The tarsnake of pricks on the road who run and ride

Posted on October 16, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

A literal prick on the road. Not much nice than the metaphor, is it?

While walking the dog through a park near our house that was in the process of a makeover with new ballfields, playgrounds and turf, we followed the newly paved trail around the perimeter and met up with some interesting artwork on the brand new asphalt.

Some local kid had discovered a discarded can of fluorescent spray paint used for marking the construction site and fashioned, with artistically composed dribbles, repeated images of male genitalia at intervals around the park. A road prick.

We’re all aware that the slang for male genitalia is “prick.” But it also has another meaning, a harsher definition related to being mean toward someone, or mistreating them. Interesting, all these definitions for the word “prick” converge at some point, as evidenced by this online reference.  If you call someone a prick it means they’re being a jerk, selfish or worse.

Fascinatingly, in line with the illustration provided for this article, this is the 15th reference in definition of the word “prick”:

15: to mark (a surface) with pricks or dots in tracing something.

So this is one of those weirdly odd occasions when art really does meet reality. And so we proceed.

Those “road pricks” on the park trail got me thinking about the symbolism of the images, and how many times the metaphor has come true in meeting pricks on the roads over the years. We all encounter “pricks” of various types while running and riding. People who will not even lift their heads or give a wave as they run or ride past us.

For a long time it perplexed me why people seemed so unfriendly. It was an old habit of mine to wave hello even during intense workouts. I don’t know why, it just seemed right. You’re out doing something you love, why be a prick about it?

Runners usually do wave hello if you wave at them. Even the fastest runners can be seen from a long way off, so there’s plenty of time to look up and acknowledge another runner.

Cycling is a little different. For starters, it really is important to keep your eyes on the road to monitor the surface for tarsnakes, road debris and other obstacles. Otherwise you can wind up with road rash, or worse yet, become road kill.

So we can all agree, cyclists absolutely must focus their eyes and minds to monitor traffic closely, lest they be killed or injured by a vehicle. All those are very good reasons to keep your focus and may preclude saying hello to another cyclist when out riding.

On an empty road…

There are also times when two cyclists pass  going opposite directions and the opportunity to at least give a little wave is patent and obvious. Yet some people still refuse to do so. That is called being a prick.

And there are reasons, albeit social in nature, for cyclists to behave that way.

There is a well-defined hierarchy in cycling, far more pronounced and defined than in running. Cyclists fall into clear categories defined by the type of bike they ride (road, mountain or casual, for example) followed by the clothes they wear (full road kit, triathlon gear, basic cycling wear and ‘just out for a ride’) and finally, the subtle marks of form and pace.

All these factors can be assessed at a glance by seasoned cyclists. Some instantly make a judgment in their own eyes and simply refuse to acknowledge anyone outside their category. Is that being a prick to others, or is human nature simply prone to such tribal behaviors?

The competitive hierarchy of cycling almost determines that behavior. The reality is that the faster you are going on the road, the more you need to pay attention to what you are doing. So despite the fact that you’d like the guy or gal on the $7,000 Trek Madone with full team kit (even socks!) to wave at you, they often don’t have the time or attention to do so. Perhaps they’ve earned the right to be pricks, of a sort.

Let’s not forget. There are pricks among runners as well. The best male runners tend to be young and focused. It is not uncommon for these folks to go zipping by you without a word. Their mind is on the next performance. Joggers simply don’t register with them. I admit I was one of those types. A long time ago. Now I wave to create wind resistance so that it is harder for that pregnant mom pushing a stroller while jogging to pass me by. I exaggerate, but you get the picture.

Women rarely seem to be pricks on purpose. I know, they do lack a certain part of the anatomy that some people speculate actually causes prickish behavior in men. And that’s likely accurate.

But it really should be less expected for women to be gregarious and social to strangers while out running, particularly if they are running or riding alone. Safety is a big concern for with women, and justifiably so. A woman in the midst of a workout deserves to focus on herself, and not attract unwanted attention. Street harassment is still a problem for many women, be it visual or verbal. That means women have good reasons to keep to themselves. It is also why so many women elect to run or ride with training partners. Safety and social constructs are part of that picture. Many women simply prefer to run or ride with company. It motivates them, satisfies a social need and provides a sounding board for their goals.

Even so, women in pairs or groups even tend to be on their guard. Many times I’ve ridden up behind a pair of women riding together and asked to join them. Sometimes they do not mind, but sometimes it is clear they would rather be left alone. At all times men should respect the rights of women on the road. If there is any question that you are not really welcome in their company, it is important to go your own way, lest you be the prick in that situation.

The Group Prick Dynamic

Group riders can often come off as pricks as well. A solo rider on a country road who gets overtaken by a fast-moving group of cyclist has almost no chance of catching on if there is no warning they are come. If you are pedaling 20 mph and a group chases you down and passes at 23, the wind in your ears will likely prevent you from catching any sign of their approach. Too often members of that group cast their gaze on the solo rider as if the poor victim sucks for getting caught. In actuality, many know that if it was them and getting caught they would not have any greater chance off staying away.

So do your respective sports a favor, everyone. Don’t be a cycling prick. Don’t be a running prick. Don’t be a road prick of any kind. There are enough other pricks on the road from other sources without us being pricks to each other.

