Getting clipped by clipless pedals an inevitable fail for new cyclists

Posted on October 26, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Monte Wehrkamp

I ran up  – if you can call it that, as I was wearing my road cycling shoes at the time – to a tangled pile of pretty tan legs sticking through a gleaming white bicycle frame; the bike’s rear wheel was still slowly spinning: tick-tick-tick-tick. As I clattered to a stop, I heard a soft groan.

Reaching down, I moved legs one way and the bicycle the other and slowly extracted my wife from her brand new Cannondale Synapse road bike.

“What happened?” I asked.

“I forgot! Damnit!” she responded, her eyes welling up with tears.

I could see then the blood starting to ooze from her scraped knee. And her side was covered with road grit. I reached down, took her hand.

“Do not cry. No crying,” I ordered.

As I pulled her up, the look she shot me was one filled with the kind of meaning and nuance saved especially for spouses. At first, her eyes flashed anger. At me. So at least she wasn’t crying. The next few seconds were defiance. I’ll cry if I damn well want to. Then pain. And a few silent tears welled up.

She rose carefully to her feet. Nothing appeared to be seriously hurt.

“My hip,” she said as she took a step.

Uh oh. She’s tiny, with small bones. Having broken my own hip 15 years ago, my heart skipped a beat. Please don’t be hurt, I thought. She peeled her bike shorts down a little and I looked. There was already the beginning of an angry blue-black-yellow bruise forming. She raised her leg, bent her knee, then twisted her torso a little. Whew, so far, so good. I noticed her elbow then. It had angry, red roadrash on it.

“You want to ride home, or just push it back?” I asked, knowing our day was done.

“Push,” she said, tearing up but not crying. And so ended her first day of road biking – her first day on her new Cannondale – with each of us pushing our bikes home from the culdesac 100 yards from our house.

—–

We started out that day – a bright late summer morning – with Linda in her Pearl Izumi kit, wearing her favorite Sugar Shorts so she could work on her tan. She was also wearing a good deal of apprehension because of, well, pedals.

Remember your first time going clipless? Figuring out how to take off, snap in, then accelerate away? Or coasting up to a stoplight, twisting your heel and snapping out, like Dorothy clicking her heels? And that terrible, helpless feeling, knowing your feet are still locked to your pedals, and the ground is coming up fast?

Yeah. Me too.

We’ve all done it. We’ve all forgotten to clip out and tipped over, gotten up, looked around to see if anyone saw (our pride suffering the most damage). Or missed a clip-in during a take-off and gone for a spill. And then there’s the one when you’ve overridden your abilities, and found yourself in a situation where there’s no time to click out before a fall or crash.

It sucks. It happens. But that’s the price we pay for a fluid, efficient, and powerful pedal stroke. You just can’t climb, accelerate or handle your bike quite as well when you’re on flat pedals. Wish we could, but we can’t.

I also wish you could have seen her. We were in the culdesac, just practicing stops and starts. Linda was doing very well. Braking, slowing, unclipping, putting her foot down, stopping. Perfect! Then moving the clipped-in foot up, pushing down, picking up her ground foot, finding the pedal, pressing down, feeling the click. Good! I stopped riding beside her and watched her repeating the stop and go’s at her own pace. Cycling goddess. Long blonde hair flowing out of her helmet, her strong, lean body sporting pro kit, piloting her 3-day old carbon road bike. I thought, “How freaking cool is th…”

Then it happened.

She’d come to a safe stop, had her foot down, was turning to say something to me, then like a tree being felled by a logger, slowly, then quickly picking up speed, tipped over. Bam!

As we pushed our bikes home, she explained what happened in greater detail. She’d stopped fine. Her left foot was down and she was balanced. Perfectly in control. She decided she wanted to turn the other way and just forgot she couldn’t simply put her clipped-in foot down (like she might have if she’d been riding her old Giant hybrid bike). She just leaned from left to right and only realized as she began to fall that she wasn’t going to get her right foot out in time.

“I’m such an idiot,” Dr Linda said, rubbing her sore hip and limping on her aching knee.

But I assured her (as I’m assuring you, dear reader) she’s no idiot. She’s a bike rider now. She experienced her first fall and saw first-hand the rules we cyclists live by, as spelled out by the Universal and Unbreakable Laws of Gravity.  Thankfully, it was gentle, as most crashes go. Regardless, the bruise on her hip grew to a four-inch green-black reminder that it’s best to clip out both feet if one intends to move around much while stationary on

Indoor practice makes perfect.

the bike. And the scrape on her knee took a full month to heal. Her bike is now on the trainer in the living room (next to mine) and is now equipped with new pedals (touring flats on one side, SPD clips on the other — she can practice clipped in her Giro bike shoes while she spins, then as we ease back onto the road, she can gain confidence riding on the flat side with gym shoes).

In retrospect, that day was a pretty big one. Her first blood to the cycling gods. I pray this was her one and only offering.

(Now’s a good time for anyone who’s gone down, thanks to their pedals, to tell their story in the comments section below. As I told Linda both before and after her spill, it happens to everyone at one time or another. Part of the learning process. Let Linda know she’s not alone.)

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Does running and riding make you a special person?

Posted on October 25, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

You’re special not only when you take flight.

There’s a question for the ages. Does running and riding somehow make you a special person?

That depends on how you define the idea of “special”. So let’s do that. Let’s look at the definition of the word “special” and see how it applies to people who run and ride.

spe·cial

[spesh-uhl]  adjective

1. of a distinct or particular kind or character: a special kind of key.
2. being a particular one; particular, individual, or certain
3. pertaining or peculiar to a particular person, thing, instance,etc.; distinctive; unique: the special features of a plan.
4. having a specific or particular function, purpose, etc.: a special messenger.
5. distinguished or different from what is ordinary or usual: a special occasion; to fix something special.

Nothing in any of those definitions really sticks out as applicable to the nature of a distance runner or cyclist, does it? But let’s have a look.

  1. One could argue that runners and riders are “of a distinct or particular kind of character.”
  2. One could also argue that endurance athletes are also singular, particular or certain in their nature.
  3.  It is possible that runners and riders are ‘distinctive; unique’ but that would presuppose that other activities in which people engage for enjoyment or self-improvement are not.
  4.  The fourth definition of ‘special’ is ‘having a specific or particular function.’ Well, that’s pretty hard to claim, that our running and riding is a particularly functional part of society. We do it for ourselves, and we do it for others. But you could also not run or ride a day in your life and the world would not collapse.
  5. The last definition, ‘distinguished from something ordinary or usual’ probably strikes closest to the nature of why people define themselves as a “runner” or “cyclist.”

