of times. Once by not watching the trail ahead and I rode headlong into a fallen tree. Another happened because of bike wobble while tearing down a long hill at 40MPH in Wisconsin. Another took place when I tried riding a road bike perpendicular from the grass into a curb. I didn’t see a gap and flew head over heels above the handlebars. Landed on my helmet. Got up and rode home. Part of life.

Even on the run, I’ve stumbled and fallen a few times. Jumping a chain across a forest preserve driveway years ago, I landed on one foot and wiped out on the black ice. I went down hard, injuring my wrist. It hurt for months. Back in the 80s while training on a golf course, it grew dark outside and I ran smack into a rope across the fairway.

None of this is because I’m uncoordinated or a bad athlete. It’s because I don’t inherently dwell on limits and frankly, sometimes shit just happens in sports. If you play enough of them, it’s part of the price of participation.

That water on the knee injury during basketball in 8th grade resulted from a guy who ran with his head down and crashed into my leg coming up during a full court running drill. The doctor used an 8-inch needle to suck the black blood out of my knee, but I didn’t faint. No sir. I was so mad I stared at that needle and cursed that kid for taking me out of hoops for two weeks. I was a starter and didn’t want to lose my position.

And that’s how it goes in all of life. We get this physical, emotional and situational injuries and keep on trucking. I’ve torn ACLs (twice) and an MCL, had bone chips in my elbow and crashed so hard into a tree on my bike that the purple bruises took weeks to heal and finally migrated around my belly to turn my nuts and crank a surly liver color.

Yes, I love sports. Always have. Always will. My repaired front tooth is from a baseball accident when a line drive that was supposed to be a grounder in practice hit me in the mouth in 1971. Every time I smile there’s a reminder of the cost of having fun.

But I keep smiling. It’s the only way to live.

Posted in bike accidents, bike crash, bike wobble, blood on the highway, Christopher Cudworth, competition, cross country, cycling, cycling the midwest, cycling threats, running | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Why 2K is the answer of the day

Do you have certain training distances that make you feel like you’ve really “done something?” I have a few. Running at least three miles, for example. Riding at least an hour. For swimming, it is going at least 1600 meters, a mile, in other words.

This morning I needed to challenge myself to go a bit farther than a mile. I’ve been known to wimp out after 1000 meters because I get a little bored or distracted. The other day I got involved talking with a guy one lane over and wasted so much time I only finished 1000 meters. Not good.

So I put my head down and got to it this morning. No backing off.

To make that happen, I swam 200 meter intervals right from the outset. None of this wall-hugging bullshit where I sit there too long catching my breath or thinking about whatever comes to mind. “You can think in the water,” I told myself today.

Mind in other places

And so it went. The only time I took a break was saying hello to a fellow triathlete with a Lake Placid 70.3 cap on. He told me the race was great. I told him I’d grown up in Upstate New York. He said he went to school in Ithaca, at Cornell University. I told him that I studied at the Laboratory of Ornithology and shared that that I’d grown up at the other end of Cayuga Lake in Seneca Falls. He explained that no one is encouraged to swim in the lake anymore. I looked that up and it appears there are algal blooms causing the lake to be toxic these days. Like so many other places in this country, the phosphorus from agricultural and residential rain runoff is turning lakes like Cayuga into breeding grounds for algae that can kill you, your dog and anyone else who enters the water. I grew up swimming in that lake. I guess no one goes in the water much these days. This is what a toxic algae bloom looks like. Who wants to swim in that?

Algae bloom in Cayuga Lake

So I had that to think about during the next 500 meters of swimming.

Shifting gears

Then I shifted from 200s to 100s for a few laps. With 200 to go, I shortened the intervals to 25 yards and hit them as hard as possible. Go fast when you’re feeling tired. That’s the way to teach the body to respond in races.

I did that in the best swim I had this past summer, down in Muncie. I closed the second half of the mile swim two full minutes faster than the way out.

So the goal of swimming a bit longer and finishing a bit faster was the answer to “Why 2K today.”

When it was all done it did get me thinking about the fact that Y2K (the year 2000) was so many years ago. You might recall that the world was afraid of what might happen that New Year. Computer programmers spent hours converting poorly completed code so that entire systems would remain running rather than shut down because there were not enough 0s and Is to go around. Or something like that.

The other part of the world swore that Jesus was gonna back and trash the place.

Twenty years later, we’re afflicted with threats of insurrection and the sickening truths of religious complicity with a godless demagogue, a pandemic of biblical proportions and a year called 2020 when no one could seem to see shit when it came to solutions.

Want a visual take on 2020 in hindsight? No matter how you look at it. America fucked up.

Google goggles

That is in part why I took off my older swim goggles halfway through the workout and broke out the new ones in my bag. The anti-fog juice wasn’t helping those old Nike goggles anymore. They clouded up every two laps to the point that I almost hit my head on the wall. That would be a terrible way to end a workout, bleeding all over the pool from a laceration on my naked skull. I’m thin-skinned about such things.

With the new goggles firmly on my face, I felt like a new man in the water and could see ahead of myself the entire length of the pool. That answered the question “Why 2K?” Because it’s there. I could actually see it.