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The Sunday Morning Tarsnake: Why race day feels cold and harsh to the running and riding competitor

Posted on October 14, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

You’ve spent months preparing. Your next big race is coming up. All the preparations from training to diet to setting out your gear the day before are completed. It’s Saturday night and you are so psyched you almost can’t get to sleep.

Finally you nod off and wake when the alarm goes off at 5:00 a.m.

Oh, God, you think. Is it that time already? Why do I feel so sluggish? Can this be race day, really? Why can’t I feel like I did yesterday, all raring to go and ready to race?

Relax, the Sunday morning blues happen to almost everyone. 

Our brains often resist big commitments. Our minds can’t get a grip on the pain and discomfort to come. Our hearts suddenly yearn for calmer mornings when putting our bodies and reputation on the line weren’t so imminent.

The Sunday Morning Race Day Blues. How do you beat them? 

If you want to be prepared and perky come Sunday morning, you really need to rehearse your state of mind so that fear and trepidation don’t catch up with you on the real race morning.

Sure, you’re used to getting up early to train. But getting up early to race feels different. Why is that?

It’s because the circumstance is defining your mentality, not the other way around.

Sports psychologists spend a lot of time working with elite athletes in golf, swimming, tennis, cycling and running to learn discipline of the mind. Our minds fail us only when the information coming into the mind is inconsistent with our experience. When a golfer gets into a tough situation on the golf course, the ability to envision hitting the next shot well is crucial to overcoming the circumstance in which he or she finds themselves immersed.

See, immersion is exactly what is happening to you on Sunday morning when you wake up feeling underprepared and overwhelmed. That’s why it is so crucial to have tools to work through anxiety and other emotions that hinder your ability to relax, focus and do your best.

Those are the qualities you need to succeed. So those are the qualities you need to have ready when Sunday morning comes.

Are there natural born winners? Do you hate them? 

Some people just seem to breeze through race preparation, rising from bed with a sunny disposition and the will to succeed in a race. Lucky them. Is it simply their good luck to have a brain wired for hard effort? In some cases, that is true.

It is just as likely those sunny souls have methods to control their thoughts. Those might include something as simple as prayer, believe it or not, to take the burden and pressure off their minds. But if you are not the praying type, and don’t want to depend on Providence to help you run a PR, there are more practical ways to get your mind on track.

Practice pays off

If you want to succeed on Sunday morning, that means you want to practice getting ready for your big race so that the sensations associated with rising early and getting out the door on time and in a good state of mind are not so foreign and harsh feeling.

If you have a pre-race routine that includes setting out your equipment then do that the Saturday before your planned race. For runners, that means your racing uniform, shoes and any water or prep you will use for the race.

For cyclists, the system must be more involved, because there is so much to remember. Bike, helmet, gloves, kit, shoes, water bottles, food, arm warmers. The list goes on and on.

But it’s not just about the physical equipment. You should be most focused on how your mind is prepared for race day. So you need to set out your mental equipment where you can see it too.

Objectifying your anxieties

Here’s a nifty trick to help you focus on race day.

The week before you are set to race, write down everything in your head that you want to go right on race day. That means your goal time, splits, and feelings you expect to have when racing. These include feelings of well-being, of confidence and self-fulfillment.

If you are worried about failing somehow, write those feelings down as well. Many people are worried about failing in the eyes of others. You’ve likely talked up your race prep to many people in your life. “I’m running a marathon” sounds good to say in August and September, but when October comes around and Sunday morning dawns dark and windy, all your negative thoughts can overwhelm your aspirations. You immediately doubt yourself. Fear gives you the jitters. Your stomach starts to churn…

But that’s not where you want to be, is it? So don’t get caught by surprise. Spend time leading up to the race anticipating the many factors that can lead to stress. What if the weather is bad, either too hot, too cold or too windy? Are you willing to adjust your pace and end time in order to complete the race. Getting those thoughts down on paper can help you come to grips with the fact that some things really are impossible if conditions are not right.

Yet you want to be flexible as well, able to adjust your mind to overcome adversity in general. It helps to imagine yourself all the way from getting up in the morning, driving to the race, getting your registration and number and stepping or riding to the line.

This helps you eliminate distractions that can crop up on race day. Some friend gets in your face and starts blabbing about how great they feel, and then says something like; “And how are you feeling?”

They might mean well but what they are really doing is throwing their anxieties on you! They’re looking for that one person who will admit they are not feeling well so that the fearful friend will not feel so alone.

Be ready. When you’ve rehearsed what you’re planning to do on race day you can say, with all pleasantness and confidence, “I’ve trained and am getting ready to run the race. So I’m going to focus on that.”

When Sunday comes

Thinking that far into race day; imagining all the preparations and confidence stepping to the line with a flexible and clear mind will help you overcome anxiety.

That way when you rise at 5:00 and feel fearful, you can turn to that firm resolve built up in your mind and tell yourself, “No, this is just a circumstance I am imagining. I am well prepared and am going to do exactly what I’ve practiced and get ready to go.”

So remember, to prepare for Sunday mornings, it always helps to:

  1. Write down your feelings and objectives in advance
  2. Account for everything you need by making a list and rehearsing setup the week before
  3. The week before the race, get up at the exact same time you anticipate rising on race day, and use your preparation process to go out for a workout
  4. During the week leading up to the race, look at your list every day
  5. In the week leading up to your race, be smart about how you talk about your event. Don’t waste precious energy worrying out loud or expanding your “worry sphere” by telling everyone you meet what you’re doing. Keep counsel with a trusted few and avoid those who might be naysayers.
  6. On Saturday night before your Sunday race, focus on the positives you’ve accumulated in training. If you have a training partner, call them or spend time with them to affirm each other in the effort.
  7. Choose a time to get up and fix in your mind that you will not hit the snooze button or sabotage yourself in some other way.
  8. Fix your breakfast while keeping your list handy to go over. Keep anxieties at bay with the confidence you gain from having rehearsed the physical and mental needs of the day.
  9. At the race, keep conversations pleasant and minimal. Focus on what you need to get ready, not by socializing, but by acting on your needs and goals.
  10. Take time to rehearse your mental objectives and revisualizing the work you’ve put in, the successes you’ve had in training and the good feelings you want to experience during the race.

The Sunday Morning Tarsnake does not need to send you off your road to success. Preparation, objectifying your fears and goals and using them to “stay ready” can help Sunday morning be everything you want it to be.

 

 

 

 

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Surprise! It’s the little muscles that count in running and riding

Posted on October 13, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

Runners and cyclists tend to think in terms of the big muscles when it comes to performance in their respective sports.

Runners need strong quadriceps (thighs) and decently tuned calf muscles to propel themselves along.

Cyclists also need strong thighs, as well as a well-calibrated set of gluteus maximus muscles to help them up and down hills, connected with hamstrings to pull through a full revolution with clipped-in pedals.

But here’s the truth: runners and cyclists who do not pay attention to the “other” muscles in their bodies are fooling themselves if they think they can improve without paying attention to the “little” muscles that move us along.

All an athlete has to do to learn the importance of “little” muscles is to go through an injury and go through workouts with a physical therapist or personal training to learn how much they are neglecting these little muscles in favor of working, and sometimes overworking, the bigger muscles we feel we most need.

Here are some examples of the “little” muscles your most need and what to do about helping them become stronger.

The muscles around the knee

Knees are such a mix of bone, tendon and muscle that they need balance to function properly. The slightest imbalance can cause chronic injury problems such as chondromalacia (pain under the kneecap) iliotibial band syndrome (pain on the side of the knee) and even torn meniscus (erosion or tearing of the cartilage that serves as cushioning inside the knee).

These conditions are all usually preventable with simple exercises to strengthen the muscular connection points that lead to tendons and support of the knee.

The absolute simplest knee exercise is the one-legged dip. Stand on one foot and raise the other heel and calf perpindicular to the ground. Now lower your body with arms at your side so you aren’t cheating for balance, and bring your opposite knee near to the top of your ankle. That’s it. You’ll be strengthening the little muscles that support the knee. Add some lunges for hamstring strength and side lunges for lateral strength and you’ll see lots of improvement, sometimes within a single day or two.

The gut muscles

We’ve all heard that core strength is important for sports. In running, stomach or core strength can help prevent major problems like side stitches and even stomach upset. It seems strange to say, but the core works like a container for all your guts, both literally and figuratively. The stronger your stomach and rib cage muscles, the less your guts slosh around in there while you’re running. In a marathon, that can make the difference between puking and finishing the race in good shape.

In cycling, it is now known that your core muscles are as important if not more important than your legs in keeping efficient position on the bike and contributing to the overall power output of the cyclist.

The starter solution to core strength is a simple plank position with elbow resting on the ground and hands touching in a vee. Lift up into a plank like you were doing a pushup and hold for 60 seconds. That should be enough to get your gut muscles firing the first few times. Hold longer as you get stronger, and add pushups to lengthen the reach of the core exercise. Crunches and side twists while sitting strengthen and stretch your rib cage muscles.

The back

Gosh it is hard to work those back muscles that always seem to pull at the wrong time. The simplest solution is to lay on your stomach with your arms at your side. Lift your arms in a stiff position so that the points of your shoulder blades touch. Repeat 20-30 times. You’ll feel those muscles start to fire. Then put your arms in a Superman position pointing at 30 degrees away from your head while lying on your stomach. Repeat the lifting position and crunching your shoulder blades together.

Finally, stand against a wall and press your hands against the surface. Simply raise your hands up to full height against the wall for 25-30 repeats. Your back and arms will scream for relief, but you’ll know you’re doing something good for your body.

Lower back strengthening comes from the core work you are doing on your stomach.

Take pride in these “little” muscles and you’ll feel better on every run and every ride. Try it. You won’t regret it.

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Revel in personal triumph while realizing you never do it all alone

Posted on October 12, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Only the bike is really alone. The rider depends on others.

Yesterday I took a day to say “Hooray!” that rehabilitation from the bike accident is going well. That is a personal triumph.

But being honest with yourself about any personal triumph means you must place it in its proper context. That means acknowledging the people who helped you get there.

This isn’t easy for some people to do. I think of the workplace and a particular editor at a newspaper where I worked who never, ever praised his writers. His success was entirely dependent on their effort, yet he refused to give them any credit, much less a kind word. If you walked through the editorial department at that time and issued a compliment to a member of the writing staff, they’d flinch.

Complimentary ways

The newspaper industry was originally renowned for its tough stance on quality, and that editor upheld the tradition perhaps in respect for the industry in which he worked. Ultimately he realized, however, that a broken-down staff cannot meet its production deadlines or do good work, and he moderated his ways. He learned to acknowledge the work and contributions of others. It did not compromise the quality of the newspaper, although newspaper people are learning they need to stick together for different reasons.

That would be survival. Former arch rivals in the newspaper industry are now working together. The Chicago Tribune and other larger newspapers now handle the print products for their former competitors. No one’s so worried anymore about stealing scoops or beating competitors to the story. The Internet and 24/7 media took care of all that. Now newspapers are more worried about working together to help each other protect revenue and sustain the business model. There’s a lesson in that for all of us.

Start with one, carry on with the help of many

It’s the same way with our personal goals in running and riding. We all have people who support us, even if it isn’t evident on the surface. The people who attended to me at that Wisconsin campsite following the accident were kind and insightful.

Then my best friend’s wife, a registered nurse, drove me straight from Wisconsin to the emergency room back home. She had worked there and walked me through the registration process and counseling with the ER physician, who delivered the challenging news that surgery was recommended. A thousand things went through my head at that moment, especially the question as to whether I could type while wearing a sling, because my work depended on it. She literally held my hand as the swirling mix of emotions nearly brought the tears on. It all worked out.

My wife and I gave her a token of our appreciation for her help. “Thanks for being Chris’s faux wife,” we wrote on the card. Because my wife at the time was facing a health challenge of her own that day. We all need help at times.

Running into maturity

Having been a runner since the age of 5, when I first timed myself with a stopwatch around the side yard, there have been many times when individual effort is the call of the day. Yet even solo sports like running and riding depend on team work quite a bit. Your teammates drive you to excel through training. Your coaches map out the strategy and workouts. Your friends and relatives show up to cheer you on. Even strangers offering bits of advice or a note of encouragement fill in the gaps.

When all that adds up to a major accomplishment, like qualifying for a national meet or better yet, placing in one like we did as a team in college, you really must look around in wonder at how human beings, social creatures that we are, find ways to work together.

Loving your enemies may be the best way to win

We must also give credit to the people we quantify as our enemies. When Earvin “Magic” Johnson recently appeared on The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, he credited his opponents Larry Bird and the Celtics for driving him and his Lakers team to the greatest heights in basketball. Ultimately Magic and Bird became friends. Sharing lunch at Bird’s house between seasons taught both athletes respect for each other even though, as Magic admitted, “I loved nothing better than kicking Larry Bird’s ass.”

Respect for opponents parallels what Jesus tells us to do in the Bible. “Love your enemies,” we are told. That is the most difficult yet most strict directive in all the Bible. It is also what most people are unable to do, particularly in the realm of religion and politics, or both. If current day Republicans and Democrats found ways to “love their enemies” they might realize that their opponents actually make them better by pointing out their flaws, refining their purpose and forcing compromise that produces better legislation for the nation. But we are nowhere near that mark right now, and too many people vilify their political leaders for loving their enemies. This used to be called bi-partisanship, and great politicians, acting as both legislators and statesmen (and women) helped make the country great.

So it is in our best interests as individuals and as a collective society to acknowledge those who help us, even our enemies.

It’s never to late to say thanks

A few months back I was reading through some material collecting information for an article and stumbled upon a photograph of myself with a competitor from another college. He had kind of a geeky demeanor in those days; thick black glasses and a splay-footed running style. Glancing through the results of the meets in which we competed, I realized he was not just my equal, but defeated me more often than not. It was a revelation–the opposite, you might note, of reveling in one’s own success.

So I looked him up on LinkedIn and wrote a note to him. Told him that I had never realized what a good runner he was, and that our rivalry was actually a fun thing. He agreed, and then related that his biggest triumph was being part of a track team that broke our winning streak of 17 consecutive conference titles. I forgave him this last competitive dig, realizing that my own instincts were not so pure, and thanked him for writing back.

Individually yours

These experiences in work and running and cycling have indeed tempered my personal instincts in many ways. All it takes is one group ride on a road bike to make you realize how dependent you are on the effort of others. Try to ride off the front and you’ll be pulled back within minutes unless you are so strong you can outride the group entirely. But if that is the case, you owe it to your riding partners to put in long pulls and make the overall ride a better experience.

Training partners. Competitors. Co-workers. It all makes for an interesting, subtle mix of motivations and response. But the ultimate truth is that personal triumph is almost never the result of individual effort alone. We depend on the world to make us better at everything we do.

And that’s a good thing.

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One month to the day after surgery, riding and running again

Posted on October 12, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Today was a good day. I rode the Specialized Rockhopper Mountain Bike 15 miles. Over to Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory and back. Crosswind the whole way. And this was one month to the day after surgery to repair the clavicle broken in a bike wobble accident September 2.

I’m proud of that progress, and for good reason. The minute the crash occured, I struggled to realize exactly what happened. But within minutes of rolling over in that grassy ditch to look at the sky I was grateful for many things and planning ways to recover. After all, there was no neck or back injury that I could feel. And that was confirmed. No road rash, and I’ll take credit for that in getting the heck off the road to lay down the bike. No busted pelvis or broken leg. Check. Just one very sore muscle on the inside of my right thigh and of course, the crunchy, broken clavicle. That would definitely have to be fixed. That was clear from the get-go.

“Well, I finally did it,” I thought to myself. “I broke my collarbone. Guess I’m a real cyclist now.” Big sigh.

Lots of riders go through broken collarbones. Some riders go over the front handlebars. Crunch. Others slide to a stop in a criterium and feel their shoulder strike the ground. Crunch. Still others barely tip their bikes and put their hand out to stop their fall and, you guessed it. Crunch.

By comparison, I went down in a veritable fit of glory, cursing as I went, shredding the grass and throwing up a giant dirt divot with my shoulder.

Then I crawled up the embankment and sat on the side of the road waiting for help. Got in the ambulance and laid there in a stretcher chair through the trip to the little Wisconsin hospital and the ER doctor’s inspection. Managed to stand up for the x-ray, feeling shaky from the Vicodin coursing through my veins. Saw the digital picture of my shoulder. Not looking good. The truth was there in black and white

The clavicle looking like a bank of cirrus clouds

Got released from the Wisconsin ER and  slept the night in a chilly tent on an air mattress barely fit for a healthy person, much less wounded cyclist. So I did not move much, and yet managed to sleep well. Thank you, drugs.

The moon shone so bright in the window I could read my watch without hitting the GLO button. In the morning heard the quiet birds talking to each other before dawn even came. Was glad to be there. Birds say some pretty interesting things when they don’t know you’re listening.

That morning went for a determined two mile walk. Down the big hill at Governor Dodge State Park to stare at the lake a while and get my foggy head back together. Walked back up the hill with that sore, sore hamstring holding me back. Bruise the size of a fist.

But I was determined not to get stiff. Always keep moving. Even the first day after the accident. The first step in rehabilitation is an active recovery. Move around. Move the stress out of your system. Clear out the shock of adrenaline. The fog of pain. Drink lots of fluids. Wash it all away. Drink more fluids. Eat bananas. Fruit. Ah, what the hell, have a cookie. Drink some more. Pee your way back to clarity. It works.

That was Wisconsin. Then: the trip home to Illinois. Another ER visit. The decision for surgery.

Then a trip under the knife with a great surgeon. Woke up to wife and friends in the hospital room. Better stay the night, they said. G’nite.

Next came the rehab, starting that very morning. Then on it went. Day at a time. Listen to your body. Rest and sling the arm. Then, use it gently. Don’t let it stiffen up or get too lazy. Don’t lift, but don’t baby it.

Sooner or later the accidental need to use the arm brings it back to life. Days and weeks pass. Then physical therapy. They sure know how to use those little muscles, don’t they?

Finally, a first short ride on the bike. Down to the end of the block and back. Just the mountain bike. Fat tires and all. With permission of the doctor of course. Sort of.

3 weeks after the fact: Take the road bike into the shop to get it all checked out and straightened up. Fix the bent right brake cover and handlebars off at an angle. Hopefully no cracks in the frame. The Red Rocket needs physical therapy too.

But the mountain bike is all raring to go. New gear cable, and off we go. Into the teeth of an October southwest wind. Watch the marsh harrier tilt on the breeze, hunting mice in the fields at Fermi Lab. Thousands of geese rise from the corn field when a bald eagle flaps overhead.

I ride there and back. Nothing special. But then again, riding again so soon really is rather special. It proves that active recovery really does work. A strong mental attitude and listening to the limits of what pain has to tell you while telling your body to work back to health is the secret.

I’m going to take some credit for the athlete I am, and always will be. I’m good at these things. Coming back from surgery. Unraveling the secrets a body develops when it’s been in a crash. Work through the pain. The awful brace and the slippery sling. Putting up with the back muscle pulls without freaking out. Then, the lower back twinges. Setback. Through it all you keep walking. 2 miles. 3 miles. Each day feels a little better, other than the stupid back pain.

My mind never stopped working. Problem solving. Finding creative solutions to vexing problems. Caregiving. Releasing anxiety in myself and others. Caregiving some more. Saying thanks to those who helped. Working. Writing. Hitting deadlines despite the inconvenience of being hurt.

This ride was a symbol of a return to reality. That bike wobble took me down for a bit. But I am resilient. Determined. Trustworthy. Always ready for more. Bring on the next big thing.

That’s why we run and ride. And how.

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Professional levels of running and riding really do have something in common: Doping.

Posted on October 10, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Monte Wehrkamp with Christopher Cudworth

Some stream of consciousness thoughts on running and riding are always being passed back and forth by my riding partner Monte Wehrkamp and I. This morning the following email showed up in my inbox, and it bears sharing with readers of We Run and Ride.

Interestingly, you must consider that, in the photo above, Usain Bolt appears to be wearing a Livestrong bracelet, the icon of Lance Armstrong’s personal brand. And Lance was recently banned from his sport.

And that sets the stage for the observations you’ll now be reading. From Monte:

http://espn.go.com/30for30/film?page=9.79

This was on ESPN last night. It’s the story of the 100 m event leading up to, during, then after the Seoul Olympics.

Engrossing to say the least.

It makes cycling pale in comparison. You have the head of USA Track colluding with the USOC to make sure we win medals, no positive tests – developing test work-around protocols. You have factions within the US track and field community deliberately spiking the drinks of competitors from other nations. You have the entire Canadian team under Canadian doping committee investigation, with full disclosure that the entire team was on a deliberate and supervised doping program (the official team motto: If you don’t take it, you won’t make it). You have the head of the IOC’s dope testing team quitting in disgust, revealing postive after positive that was sent up to officials, only to be ignored. You have Dick Pound, who was with the IOC at the time (prior to his WADA stint) confirming that tests mean nothing if those in charge refuse to take action.