Getting fit makes us feel good

We like the unusual ways that running and riding make us feel. Getting fit is both a process and an achievement. But it is not a static condition, either. The minute you quit running or riding, that fitness starts to deplete in some way.

That means we’re getting somewhere in terms of understanding the definitions of ‘special’ as it pertains to our favorite activities. See, we have to admit that in the context of millions of other runners and riders worldwide, the actual activities of cycling and running are not that unique and special. If millions do it, the definitions of ‘special’ in the colloquial sense do not apply.

Running and riding in a philosophical context

Yet there remains something ‘special’ about being a runner or rider. So let’s put our finger on it now. Because you need to know this. Everyone does.

Theologically, many religions around the world define human beings as special. Each person is considered unique in the eyes of whatever God they worship. Some elements of the Christian faith even argue that human beings are specially created.

Humanism also defines people as special. That worldview celebrates the idea that each contribution to the human condition is unique and therefore valuable. Collectively, humanism asserts that people can make a difference in the world.

Science puts human beings into a unique category, but not separate from all other living things on earth. We evolved special characteristics that make us human. We also invented the wheel, which every cyclist would agree is a pretty special and vital attribute of their bike.

Religion, humanism and science all agree that humans are unique and perhaps special in some very important ways. Our conscious minds are capable of abstraction and metaphor, creating literature as well as the practically considerate concepts of mathematics, geography, astrophysics and digital communications. All those things are pretty special.

The nature of our pursuits

So when a person sets out for a 10 mile run, what is special about that? Or when a person completes a century ride and looks back at the road they’ve just traveled, is that a special attribute of being human? Of being an individual? Of considering the world in which we live?

The important aspect of this examination of what makes runners or riders special is this: any activity that creates experiences and impressions that are out of the ordinary or unusual is special.

The pursuit of these activities does not necessarily make us special, as in better or worse than other people. Somewhat ironically, it is our shared appreciation of these individual experiences that make running or riding special. In other words, we essentially share in a special world in which we run or ride. It is a world, or a concept perhaps, created out of the desire to live life fully, and with health and awareness. Measurement, achievement and satisfaction also enter the picture.

Those are special attributes we assign to our respective sports. We see them in the signs people place on their cars when they’ve completed a marathon, a century or other goal. 13.1. 26.2. 10K. 5K. Century. All measures of our personal endeavors. Our special efforts to be human and aware.

That is special enough for anyone, and you can feel special for understanding that.

Keeping it in perspective

Just understand that not everyone holds the same values, or cares that you can run 10k or complete a century. The world does not feel you’re special just because you can do those things. Too many other valorous pursuits exist to make running or riding anything close to superior in nature in comparison to; fighting in a war, saving a life, seeing 800 bird species in a year, or giving birth to a new child.

Better to think of yourself as special before you even begin your run or ride. That self-worth you feel in being alive and an individual already puts you in the category of being special, as in being valued. Our Constitutions and other great documents assert as much in guaranteeing the rights of an individual. So you’re special not only when you take flight, you’re special before that.

But the experiences you get by running and riding can be special. And that is why it is worth being a runner or rider.

Enjoy the special nature of your respective sport. But always keep it in perspective. We can loosely quote the famed runner mantra of Forrest Gump: “Special is what special does.” Because we can just as easily be stupid about our favorite sports as we can be smart about them. It’s best not to forget that.

And be careful out there. Not everyone with whom you share the road thinks you’re so special.

Posted in We Run and Ride Every Day | 1 Comment

Can you add a little adventure to your running and riding?

Posted on October 24, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Despite all our best efforts, at times running and riding can get a little stale. We choose the same routes. Run the same pace. Join the same groups or people.

We need a little adventure to break us out of the rut.

Earlier this summer, while planning a move for my daughter out to college in Rock Island, it occurred to me that it would be fun to ride at least part of the way home. The entire trip from the Quad Cities back home would be 120 miles. I didn’t think I was up for all that, although many people are. I am friends with a rider who contested the state record for the trip from Lake Michigan out to the Mississippi and back, some 300 miles total in a day. That’s more than an adventure. That’s a commitment.

An adventure needs to comprise equal elements of fun and spontaneity, challenge and diversity. So I had my daughter drop me off in Dixon, Illinois, about 75 miles from home by calculation of Google Maps, which I printed out because I decided not to use a smartphone for my little adventure.

That meant I nearly missed a turn. But you see, that’s part of an adventure. The sense that you don’t have everything positively, absolutely under your control.

My brother-in-law is a former cyclist who marveled at my willingness to ride back through rural areas without a support plan. Well, I did text my progress to a few people as part of the adventure. Their return texts and ability to follow along on the computer was fun for them as well. An adventure is meant to be shared in some way.

It was fun cruising the back roads. As it turned out the wind was from the east, a rarity in Illinois, and that meant riding into a headwind the whole way. That kept the pace and my cadence honest. The journey could not be hurried, therefore I stopped to eat a Power Bar here, snap a photo there. Keeping a record of your journey also makes it feel like more of an adventure.

Arriving home felt like I’d really done something, and been somewhere. It was fun to ride half way across Illinois, but not engage in some manic attempt that was way out of my personal range. There are days and times for that. But an adventure should also make you feel good about what you did, not regret that you ever did it.

My friends and I also ride to Lake Geneva each year, another trip of about 75 miles. Our wives meet us up with us in a van to bring the bikes home. We swim, drink a few beers with good eats at a bar called Chuck’s and drive back home together.

The cool thing about the Lake Geneva adventure route is there’s a little history there. A map of a course of back roads has been laminated and shared over the years by numerous cyclists. Some of those roads are so obscure you can’t find them on some maps. Others are dodgy and potholed, riddled with tarsnakes or weeds. That makes you ride mindfully, and appreciate the nicely smooth roads you ride for most of the journey. It’s a little like a cyclist’s Lord of the Rings. The eye of Mordor is the heat, humidity, rain or wind you encounter along the way.

If you’re really into adventure cycling, then you might want to check out Adventure Cycling, a company that specializes in, well, you guessed it by now: Cycling adventures.

That’s all well and good if you’ve got the money and time to embark on such journeys. The adventure we’re talking about here is the more practical and personal kind. Adventures you can craft on your own.

Depending on how much running you do, there is certainly a need to add some adventure to your training, because too much of the same kind of running not only puts you in a mental rut, it can harm you physically due to overuse injuries.

That’s why it is good to have a few places to run where you do absolutely anything other than what you can do from home.

In our area of the country, that means forest preserves. My son once told me that as a young kid he thought I was saying ‘forced preserves,’ which is a slightly different subject, but brings up an important point. Even many public parks have a carefully preserved feel about them, a ‘forced’ personal that says “You WILL have fun here.” And when you don’t, because many of our parks are delivered second had as former quarries and farm fields, there’s really very little adventure about them.

So it’s a little more difficult in some ways to create adventures when you are a runner. A cyclist can go all adventure just by doing more miles, or heading out where no one else rides. Unless you’re running a 20-miler, that’s harder to do as a runner.

My trick is finding the backwoods and trails at forest preserves and parks. A restored prairie near our home has 5 miles of grassy trails and you can truly be alone running through the bluestem and goldenrod. The changing of the seasons provides refreshing scenery, but snow cuts you off from those trails, because they are not plowed.

Running adventures can be spontaneous responses to weather, however. When a hurricane came north to Illinois a few years back, I went out running in what started to be a sprinkle, only to have the storm open up with droplets and buckets of rain like I’d never seen. It actually hurt your skin to be hit by those droplets but I kept running and started laughing at the absurdity of it. Small rivers covered the streets, and drivers honked as they passed, laughing and waving at the idiot in the rain. I gave up trying to skirt puddles because there was nowhere to go. That run was a real adventure.

Racing often provides the adventures you need in running. Signing up for distinctive events like a Midnight Madness run as I once did in central Iowa can shift your entire perspective on running. Not only was the race an interesting exercise in consciousness, it got me to realize how much form and pace awareness play a role in your success over 15 miles of running. We finished 5 laps of three miles in very strong heat, even for nightime, then stood under spray hoses to cool off. One cute gal forgot she was wearing a white outfit that quickly became transparent under the spray. And that was quite an adventure for all of us, but particularly for her. She shrugged and said, “What the hell?” It was too late to worry about it. That is an adventurous attitude.

Perhaps that gal provided inspiration for a number of racing opportunities that lend a sense of adventure. You can race in your underwear in Chicago and many other cities. You can even ride naked in events around the world at the World Naked Bike Ride. 

If stripping off your clothes is not your idea of an adventure (and that’s too bad) then combining other activities with you running and riding often provides a sense of adventure. Biking and birding is becoming popular, for example.

If you really want to open up your running blinders, find your local Hash House Harriers group. They’ll get you running and drinking, or is the other way around?

You get the picture. A little adventure is good for all of us in our running and riding. Forget the rules. Find your inner goof. Test your mettle. Get naked. Or dress up and join the zombies. Running and riding doesn’t have to be boring. Just don’t go swimming. We all know that’s a bore.

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A tribute to a rider named John.

Posted on October 23, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Last evening the guys in our group ride received the sad news that a longtime rider on Saturday and Sunday mornings had passed away suddenly. The causes are not yet known, but it seems he was simply enjoying using his computer to call up music for his wife when  something unexpected happened and caused his sudden death.

His real name is John, but we’ll leave it at that. The news is too fresh and the privacy of this event too important to make public. But this is a tribute just the same. Because John was the type of rider and skier and silent sport athlete we all like to know.

Compared to my partners on the Saturday group ride, I arrived fairly late to the sport of cycling. My two best friends have been riding and competing for 25 years, rising to Category 3 cyclists and maybe better at times.

One of these friends traveled to France together with John and several other talented area cyclists to ride the same stages as the Tour de France. Unfortunately our friend John’s bike was damaged in transit. His derailleur cracked during the first day, a 137-mile ride in 95 degree heat, and he was idled for much of the trip.

He endured such events with a feisty aplomb. John had both a gentle nature and steely resolve, complimented by a sometimes biting sense of humor that you had to watch if you said something assumptive or unaware. He’d engage you with the bright blue eyes, sometimes by pulling up beside you on the bike, and ask the type of question that makes you think about what you just proposed. Really think.

John was one of several attorneys in our group. So there were always incisive if often light-hearted conversations going on. Saturdays were for working off the stress of days spent poring over briefs or engaging in other case trial work. As one of a pair of “creatives,” in the group, we would often retreat to a corner of our little peloton and have mock conversations in legal tones about our latest design or web site project. It was all just part of the fun.

Like any athlete, John encountered his share of injuries, only his came mostly off the bike. He tore up a knee in an encounter with one of his own dogs, if memory serves, resulting in a tumble down some basement steps. He tore his patellar tendon and that required considerable and prolonged rehab.

It also changed his cycling technique. He adopted a high-cadence style that was enormously efficient. To ride next to John was to realize that you were constantly mashing, especially going up hills.

He was not large of frame but his build had that stolid feel of a resolute German. Yet it is almost unanimously agreed that he had very little draft. Both his posture and riding efficiency were such that you had to ride very near his back wheel to get much benefit out of the wind.

Yet he was master of the long, quiet pull. Never did you feel he was showboating on the bike. His time on the front was effective and enduring. His time within the group was often spent quietly checking on other riders, both their mental and physical state. He was a true friend in every regard, in other words.

There were a few times I wound up riding alone with John when other riders had obligations and needed to cut the long route short to attend to family or other issues. To be alone with John on a long country road was to learn what you had in your character. He liked to ride hard and real. No messing about. Get your cadence and your pace down and let’s roll. This was especially true into the wind.

Any cyclist knows that parceling out your strength into a 20 mile trek back into a headwind or a crosswind can reduce you to jelly. And there was one ride where John also needed to get back home before a certain time, so we were not pissing about. Clearly I knew who was the superior rider (him) but I was also determined to prove myself in some way by holding up my end of the deal. Trade pulls. Lead up a hill now and then. Sit tight in the draft and hold your line. These are all things John did well, and thensome. When the ride was nearly done it took all my guts and brains and hope to make it up the last small incline, when John turned to me and said, “Good ride.” It was one of the biggest compliments I’ve ever gotten.

John was also an avid cross country skier who spent the cold part of the year in Illinois and Wisconsin preparing for the Birkie or other events with another lawyer friend in our group. These two men looked to be 35 years old, in prime fitness year round, though they were considerably older. They continued taking risks and getting into crazed sports like cyclocross, and that shows the appetite for adventure and physical tests that filled their days. Their joy and love for fitness was an expression of a deep commitment to appreciation for life.

Which makes it all the sadder to know that we’re saying goodbye to John, the same guy who’d stand there in the cold for hours during the annual New Year’s Day party outside at a friends house. I will forever see him wearing that slightly Euro-looking hat, beer in hand, quaffing and talking quietly to everyone he met. John was not a demonstrative man, or one to waste words or effort.

In other words, he was a magnificent example of the best of humankind. He will be missed.

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A lasting, longing lament about Lance as liar. And how we see ourselves in him.

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Monte Wehrkamp

I lied. I’m a liar.

I cheated. I skirted rules for my own advantage.

I manipulated. I behaved in ways to get my own way.

I take no pride in these actions and behaviors. In fact, every time I think of various situations where I lied, cheated, and manipulated, I’m ashamed and regretful.

But I’ve also been generous. Helpful. Supportive. Cheerful. Law abiding.

When I am reminded of the times I’ve been a positive influence on my family, friends and community, I am proud and a joyful.

See, this is what being human looks like. This is what I look like. You look like. All of us. Even our heroes. Especially our heroes.

I’m going to go back and remind myself — and this blog’s readers (hi Mom) — of what I said a couple months ago regarding the tarsnake of the yellow LiveStrong wrist band.

Livestrong can be a tarsnake for those who engage in Lance Armstrong’s brand and legacy

1. I don’t personally know Lance. I’ve never met him. What I know of him, I learned from watching him race, and reading his books and reports in the sporting press.

2. I don’t personally know if he cheated or rode clean. Sure, there have been rumors over the years. Positive tests of riders Lance raced against. But I’m just a Category 15 rider with virtually zero inside knowledge of pro cycling in general, and Lance specifically.

3. I don’t wear a yellow wristband for Lance. I wear it for those I know who have, and have had cancer. Those that are sick, healed, and those who have died from this disease. They are (and were) friends and family members.

A lot’s transpired regarding Lance since I originally wrote those words. And a lot of people — and I’m talking tens of thousands — are pounding out their own versions of “F*** You, F*****,” on cycling, sports, and news comment sections and opinion forums all over the internet. Just like how the guy in the gray Durango shouted at me as I rode along in my black and yellow LiveStrong jersey earlier this summer.

There’s been a lot of piling on. A feeding frenzy of indignation, anger and disgust.

But I want to step back a minute. To take a breath now that the USADA report has been read. As well as stories of sponsors dropping Lance, and his stepping down as chairman of LiveStrong. And Tyler Hamilton’s haunting book about professional cycling. What are we left with?

A human being.

We have the cycling champion who broke the rules to get to, and stay on top of, his sport.

And…

We have the cancer patients’ champion who created a charity which helps match patient needs with services; everything from caregivers, support systems, insurance providers, to financial assistance.

We have a man who used his power, influence and wealth to manipulate and intimidate those within his sport to also use performance enhancing drugs, and to silence others who sought to reveal the use of drugs in cycling.

And…

We have a man who used his power, influence and wealth to influence lawmakers, other wealthy individuals, and multinational corporations to join his cause to assist cancer patients and their families.

With Lance, we’re finding an all too similar reflection of our own selves. That like me, he lied. Like me, he cheated. Like me, he manipulated others. Like you, too.

Because the revelations are all so very human, they cut to our own essence. Of our own duality. Of our own shortcomings. So our first reaction is to yell or type, “F*** You, F*****!”

Maybe who we’re really yelling at (or writing to) is ourselves. Perhaps what we’re finally learning is what we’ve always know about Lance — and ourselves — and it’s a pretty tough pill to swallow (see what I did there).

I’m a liar. I’m a cheater. I’m a manipulator. We all are.

But I’m also a helper, holder, supporter, and cheerleader, too. We all are.

We’re human. Lance is human.

So, back to the tarsnake of the yellow wristband. It still serves to remind me of all the people who are battling cancer. But now it’s more than that. For just as it’s hard to get up each day and struggle against this horrible disease, so too is it hard to face our own personal failings. The yellow wristband has also a become, for me, a symbol of my own human nature. Our human nature. Lance’s, too.

In the end, we can only hope to do what’s spiritually and emotionally healthy: to accept, to forgive, to move forward. Sometimes it’s difficult. No, lots of times, it’s difficult. But it’s necessary, and the only way out of the tarsnakes of depression, anger, denial, and resentment.

That’s a whole lot of complex meaning tied up in one yellow wristband, I know. So much easier to be angry and type and shout at Lance and each other. All I’m asking is we stop, think really hard about what it is we’re so mad about and so disappointed in. Then realize, it’s really ourselves and our human nature. So I’m putting on the wristband and reminding myself each day is a series of choices. Maybe yours and mine aren’t lived out on an international stage like Lance’s, but they matter to the people in our lives. And ourselves.

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Pro cyclists not only cheat using drugs, they may evade taxes as well

Posted on October 22, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Monte Wehrkamp on our annual trek to Wisconsin

Genius rant by Monte Wehrkamp with commentary and edits by Christopher Cudworth. 

CLC: What follows is a stream on consciousness email from my co-blogger, mountain bike and road bike partner and general all-around curmudgeon genius friend Monte Wehrkamp. This is the kind of thinking we have been sending back and forth to each other by email for years. Well, it’s about time the rest of the world sees what a capable and insightful thinker this guy is, if a bit of a conspiracist. That’s why I love him. His conspiracies actually make sense. None of that “man never landed on the moon shit.” This is picking up clues like Sherlock Holmes and anticipating breaking news. Monte loves cycling. But he hates idiots. 

This piece (originally an email) starts with an excerpt from an article in Cycling News. Keep in mind Monte is an English major and copywriter at a marketing agency. This explains the early part of the article, in which he takes down a cycling writer for having crappy grammar. He’s right. Even a casual reader of cycling magazines and Internet sites finds this kid of crap all the time. Our only guess is that they’re too busy running around to bad hotels to actually spell or grammar check their work.

The article goes on to reveal some of Monte’s compelling insight about cycling and its possible money-laundering scheme, its relationship to drugs and how that may turn out to be the next wave of mea culpas in the sport. 

Take it away, Monte:

FROM CYCLING NEWS: “Many riders and teams use a tax avoidance scheme on their image rights contracts to limit their exposure to tax. Gazzetta claims that Scimone and the riders worked with a company called T&F Sport Management in Monte Carlo to register image right contracts and avoid tax.

“The contracts are apparently not registered with the UCI and the riders pay just six percent tax and then are able to transfer the cash to Switzerland and use it for various activities, including paying Dr. Ferrari for his services.  The Italian police have investigated if this has lead to money laundering.”

http://www.cyclingnews.com/news/gazzetta-reveals-scale-of-doping-and-money-laundering-under-dr-ferrari

First, it’s led, goddammit. The past-tense of to lead is led. Otherwise, you’re describing what I use to weight my fishing hook. Or fill my mechanical pencil. FFS, Cycling News!

Okay. Sorry.

Remember, earlier this year, when there was a dust-up between Leopard SA and the Schlecks? About unpaid salaries? And those were defined as “image rights”?

Well, here’s what image rights are, in practice. A form of payment allowing riders to dodge taxes. It’s an end-around the UCI as well.

I finally learned what that meant today in this article on Cycling News covering the police investigation of Michele Ferrari. Seems that the good doctor would help cyclists  to dope, and also help cover the money tracks of his clients by accepting “Image rights” money laundered by T&F as payment for his, um, advice.

So perhaps Leopard SA was reluctant to help the Schlecks with this arrangement? And that was what the finger pointing and accusations were about? Cancellara was claiming non-payment of “image rights” money as well. (Is it possible Leopard knew the Italian federales were sniffing out the arrangement, so management was insisting their guys take salaries on the up and up, refusing to pay “image rights” so as not to implicate themselves as running a doping team?)

Two other big-name riders came out at the same time and said they had no problems getting their salaries: Horner and Voigt. Perhaps they’re not on the “image rights” program as they weren’t laundering their money or using it in the Ferrari system to get drugs. Both are adament they’re riding clean, and so far, nobody’s ever accused them of doing otherwise.

Which brings us to the fact that Frank (Schleck) has been tied to Ferrari in the past by making financial payments directly to him (Frank claimed it was just for training “advice” — does anyone, anywhere, still believe that Ferrari’s services including mapping out intervals and watt outputs, really?). And then Frank got popped for a masking diuretic at the Tour de France.

Frank’s “poisoning” defense is possible. It’s no secret the Schlecks wanted to ride together, and use their old training methods (whatever those may have been). And Johan Bruyneel (Radio Shack team manager) said no, you’re going to do things my way. And it’s now well-known (especially now that the USADA investigation is out) that Bruyneel was a dope pusher in the past.

Then there’s the allegations of “image rights” non-payment by the Schlecks. So maybe, Bruyneel had the motivation to see Frank got a spiked water bottle (in the recently broadcast 30 for 30 ESPN program on the Seoul 100 meter event, we learned that purposely spiking an athlete’s drink really does happen).

Horner’s defense of Frank at the time was kinda lame: We take drinks from fans all the time. I took probably 20 Cokes from strangers this Tour (every other pro rolled their eyes at that one – riders stopped taking drinks from road-side strangers decades ago). So that didn’t help Frank’s cause much.

Learning this “image rights” arrangement just kinda adds up to more incriminating  circumstances for Frank, now that we know that these payments are used to avoid taxes, and have been linked to Ferrari’s Swiss bank accounts.

And to think, when he was popped (for doping…) Frank wasn’t even close to being in contention. Nor was he doing much to help in the Team Classification either. He was kinda stinking it up out there. Payback, and payoffs, it seems, can literally turn out to be quite a bitch.

But until lately, no one’s had the guts to come out and bitch about it. Perhaps that is about to change as well.

 

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It’s all about the running and riding gear sometimes. Almost always wish it weren’t.

Posted on October 20, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Getting out to run or ride should be simple. But often it is not. The best intentions to go out for a workout can be lost for lack of a simple item, like a biking glove, or one of your running shoes, buried under a week’s work of wash-needy clothes in the base of a closet.

Unless you’re really organized, these obstacles hold you back.

Because even if you have the best gear in the world for your sport, if you can’t find it when you need it, there’s no use owning it.

So it really is all about the gear sometimes. And we almost always wish it weren’t.

There are times when you can turn out to be thankful to have misplaced your rain jacket when 10 minutes after you wanted to go out for a run but were forced to look around for your rainproof gear, the skies really open up and you realize it turned out to be better after all to wait.

A few times in my cycling career I’ve actually gone OUT INTO THE RAIN. Yes, when it was pouring. If you want to ride badly enough, you suit up, know your shoes are going to be soaked through in minutes and go out and ride. That is also known as getting hardened for the sport. Because if you’re racing in the rain and you’ve never ridden in a downpour, you cannot possibly be prepared to handle wet conditions.

Cycling can be tough in wet conditions, for sure. Even if you are wearing the right gear, there is the condition of the roads to consider. Skinny tires can skid out easily. Fat tires can toss up sticks, grit and oil. Your teeth get grindy as a result. Down south you might even watch out for snakes flying up from your tires.

But that’s all great stuff that happens when you’re already out running and riding. Great stuff. Really.

It’s getting out the door that still remains our greatest challenge. Like right now I’m thinking about getting out for a ride on a Saturday afternoon. But it’s now 3:53 and I have a speaking engagement at 5:30 pm. If everything went absolutely perfect in the next 7 minutes, I could get out for a ride of 45 minutes and pedal hard, just for the kick of it.

I didn’t mean to let it get this late. But there are relatives in town and sometimes you sacrifice your precious workout time to be civil when you won’t see them again in months. That’s called being a grownup.

In actuality, I know where all my gear is. But racing around trying to get ready is just not how I like to go about riding or running these day. I’d go for a 25 minute run, which takes less time, but my hamstrings are very fitful coming off the bike accident, and two days in a row is a bit much to ask of those slabs of brittle meat.

So I’ll walk the dog for exercise and plan on making tomorrow a better workout day. It is also supposed to warm up in Illinois for the next four days.

Keeping perspective when your gear doesn’t fly onto your body is the best way to keep sane. No sense beating yourself up for one missed workout unless you’re keeping some sort of streak going. Of course you’d never let relatives or gear or time or injury stand in your way if this was your 1,113th consecutive day of working out. You’d dig around and find any type of gear you could, then hobble out the door for a mile if that is all you can manage. Mark it down as a workout. Tell yourself you’re tougher and more dedicated than most.

Yes, its all about the gear sometimes, both the wearable and metaphysical type. As in mental gear to get you prepared and keep you prepared.

Almost always wish it weren’t about the gear. Perhaps if we could run and ride naked this would all be so much easier, wouldn’t it?

All you’d have to find is your courage, and perhaps your humility.

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Oh my God. I’m out of breath.

Posted on October 19, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Down the road like a kid.

As kids most of us grew up running and playing, riding our bikes and generally exerting ourselves without the term “training” associated with our activities.

When we got tired, we either stopped or begged others to stop the game while we sat in the grass, catching our breath until another session began.

It was a simple thing, getting out of breath. But it said you were alive. Having fun. Trying your hardest.

By the time you hit 12 years old (and much earlier nowadays) the games get more serious. Coaches stand around watching, or parents. Sometimes that was the worst. Knowing dad or mom were watching from the sidelines put some pressure on you. That never used to happen at practices. Today you see queues of parents hanging out at club or school practices, nervously eyeing the efforts of their Division I, II or III prospect in action.

From middle school on, play turns into something else besides mere fun. Competing in sports is supposed to fun, of course. And a healthy kid playing sports has plenty of fun over the years. Yet it is easy to forget the fun and let the competition define who you are, rather than the other way around. Then getting out of breath is not so much fun. It puts you at risk of not doing your best.

The first time I came back to playing competitive soccer after 1o years of coaching my kids through various age groups, it was a rude shock. I’d kept up my running but that was mostly long, slow distance. Indoor soccer was the opposite. You sprinted from end to end, side to side without stop. Pretty much you ran until you were completely out of breath and then you fell into the player box outside the field, gasping for air and water. Then you went back out and did it again. It took weeks to develop any sort of anaerobic fitness. And by then the season was pretty much over.

I especially recall one night game that started at 11 p.m. We had no subs. Zero. No one to spell you on the field. The game proved fast and furious, and by halftime at that late an hour there was literally nothing left in the tank for any of us. The game was tied at 3 each when a teammate passed me the ball at the top of the box. It was a clear scoring opportunity. But despite the good chances for a goal, it was impossible for me to move the two steps to trap the ball. Not possible. My teammate shrieked at the missed chance, and gave me the chill treatment back on the bench.

At that point I did not care. The game was no fun at that point. I was out of breath.

That sharp, short feeling of exhaustion returned the other day during the slowest run of all. All that fitness built up over the last year and previous years slipped away during the month after my bike crash. It all has to be rebuilt. For running, that means lots more strength work on the quads and tendons supported the knees and hips. Without that work, my 50,000 miles of lifetime running catches up with me, and I get hobbled.

On the bike, the core muscles of my gut and those tender lower back muscles are the challenge. That is going to take some time to get back too.

But when I tried to go faster on the run, that not-good feeling of “out of breath” came suddenly upon my lower trachea. Oh my God, I’m out of breath!

It’s been a long time since I was this out of shape. That’s not to say I’m blaming myself for laziness or anything of the sort. But when you’ve built up a lifetime of expectation and dedication to fitness, getting out of breath is just an unacceptable feeling.

I’ve decided the thing to do about it is to go out and have a little fun. Like a kid. Don’t time the runs or even check the distance. Walk a little if necessary. Stretch the wounded hamstring that is still giving me fits.

And cycling. Earlier this week my friend Monte Wehrkamp and I went on a mountain bike ride down the Fox River Trail and over to the expansive campus of Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory. The roads and trails there are quiet, and we were about to turn home because it was getting to be twilight, when Monte asked about the spot where I wanted to try to find a bird I’ve never seen, a Harris sparrow. Monte is a hunter, not a birder, but he likes being outdoors doing anything. We’ve gone bass fishing together, for example.

I turned to him and said, “You know what? Let’s turn around an go. It’s not dark yet, and this is when the bird is supposed to come out.”

We rode across Fermi and pulled onto the grassy two-track leading to the sparrow hedge behind a big lake. On the way we encountered a well-known birder who had found the bird originally. I asked directions and we pedaled on.

It was growing dark as we stood there listening to dozens of sparrows twitter and chirp. But no Harris sparrow. Above us Canada geese were fighting the same stiff breeze that was keeping the sparrows down in the bushes. It was October, and twilight, and it reminded Monte of many a hunting trip where he put the bow or gun away at dark and sat watching the coyotes or bobcats emerge from the woods. This was shared time in the wild. This was us on bikes out in the wildest place we could find. This was us having fun.

And neither of us was out of breath.

On the ride home we cruised through the dark and took the back streets. “It’s like being a kid again,” he told me.

Yes it was. Indeed it was. And worth every minute.

 

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Did you miss Lance Armstrong’s confession? Here it is.

Posted on October 18, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

From the UK Telegraph. Lance Armstrong.

When the USADA doping investigation that has taken down Lance Armstrong first went public with its findings, Armstrong remained defiant, claiming his innocence in never having failed a drug test in all those years of cycling.

That is a mystery, in some respects. But the curtain on that seeming contradiction was pulled back somewhat by what Armstrong said in his own defense:

“I know who won those seven Tours, my teammates know who won those seven Tours, and everyone I competed against knows who won those seven Tours. We all raced together. For three weeks over the same roads, the same mountains, and against all the weather and elements that we had to confront. There were no shortcuts, there was no special treatment. The same courses, the same rules. The toughest event in the world where the strongest man wins. Nobody can ever change that.”

Admirable in its forceful defense of his victories, Armstrong’s statement still stops short of saying he was truly innocent of doping. And that, in the context of all the evidence now emerging in full context of teammates confessing and accepting bans and possible other punishments for their sins, amounts to a confession by Armstrong as well.

He is right in saying he knows who won those seven Tours. No one else could beat him. Not even if they doped as well.

His teammates also know who won those seven Tours. Because many of them had to dope simply to keep up and provide support to Lance Armstrong. Otherwise they were kicked off the team.

His competitors know who won those seven Tours as well. Many of them were convicted of doping as well. The era in which Armstrong was competing was rife with other dopers. Everyone in the peloton knew it, which is why Armstrong goes on to say, “We all raced together.”

In other words, we were all doping. So the playing field, though illegally steeped by doping, was essentially level.

Only Lance was the best doper of them all. And being the eminent controlling personality he is reputed to be, he was able to maintain the ruse against all investigations. In fact, there are hints of evidence that many in the cycling world, at the UCI and other organizations, saw Lance and the excitement he created as a money machine and a vital promoter of cycling as a product. Lance fed the sponsors of all those teams.

Armstrong goes on to chronicle the difficulty of racing the Tour de France. No one questions that aspect of his confession, for sure. Three weeks of racing. Over difficult roads, some narrow, some broad, many windblown and rough. It takes one tough soul to navigate all that and finish first. Lance was the best at it. Truly it is hard to take that away from him. There is a chance that doping isn’t even all that helpful in many respects of racing the Tour de France.

Doping doesn’t keep you from crashing, as we saw in Armstrong’s comeback attempts. He did finish 3rd his first time back. The second time around in his comeback was a total disaster. Armstrong wound up on the deck with a deep cut below his eye. The champion was suddenly vulnerable. But he raced on because, in his own words, he was racing for a different purpose than winning.

One cannot doubt that type of resolve. To ride on when victory is out of reach, especially for a distinct champion like Lance Armstrong, is truly a sign of commitment to some other cause. A perhaps higher cause than personal victory. That is the confusing part of the Armstrong story. His confession continues to elucidate that complexity.

“There were no shortcuts,” he insists. Well, some would say that doping is a shortcut to victory, in some sense. But Armstrong is talking about the fact that he rode all those miles in training to prepare for the Tour. You really can’t fake that. You can’t take a typical Category 1 cyclist who wins races, dope him up and throw him on the Tour course and expect a victory.