Going farther than you think you can is always a good answer to why you do anything in this world.

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Laughter, joy, and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex

Perhaps it’s time we uncorked a few truths about love and joy and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex.

If you know the Rolling Stones song Shattered, you’ll recognize the headline of this blog today. That album came out the summer between my junior and senior year in college. I’d sing parts of that song as we ran mile after mile in the autumn heat in pre-season cross country practices.

Love and hope and sex and dreams
Are still surviving on the street
Look at me, I’m in tatters!

That summer I’d cut off the super-long hair that I’d worn all junior year. Then I shaved my Lasse Viren beard and got fitted for contact lenses. When I showed up at our fraternity party that first week of school, no one knew me.

I’d also broken off a somewhat toxic relationship from the previous year and had used that summer to reinvent myself. Upon return to an RA Retreat late that summer, I’d fallen in love at first sight with a woman. It was a period of personal transformation not uncommon to many people going through their college years.

Yet as dramatic as those events all seem in retrospect, I have also thought what it must be like to experience even more dramatic personal changes, such as acknowledging that you are gay.

Coming out

My son came out during his freshman year in college. I recall making a drive downtown with him to the University of Chicago late that fall. He told me that he felt like there was an anvil of pressure on his chest. Yet he wasn’t quite ready to talk about whatever was going on in his mind, and his life.

At the same time, his mother was going through intense chemotherapy treatments for the ovarian cancer that struck her in 2005. Our entire family was experiencing immense changes in real time.

But Evan did come out to us at a family dinner that winter. His mother was surprised. In the moment, she had difficulty processing what our son was saying. She turned to my daughter Emily at one point and said, “What do you think about this?”

To which Emily replied, “I think we both like good-looking guys.”

That night I called our neighbor and friend Bob, a quietly gay man who took care of his aging parents who lived in the house next door to us. Upon my call, he rushed over to our house and showed up with a look of great concern on his face. When I told him that Evan had come out to us, and I wanted some advice, he looked at me seriously and said, “Oh, I was worried Linda was sick again. I thought it was something serious.”

I love the transcendence of his counsel in that moment. Years before I’d noticed when shutting down the family computer in our kitchen that my son had visited a gay Internet site and left a tab open. I talked with my brother that day and told him, “I think Evan might be gay.”

“If he is, he is,” my brother told me. He meant that in a good and accepting way. I replied, “I know. It’s all good. I just want him to be happy in life. That’s all.”

His mom felt the same way, but perhaps it didn’t come out exactly that way when she told him, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” That’s a mother’s natural reaction, protecting her child. Without much knowledge from our experience what it means to be gay, it was her way of inquiring how he felt.

Prior history

My son Evan on a beach somewhere “Levantating” as only he can.

One of her closest friends in grade school came out as a gay man years later. We met him at a reunion for that school and talked all night. He was engaging, funny and smart in ways that my wife adored. That night, we talked about that friend of hers and how hard it must have been to be raised in a radically conservative Christian congregation when you sense that you are gay.

Recently I’ve read accounts by several gay people, including Anderson Cooper, stating that they knew by the age of six or seven years old that they were “different” in some way. My daughter, the keeper of family history, transferred a number of videos from their youth onto CD from VHS tapes. While watching those videos she noticed that even at an early age, my son operated on a couple different planes of awareness. You could see that in his attention and expressions.

He was always aware, and self-aware. He started talking at six months old, saying his first word, “Bird” upon seeing a sparrow on the gutter of the house next door. My late father once said that he’d never seen a child so observant at such an early age.

As he grew up, there was a keenly social side of my son. He loved parties and social events. He was also diverse in his interests. During his high school years, he played soccer and ran track his freshman and sophomore years. He had talent, running a 2:02 800 meters at fifteen years old. Yet somewhere after his sophomore year, he turned to me and said, “Dad, when I’m doing track, I’m 25% happy. When I’m doing drama, I’m 100% happy.”

“Then the decision’s made,” I replied.

Drama and theater

He moved further into acting and directing plays, including serious drama, Black Box Theater, musicals and Shakespeare. That journey continued through his college years where he led a production of “Midsummer Night’s Dream” held outdoors in the round on the college campus. His directing brought out all-new layers of humor in the play that I’d never seen.

But it was his performance as Mercutio during his senior year in high school that was a “coming out” of sorts that I’ll never forget. He’d auditioned for the lead role but someone else got the part. Thus he threw himself into the role, a curious and mischievous part that Sparknotes describes this way:

“With a lightning-quick wit and a clever mind, Mercutio is a scene stealer and one of the most memorable characters in all of Shakespeare’s works. Though he constantly puns, jokes, and teases—sometimes in fun, sometimes with bitterness—Mercutio is not a mere jester or prankster. With his wild words, Mercutio punctures the romantic sentiments and blind self-love that exist within the play. He mocks Romeo’s self-indulgence just as he ridicules Tybalt’s hauteur and adherence to fashion. The critic Stephen Greenblatt describes Mercutio as a force within the play that functions to deflate the possibility of romantic love and the power of tragic fate. Unlike the other characters who blame their deaths on fate, Mercutio dies cursing all Montagues and Capulets. Mercutio believes that specific people are responsible for his death rather than some external impersonal force.”