Oh, and didja see the braces on more than a few teeth of track athletes at this year’s Olympics? I learned the human growth hormone makes the jaw grow, messes with the bottom teeth, and adults in their 20s and 30s need to get braces to fix their bite. So, given the grille work I saw recently, HGH (Human Growth Hormone) is still present and accounted for.

Cycling has nothing on these guys. Absolutely nothing. If we believe either sport is clean today, we’re on dope. We are dopes.

I recently saw a chart of Bradley Wiggins’ hemocrit and new red blood cell growth levels over the previous three Tours (not showing the one he just won). Whoa. Look at these weird spikes. Right on the rest days. Indicative of EPO and transfusions, both. Sure, you might have a tiny surge of recovery after a rest day, but the spikes on the rest day were almost off the charts!

Doper. Cheater. And given his schedule and results in the early races leading up to, and then during both the TdF and the Olympics this year? Impossible. You cannot be on peak form for four straight months. Still a doper.

Usain Bolt? Seriously. You cannot be serious.

We may be the last two people on wheels or in running shoes that are not doping. I’m convinced of it, unless someone else can tell me different.

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Will you try out new styles of bikes that combine running and riding?

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth
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What do you think of these new concepts that combine running and cycling?

Posted on October 9, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Monte Wehrkamp with contributions by Christopher Cudworth

After reading this short article on new bike concepts, we invite you to take our 3-question poll on this subject and find out what others think about new cycling concepts at PollDaddy.com

My wife turned to me, a quizzical expression on her beautiful face. A question in her intelligent, observant, psychologist’s eyes.

“What the f*** is that?!”

And she pointed at the most ridiculous thing I’d ever seen on a bike trail.

Huh? Wait. What the hell!?

I was at a loss for words. I stared and tried to figure out the abomination before us.

It was kind of a bike, in that, it had wheels. And it had a handlebar. But the rider was standing up, his feet on platforms instead of pedals. The frame was about ten inches off the ground, and the head tube was, um, a foot tall with a three foot stem. The operator of the contraption marched up and down on the platforms, pedaling the worst kind of squares. The steampunk jalopy swayed back and forth, taking up almost all the trail as it wobbled along.

“I have no idea. But I hate it,” I answered her.

We looked it up on a Smartphone.

It’s an ElliptiGo. It’s half bike. Half elliptical trainer.

Elliptigo Trainer combines running and riding


Somewhere, someone thought this was a great invention. Hey, let’s put a gym workout machine on wheels! It’ll be great. And later, someone in Geneva, IL thought this was a great enough idea to plop down anywhere from $1800 to $3600 for his very own ElliptiGo (depending on model).

If you’re like me, you’re already doing the math. For $3600, you could get a very nice aluminum road bike with Shimano 105 components as well as a gym-quality elliptical cardio machine for the house. And you wouldn’t look like, or ride like, a complete dork.

By far the worst idea in cycling I’d ever seen.

Till this.

It’s called a Fliz. You can read about it on Gizmag. 

Fliz is a running and “riding” throwback?


You suspend yourself from the frame by a seatbelt. And while you hang, strapped to the, um, bike, you Fred Flintstone your way down the road. Yabba dabba doooo!

It makes the ElliptiGo almost acceptable in comparison.

I wonder, in a race, which would win? The ElliptiGo or the Fliz. I wonder if anyone cares. The race could be called the ElliptiGoFlizathon. Add a g at the end and you have the ElliptigoFlizathong. Now that would be an interesting site. Combines all sorts of thought leadership into one happy, wholesome subculture, doesn’t it. 

But here, you see, we run and we ride.

We run. And. We ride. One or the other. Pick. Today I run. Tomorrow I ride.

But never, ever, do we runride. Simultaneously. Because that’s just stupid and wrong. Until proven otherwise. But that will be judged in the free market. The Segway was supposed to revolutionize the planet. That hasn’t quite happened yet. 

To prove my point, I give you this. The TreadBike.

You got it. A treadmill to go, so to speak.

I rest my case.

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In which a novice marathoner wrestles the tarsnake of hydration and learns a lesson for the ages

Posted on October 8, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Runners and cyclists who test their own limits invariably find themselves in interesting circumstances. Whether you run or ride, you can appreciate that pain and suffering can come about whenever you enter into some kind of contract (usually social) and attempt to cover a distance you’ve never run or ridden before.

It’s actually easier to pull the stunt of overcommitting in cycling than in running. The freewheeling cyclist often knows not that his tank is near empty, while a runner, having a more intimate relationship with the ground, can feel the muscles start to tighten, the soreness begin to accumulate, and the will begin to give out long before he or she has actually bonked or hit the wall.

But then, some of us are born to break the rules of common sense and human limits. That is after all what makes life interesting.

Age 15 and naive

Imagine for a moment that you are 15 years old and the longest distance you have ever covered in one run is 10 miles. Then imagine that a bunch of running buddies on your track team decide to run, not walk, a 30-mile Walkathon that starts in a disturbingly isolated northern Illinois town, in this case the City of Dekalb.

While DeKalb is home to the prestigious Northern Illinois University with its sprawling campus and towering dorms sticking up in the corn field to the north of campus, beyond that DeKalb is a cluster of building surrounded by farm fields and barbed wire, which happens to have been invented there.

The Walkathon was one of those spring affairs when you never knew whether the weather was going to cooperate or not. The main body of participants were people who signed up to suffer by walking 30 miles to raise money for whatever good cause was on the line.

Our purposes were selfish. We signed up to run the whole thing on a group dare of sorts.  And there we stood, all 6 of us, loitering around the start together like a band of wayward shorebirds far from water. Actually we were all just sophomores wearing various sorts of inadequate running shoes that were the best that money could––not saying much––since the first running boom had just begun.

Nikes had not been invented yet.

There was no gun to signal the start of the Walkathon, which we shall note early on was not designed to be a race. Yet there we were, ready to run the whole darn thing if we could. It was a Sunday in the middle of April. The height of preparation for spring track season. It was a pretty sure thing our coaches would not have approved had they known what we were about to do.

The dorm towers at NIU in DeKalb.

Wind and loneliness

There is never a day when it is not windy in DeKalb, Illinois. Fortunately the wind was mild and the temps were 60 degrees. At a signal from the Walk organizers, we took off running carrying maps of the course in the band of our shorts. “In case someone gets lost,” one of us chortled. It might have been me.

Suddenly we realized we were not alone in our adventure of running our first full marathon. A group of equally skinny and somewhat desperate-looking DeKalb runners joined us on the roads, and the race was one.

None of us knew much about pacing, which is why hustling along at a rapid pace was particularly stupid. One fellow in our group carried a stopwatch and was calling out the mile times, which we were covering between 6:00 and 6:30. We actually went through 6 miles in just over 36:00. That was my 10K PR at the time.

Next up: Nothingness

The 6 mile mark was also the last we would see of the race organizers. None of the volunteers was told to expect a pack of 12 distance runners racing along the back roads. We arrived at spots designated for water stations. There were stacks of cups and trash cans to hold them when empty, but no water. That would be the tale for the rest of the day.

One by one runners started to drop out. In fact the DeKalb guys, having realized the roads were not their own this day, pulled completely over at around 9 miles and jogged back home before things got too serious.

That left 3 or 4 of us running toward a horizon that never seemed to come. The Walkathon was mapped out in a big square. For all we knew it followed the margins of DeKalb Township itself. So we ran and ran, getting slower and slower of course. 12 miles passed. Then 15. Two more of our party sagged and took a backroad toward the Northern campus while they could still see it. Two of us tarried on.

The “race” is on

Insanely, I still wanted to win the “race” with my teammate, who was known as one of the runners with the best endurance on the team. It was easy to question whether I could beat him at this game or not, running forever.

On we went, until the course took a turn toward town at 20 miles and my last companion tarried off toward town without a word, apparently thinking I might have the sense to follow.

It was one of those moments where every fiber of your brain is feeding you common sense but your body is moving along as if had evolved into a being of its own. After a couple glances behind to watch the last other runner disappear, I carried on. What else was there to do.

At 23 miles it became apparent that thirst was entering the picture. Though it sounds impossible in the context of today’s highly hydrated world, at that time runners usually did not drink much in practice or races. It just wasn’t done. Plus at our high school situated over the limestone beds of Illinois, the water tasted so much like sulphur and iron none of us wanted a drink very often anyway.

Coke is it

But at 24 miles my body demanded a drink. I walked up the porch steps of some house on the edge of town where the course was faintly marked from the previous year and begged for some water. They handed me a Coke, and with an obscenity-laced goodbye they slammed the door behind them.

It was against team rules during the season to drink soda of any kind. Which makes sense, because drinks like Coke and Pepsi and Dr. Pepper, laced with caffeine and carbonation and sugar do not good training drinks make. But the Coke I drank that day was almost precisely the form of beverage needed at that moment. I downed the whole can while continuing to walk, because my legs had tightened standing on those steps and I was afraid they might lock up completely.

At mile 26 I tossed the Coke can in a ditch and hollered out loud, “Marathon!” But I still had four miles to go.

Those last four miles were covered at a shuffle, but still running.

Finally the Walkathon course came mercifully to an end. Walking into the giant gymnasium where the Walkathon ended on Northern’s campus, it was a welcome sight to see my friends gathered around a big cooler with cups in their hands.

“God, I’m tired,” I told them. They all stared blankly at me. One of them said, “Nice job. You ran the whole way?”

“I stopped for a drink,” I said disappointedly. “And they gave me a Coke!” I admitted.

“Eah, that’s okay. It probably helped,” someone volunteered.

I laid down on the hard gym floor and nearly passed out. The bright dome lights shone down in my eyes but it felt so good to be horizontal that I let me legs just flop.

“I can see up your shorts,” someone said. “You need a new jock.”

I tipped my head up and smiled, sort of. My whole body was so tired it was almost impossible to hold my head up.

The meat wagon

Next a parent came and scooped us up for the drive home. “How’d it go, boys?” she asked cheerfully. It took all sorts of effort to get into the car. Then most of us slept. It was a 25 mile drive back to normal civilization and I swore I’d never set foot in the City of DeKalb again. But that proved to be untrue. Now I ride my bike out and around the town on my 50-milers, and there have been many other visits to the campus over the years.

None was so welcome as that 30th mile, with the big Northern buildings beckoning me on. Trudging through downtown DeKalb in my despicably inadequate shoes.

That is why I never raced the marathon much as my career continued through high school, college and beyond. Yet there were a few more pulls to insanity, some successful, some not, because the 26.2 mile distance holds some fascination for runners as a whole.

Be thankful that Pheidippides character did not have longer to go. Because you should all be glad the marathon is just 26.2 miles, not 30 as I experienced. Those last four miles hurt like hell. As the legend goes, they might even kill you.

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Justice for those who have to be one step or one wheel ahead all the time

Posted on October 5, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

The face of justice simply isn’t pretty at times

You probably know someone with whom you run or ride that always has to be one wheel or one step ahead of you. If you pick up the pace, they pick up the pace. Always one wheel. Always one step ahead. There they go, ruining a good run for everyone.

Pretty annoying, right? Well, here’s a little vindication, albeit a vicarious one as you head into the weekend.

A couple years back the regular group ride on Saturday mornings consisted of 10-12 guys in the 40s and 50s mostly, all competitive cyclists in the 3-4 Category, with an occasional 1 or 2 Category rider thrown in.

There was one rider who joined the group on a semi-regular basis who was known for his frantic need to lead. Trouble is, he could do it too. Off he’d go at 26 mph from the start, dragging the rest of the group along country roads in a clinging echelon if there was a wind. But worse yet, this lead rider would gutter everyone if there was a wind. He didn’t want anyone sucking on his wheel.

That turned every ride with him into an awful suffer fest, with guys ultimately dropping off or dropping back to form their own grupettos and pedal their way home.

Granted, riding with stronger riders can make you tough and improve your form. But blasting the group apart every time does not make you any friends.

That spring a friend of mine who worked for a law firm met a new employee who looked rather fit. They got to talking and my friend learned that this new employee was a newly retired member of a pro team that raced in Europe. Yep, he was that good.

My friend also knew that the 26 mph one-wheeler would be riding with the group that weekend, so he invited the pro team rider, who we’ll call Stefan, along for the group ride.

Stefan sat at the back for the first 30 miles and asked questions. Do you always ride this fast? Does anyone else take the lead? Do you guys really like riding this way? Do you think this makes you better?

Those questions were answered No, NO, NO and NO. So Stefan pedaled toward the point of the group and simply rode off the front at 30 miles per hour. Then he increased the pace. The whole group fell in madly sticking to the pace as it crested 30 and then 35. Then Stefan pulled a couple riders into his specific draft and really took off. They hung on for a while, separating themselves along with Stefan from the group, until the pro rider let up, turned around and grinned. They had a half mile or more on the broken batch of riders behind them.

The one-wheeler pedaled up to them gasping and asking, “Who ees thees guy?” for the one-wheeler is French by heritage and as you learned, liked to flaunt his Frenchiness through his cycling skills and acumen. But he learned his lesson that day, and realized he was duped big time by the quiet introduction of the pro rider to the group.

But did he learn from the experience? Not really. He still takes people out and beats them up at 26 mph. The people that did learn from the experience were those riders who realized upon talking further with Stefan that pro riders do not generally behave like the one-wheeler. “We build a slow base, and do speed work when we’re ready. But we don’t go out and blast the same pace every day.”

I had a similar experience with a distance running partner who always dominated the Saturday morning runs. He could never let anyone get ahead, and as a result, many of the so-called group runs turned into semi-races with pissed off participants.

As a result I vowed to get in shape and take the one-stepper for a real run. I’d finished my competitive career for the most part, but still knew how to get in shape. So for six weeks I trained and turned up the intensity each week until I was able to produce a few 5:30 miles in practice. Again, not equal to my peak fitness, but good enough to put the pedal down on Saturday morning.

One morning I gave notice to the other runners that something special was going to happen. And as the one-stepper added his two bits to the run I went ride with him, forcing him to accelerate the pace every half mile or so. The pace dropped from 8 MPM to 7:30 and then 7:00. The one-stepper glanced over at me a couple times to see if I was holding up and there were no signs of fatigue after 3 miles. Yet he kept one-stepping me, and with every advance I countered his move and pushed him hard. The pace went to 6:30 and finally 6:00. He was running his full race pace at that point, but I knew I still had a 30 second pace cushion on him, and if necessary, could push myself even faster. Because the point needed to be made even if I imploded in a red mist.

For the next 300 yards he was blasting away and then it came. Bam! Like a balloon popping. He bounced into the air with a twist and said, “What the hell’s going on?”

“You tell me,” I answered. “I’m just running with you.”

“You are not. You’re pushing the pace!”

“Oh really?” I said. “You need to think about that. This is what you do to everyone else every week. And frankly, people are sick of it.”

Sure, it was a prick thing for me to do. Most runners and riders are pricks sometimes. We need to be when someone pushes the boundaries against their training partners. Someone has to put them in their place, and try to teach them a lesson.

It seldom really works, of course. The lessons seldom stick. But it sure feels good trying, just to see the look on their face when they realize they’ve met their match.

Sorry, that’s the way the world works sometimes. It’s called justice. Vigilante, perhaps. But justice just the same.

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