Of course talented cyclists continue to come along every year. An exciting new crop of riders like Tejay van Garderen and Peter Sagan, Chris Froome and Matthew Busche (of Armstrong’s own Radio Shack team) have made cycling interesting in a whole new way. The sport is actually more fascinating when more than one cyclist has a chance to win.

Because let’s admit it, last year’s Tour was a workmanlike effort by Team Sky’s Bradley Wiggins. The race fairly failed to inspire. No one could break away from the Team Sky juggernaut, and it became a mechanical slog. Sports fans want drama, and conflict. We’ll see what next year’s Tour brings…

That is not to say it was easy for Wiggins. Far from it. Wiggins still had to protect himself, as did his teammates, from calamity. That is always the risk in stage races like the Tour. Every day is literally a calamity waiting to happen. The Tour a few years ago had some of the craziest, insane crashes ever seen in the race. Johnny Hoogerland wound up thrown through the air and shredded by a barbed wire fence. Yet he rode to the finish with his torn up ass hanging out of his kit and went on to win a stage that year, if memory serves.

Cycling is literally an insane sport in some ways. Racing down mountain descents is the most irrational act in the entire scenario of professional sports. There is no cushion or margin of safety. Lance Armstrong was once forced to ditch the road and ride across a mountain meadow, rejoining the race after cutting off a hairpin turn. No one accused him of taking a shortcut. So he was both literally and rhetorically correct in his statement about the difficulties of his victories.

Facts like those do obscure the supposed advantage of doping, particularly when everyone else does it. The cycling magazine Velo even conducted analysis of the Tour results the last 10 years and it can now be seen that the results have tightened among the leaders. No more 4-minute victories. Yet the cyclists who competed said the peloton was more dangerous to ride because the so-called level playing field meant that more riders were contending for positions at the front, where riding is safest. Ironically, that may be contributing to an increase in crashes. Some riders suggested the race needs to cut down the number of teams entered.

That’s what Armstrong means by saying “there was no special treatment.” Professional bike racers are a badass bunch of elbow-throwing, bike-leaning and curse-word-throwing zealots who don’t take crap from anyone. Armstrong reportedly was the strongest of all patrons, the one rider in the pack who does not tolerate abuse or dissent among the ranks. So we might question, given his 7-year reign, whether that sort of authority does not constitute “special treatment.” But it is special treatment you have to earn.

Armstrong did ride the same courses as everyone else. The same fierce winds off the northern coast. The same rolling hills and flat out pace lines on sprint stages. Then the mountains. Those horrid climbs where the legs beg to stop, and the baked minds of cyclists competing in hundred-degree heat or stunning cold must transcend all messages from the body to quit. Armstrong did it all better than anyone, seven times over.

He is right in calling it the “toughest even in the world, where the strongest man wins.” He was the strongest man among strong men who were all in on the doping game. And that means “all in” as a gambler as well. Everyone who rode with the help of doping was taking a gamble they would not get caught. Yet many did, and served sentences and bans for their transgressions as a result. Armstrong’s own teammates Floyd Landis and Tyler Hamilton tried to come clean when they got caught, and then tried to implicate Armstrong as the head of the culture that favored doping for success. Armstrong attacked those men for their confessions, threatening them or questioning their character. These were very public confessions and accusations being made. And that’s not the way Lance Armstrong is used to playing the game.

So Lance Armstrong is correct in saying of the nature of his Tour victories, “Nobody can ever change that.” What’s done is done. He rode well and he won. He also apparently doped along with the rest of the world and that can’t be changed either.

Armstrong at a Livestrong appearance.

And while most of us missed it, he did confess, in so many words. His confession, like so many mea culpas in sport, politics and religion, fell a little short of direct honesty. But its considerable scope and attribution do not dissolve its confessional nature.

In the end, Lance Armstrong is being honest about his dishonesty. That is likely the most we will get out of this proud man who has done so much for cycling even though he cheated along with the rest of the world.

He has done even more for the challenging plight of cancer patients worldwide the the Lance Armstrong Foundation and Livestrong, the highly active and effective education and assistance organization that delivers key resources and advice to cancer patients and their caregivers. So that is the balance in judgment many are being called to weigh. Which of his achievements is most important?

He has ridden the hard road bringing attention to cancer as a medical and social issue, touching the world of politics and economics as a result. Yet it can be said: men and women like Lance Armstrong in many ways do not live in the same world as the rest of us. They take on great challenges and accept great risks as a result. Sometimes, they fall.

That is clear from the examples of so many other heroes who have proven to be frail in their demonstrable determination. Tiger Woods. Mark McGwire and Sammy Sosa. Bill Clinton and a host of other public personalities in all walks of life. All whose enormous feats and contributions add to our imaginations, but are also doomed at times to fail us.

That is what Lance Armstrong said in his confessional statement. Even in success many are doomed to fail, and the world works in strange and often corrupt ways. That is the ruse we all abide, to believe in some things human or magical.

That is not to say that no one achieves good or exceeds our expectations without cheating, just that it is far more commonplace than we like to think. The chieftains of wealth and corporate success have let us down repeatedly over the decades, bringing on recessions and even a Depression with their excess greed. The entire world is at risk from human activity, pollution and extraction just from the last 100 years.

But Lance Armstrong is right. We all breathe the same air. None of us gets special treatment in the end. It is not so clear whether we all play by the same rules. The last economic recession has proven that may not be the case.

What we can learn from Lance Armstrong’s confession is just as important as what we can learn from his failures and successes as a human being. It is important to read between the lines, examine the character and intent of those we choose to idolize, and not be surprised if we pull back the curtain to find out that the people we lionize as gods are in fact so human it is stunning to behold.

That is why most people missed the Lance Armstrong confession. We want to continue to believe in the gods rather than accept their human nature. That is the human condition. Ever has been. Ever will be.

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The philosophical tarsnake of wearing a yellow Livestrong wristband

Posted on October 17, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Livestrong can be a tarsnake for those who engage in Lance Armstrong’s brand and legacy

8 years ago when I was taking up cycling to compliment my running and weight training, I mentioned to my friend Monte Wehrkamp that I had a bike but wasn’t sure it was good enough to keep up with the group rides to which I was invited.

Having been a rider many years before, he offered me a classic road bike that he no longer used. It turned out to be a little small (56cm) for my long torso, but the gesture always stuck with me as a genuine bit of encouragement.

When he brought over the bike, he was pretty sure he would never be using it or much of his other cycling gear. That meant he delivered a box of stuff, in which two cellophane-wrapped Livestrong bracelets were included.

Being well aware of Lance Armstrong’s cycling career and wins in the Tour de France (he had won 3 or 4 times by then) it was fun to have my own Livestrong bracelet. At the time my mother had begun to show signs of struggling with lymphoma, a blood-borne cancer. And 10 years before I had helped a personal friend through rehabilitation from testicular cancer. I knew how tough it was on his body. Even though he was an All-American 400 meter runner in college, the cancer took such a toll he could barely walk around the block. But we did it together those cool fall nights and he’s since fathered 3 great children and is one of the most successful high school football coaches in the state of Illinois.

I put on the Livestrong bracelet feeling tangentially connected to the cause of fighting cancer. The year was 2005.

That spring my wife began having physical problems and I encouraged her to go to the gynecologist to get checked. They found a small cycst on her ovary and scheduled a laparoscopic surgery to explore and remove the cyst. We weren’t overly concerned because my wife had had two large ovarian cysts removed back when we were dating in the early 80s.

Then the pathology report came back with news that this new cyst was ovarian cancer, Stage IIc, and possibly an aggressive form.

I remember crying the entire drive to work that next day, 30 miles of sobbing, aching fear that was not easily shaken.

But then we found doctors, worked through the HMO and managed her care through the help of friends and members of our church. The chemo was wrenching. Horrific in some ways. Side effects were unpredictable. But we began to learn to keep our antennae up and ward off these surprises. We got good at chemo, and surviving cancer.

My mother was not so lucky. At 80 years old that same year in 2005 she tried to fight off lymphoma only to discover her pancreas had cancer too. She tried one round of chemo and died of a stroke days later.

Obviously that was tough news to take given my wife’s ongoing fight with ovarian cancer. But we achieved a 2-year remission before it came back again.

During those years I built more confidence on the bike and ultimately purchased a carbon fiber Felt 4C road bike in 2006. It was a revelation to get on a really decent road bike. I could stick with the Saturday group rides, and putting in miles for fitness was much more fun.

All the while the yellow Livestrong wristband rode along with me. It has been a small symbol of fortitude through my wife’s cancer treatments in 2005, 2007, 2010, 2011 and 2012. Multiple chemo regimens, surgeries and other lifesaving treatments have ruled our lives. Battling cancer has hurt my career, as companies shy about costs of cancer coverage have found ways to get me off the payroll. One literally fired me the day after I told them my wife had cancer. Another tried to let me go and then cut off my insurance coverage. I researched the law and was able to maintain coverage under Illinois continuance. In case you don’t know, the laws protecting employees for COBRA and other insurance issues don’t reach down to companies with 16 employees or less. It’s a gray area and most of the power and authority rests with the company, not the employee. Livestrong and other cancer-oriented organizations provide legal advice and resources on subjects like that. So it makes no sense to throw out the baby with the bathwater.

For all the crowing and cheering we hear about small companies generating jobs in America, the dark side of the issue is that small companies are running in fear of rising health insurance rates. Some are now blaming Obamacare for the threat of possible higher rates, but the Bush administration did absolutely nothing about the straight-line 12% average rise in health care insurance rates from 2000-2008.

So the Livestrong bracelet on my arm is a symbol of surviving not just cancer with my wife, but also the overall legal and corporate weight of trying to maintain health care protection for families. Sometimes the battle with cancer is as much with the ramifications of the disease as it is with the disease itself. I’ve done a good job for the companies where I’ve worked, earning multiple marketing awards, writing successful nominations to earn the President recognition and finding ways for clients to innovate their marketing and communications strategies. But when companies find themselves under monetary pressure, especially an unknown like insurance costs, even demonstrated performance can go out the door.

Today, October 17, 2012, is the day Lance Armstrong stepped down as Chairman of the Livestrong non-profit formed around his legacy. There are a reputed 80 million Livestrong bracelets in circulation worldwide. You see them everywhere. People have their own reasons for wearing them. It is a symbolic gesture of support for cancer patients; friends and family who suffer through treatments. Some make it. Many still don’t.

One could argue that Lance Armstrong beat the cancer in his body but could not beat back the cancer infecting his sport. In fact, rather than trying to stop use of doping and other drugs to enhance performance, Lance Armstrong apparently became the best at it. Yes, he never officially failed a blood test. Yet anyone who has read anything about him recognizes his obsession over detail, and he simply might have enlisted to best doctors on earth to mask use of performance-enhancing drugs. The fact that he allegedly roped in teammates and even coerced them into using drugs to compete on his teams is simply a sign that he had embraced the cancer of doping rather than resisting it.

Perhaps the competitive spirit that fires Lance Armstrong could not allow him to separate fact from fiction at the time he faced that choice to dope or not. We all know Lance hates to lose. But it would have been impossible, really, for Lance alone to take on the sport of cycling. Remember the sport was still extremely Euro-centric at the time of his ascendance. Even while he competed the French newspapers hated his guts. They only liked him when he came back in 2009, looking a bit older and more vulnerable. But it turns out he may still have been doping then.

Thus a legacy is tarnished. And how many people are now sadly pulling off their yellow Livestrong bracelets to store them in a dresser drawer. Have they become a token of a seemingly happy era when pro cycling seemed on its way to becoming a beacon of hope? The fact that dozens of riders in the peloton rode with yellow Livestrong bracelets was a sign that those riders believed in the bigger cause promoted by Lance Armstrong.

I could swap my yellow Livestrong bracelet for a teal-colored bracelet symbolizing ovarian cancer. But I’ve worn the yellow Livestrong bracelet now for so long that it would seem like giving up a part of myself and neglect the hope and progress we’ve sustained while keeping my wife healthy all these years. There is still hope in our lives.

Cancer is persistent and unsentimental. It does not care if you wear a yellow Livestrong bracelet or not. Cancer is also part of the condition of all living things. Dogs can get cancer. Cats, rats and birds, too.

So rather than throw out the Livestrong bracelet on my wrist, I’m keeping it to remember that people saw and opportunity to show unity over a cause that is vital, and human, and virtuous. As it turned out, my friend Monte wound up getting back on his bike again last year after 20 years away from riding. Got himself a nice Jamis and his riding form came back quickly, losing weight and having fun on the roads again.

We have both been supporters of the Livestrong brand for years.

The fact that the human being who helped drive and invent the symbol of that cause is flawed, and that he committed to an alleged lie that helped make him famous should surprise very few, really. Sports brings out the worst in many people. But now the sport of cycling appears to be fighting back. Few could have predicted that, either.

It is life that brings out the best in people in the end and I will keep wearing my yellow Livestrong bracelet as a result. The brand is still pertinent: And that is to prevail, the ultimate goal of anyone on this earth.

But we know now the ends do not always justify the means. Someone would have to be really yellow to believe that.

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