That rather aptly describes the plight of a still-closeted gay man in high school society, does it not? I was not naive to my son’s interests and orientation all that time, but I respected his choices and his needs. He most definitely ran his own life, but felt it necessary to live with the specter of repression through those scholastic years. Because coming out was still not that well accepted in those years.

Bold performance

Yet his fine performance of Mercutio tossed all that repression around like a ragdoll. Using a knotted rope as a “sword” during the production, he whipped it between his legs like a giant twisting cock. The audience both reeled and roared. Evan plowed across the stage with abandon, because if he was going to go out without the lead role, he was going to leave a mark on the memories of all those watching the play. That’s what Mercutio is supposed to do. In many ways, I think it’s what gay people in many walks of life are supposed to do.

All of life is a competition like that. For centuries, gay men and women have been cast in societal roles that force them to hide their true character. Gay athletes only recently started to “come out,” and the first pioneers in that endeavor suffered castigation. Gay military still have to play strange games within the ranks and all the way up to the Commander-in-Chief. Gay musicians are more readily accepted because they are part of an embracing arts community. Yet artists like Ricky Martin and others were advised to protect their heterosexual images in order to make more money.

Thankfully, the next generation in this world, our Millennials, don’t seem to give two fucks if someone is gay or not. That’s why I’ve been thinking about the lyrics from the Stones song Shattered lately.

Laughter joy and loneliness and sex and sex and sex and sex and look at me! I’m in tatters! I’ve been shattered.”

To compare those lyrics with interpretation of the Second Amendment is quite instructive. People too easily forget the first part of the phrasing “A well-regulated militia, being necessary for the security of a free state…” in order to emphasis the second, “The right to bear arms shall not be infringed.”

It is salacious to emphasize a desired prejudice to deny the more responsible and rational qualifying phrase. That’s how society gets shattered.


No one deserves to be shattered for their sexual orientation, their transgender physicality or their gender fluidity. Because like the song lyrics intimate in their sarcastic repetition, it’s not all about sex and sex and sex and sex. But the people who fear the sex part of homosexuality and find it abhorrent make it all about that. They love to use the taboo to distract from the humanity of gender and sexual orientation. The laughter, joy and loneliness part. It matters too.

So here’s the truth about all sexual orientation: Life is also about companionship, love, respect, trust and acceptance.

One might note that those are all quite Christian values, yet a significant segment of the Christian world clings to just a few Bible verses to paint homosexuality as a sin. That legalistic take on scripture is rife with anachronism, ignorance and prejudice. I’ve known so many gay Christian people who love their God I’ve lost count. So many of them carry out the virtues of scripture better than their dismissively bigoted counterparts it is perversely comic to suggest that the “holier than thou” crowd is worth its weight in yeast or dough.

Love is all you need

I love my son and I love all those who love him. I understand. There have been times in my life when I’ve looked at another man and thought to myself, “He’s handsome, and funny, and smart, and if I were gay, he’d be the one.” It’s not a far leap for me to realize that sexual orientation is just that, a desire for people of the same gender. There’s no sin in that, as far as I’m concerned.

This blog is a bit long because there’s a ton to say about this matter. As our country reels from attacks on its institutions and the Constitution, I think about all the social and civil progress our nation is trying to make and why so many people fight back against it.

It is because, secretly, they are the people that are most afraid in this world. But they’re not alone. Even the people who wrote the words in the Bible were afraid in many ways. Yet so were the religious authorities who threatened and conspired against Jesus. They were afraid of him. So they reacted with controlling words and violence. They conspired with political leaders to do their vicious bidding. For thousands of years after those actions, Christian leaders adopted the same legalistic practices once they got control and imparted the same sort of vicious repression to which Jesus so objected.

This is what happens in the world when people who are afraid of others are allowed to take control of society. For two thousand years the bravest people in the world are those that have stood up against these fears that get turned into violence through religion, politics and selfish desires.

Sins of Scripture

As Bishop John Shelby Spong wrote in his book The Sins of Scripture, even the Apostle Paul was a deeply repressed man struggling with instincts he both refused and denied in himself.

Spong wrote: “Yes, I am convinced that Paul of Tarsus was a gay man, deeply repressed, self-loathing, rigid in denial, bound by the law that he hoped could keep this thing, that he judged to be so unacceptable, totally under control, a control so profound that even Paul did not have to face this fact about himself. But repression kills. It kills the repressed one and sometimes the defensive anger found in the repressed one also kills those who challenge, threaten or live out the thing that this repressed person so deeply fears.”

I think you can ascertain that there are other people in this world who are engaged in deep states of denial about themselves and others. As a result, people are suffering and dying because despots of that kind would rather punish others he considers weaker than himself than admit some sort of weakness.

Yet it is those precisely those supposedly “weak” or “inferior” people that are some of the strongest human beings. That’s what Jesus promised, “The meek shall inherit the earth.” Wise words all around. Glad Jesus could come out with them.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, college, competition, cross country, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment