Don’t turtle up in your training…Come out of your shell and try new things!

Posted on August 29, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

What it means to “turtle up”

Athletes of all levels tend to train in their “safety zones.” That is, they do the types of training with which they are fairly familiar, comfortable and proficient. We’re all a little like turtles in that respect. Content to move along at our own speed.

But when something comes along to challenge us, we tuck our heads and legs into that protective shell of excuses and avoidance, and go back to what we usually do. And get slower in the process while we tell ourselves we’re getting fitter. Part of that may be true, there is nothing wrong with using slow or steady training to build a base. But we’re talking about something else. Breaking out of a rut. Getting a little faster. Preparing for a race or event.

In those cases, training the exact same pace all the time is exactly the opposite of what you need to do to improve at your sport.

So whether you are a runner or a rider, it is important to keep your mind open to train in challenging situations. Throw out those turtle legs and stick out that turtle neck and give something new (or too long ignored) a try.

Coming out of your shell

As someone who is rebuilding a running career after periods of low activity due to injury and bio-mechanical issues, it is pleasant to simply run 5 miles without tugs or pulls from calves or knees. But sooner or later if you want to break out of a training rut you need to go a little farther than you usually do, climb some hills, or do some speedwork.

The best prescription to break out of a rut is to accept an invitation to train with someone else, and to try something new.

Train with a triathlete. They’re always doing crazy, different stuff. 

My first invitation this summer to break out of a training shell came from a triathlete who is frankly a little nuts about his training, as most triathletes are. So if you want to get tested on your running or riding, find a triathlete and invite yourself along. Or wait until they invite you. Because they’re generally either lonely types, are sick of getting pounded in their regular training group, or they’ve scared off all their other partners with their obsessions over heart rate and Zone training. So they usually appreciate company, and they’ll also usually take you farther, and sometimes faster, than you usually go in training. A short run for a triathlete is an hour. A short ride is 3 hours. You get the picture. They will stretch your little turtle legs, if you let them.

Entering the program

All triathletes have programs, so they’re always doing something very specific and interesting if you enter their world for a day or two.

First my triathlon buddy cooked up a hill workout. It’s been a while since I did hills so it sounded rather fun. Ironically he chose a workout spot behind our church on a long, steady grade on which our high school cross country team trained many years ago. Back then it was gravel, and we used to cut across the golf course to reach the hill. Now there’s a sign at the fence to the golf course. “No Jogging. No Biking. Private Property.” Times change. We used to love to run on that course.

But the hill was still there, so we did a set of 6 or 8 repeats at triathlete speed, which is “get up the hill the most efficient way possible” speed. Not too fast, not too slow. But it was good for my calves to be tested on the incline, and I ran an hour with him up and down that hill with a warmup and cooldown. Came out of my shell, in other words.

Hitting the road with Dr. Joe the Triathlete

Next I rode 40 miles with the triathlete we call Dr. Joe. Because he’s a doctor. And his name is Joe.

Joe sucks at riding hills. So I pull away from him while climbing. But Joe can fly going downhill, usually well into the upper 30s in terms of MPH. Then he hits the flats and keeps rolling at 26mph, mile after mile. It is best to tuck into his draft and just go for the ride. Because frankly he will run you down like a squirrel if you get in front of him, especially if you are going against the wind.

Rumor has it that Dr. Joe’s legs were surgically transplanted from a rare breed of sub-African hippopotamus known for its ability to run 30 miles per hour underwater. His thighs are huge and the piston-like motion he attains while rolling at cruising speed can be hypnotizing. Several cyclists have gotten lost in this cadence vortex and ridden straight off the road behind him. It takes Dr. Joe about 1.5 miles to slow down and finally turn around, so most cyclists are up and riding again by the time he swings back to check on you. So it all works out. Suffice to say that riding with Dr. Joe definitely pulls one out of our 20mph rut.

Find your own Dr. Joe, and you’ll be yanked out of your rut like a snapping turtle in a ditch.

Riding a circuit with Andy the Artist

Exactly last night I got a call from a character I’ll call Andy. That’s because Andy’s his real name. But he’s way more than an ordinary Andy or an ordinary cyclist. Andy was, and is, a proficient mountain biker. So when he hops on a road bike he does not generally limit himself to the boring practices of other road cyclists. For instance, he can easily ride on the gravelly road shoulder beyond the safe harbor of the asphalt with little problem. He has good bike handling skills, in other words. So he doesn’t like boring rides.

So Andy calls me and says, “Can you meet me tomorrow morning at my place? I’ve got this circuit I do. It’s kind of like Andy’s Criterium.”

Well, it was way cool. He lives in a neighborhood with lots of hilly roads, and they happen to cut through the woods in sort of parallel grids connected on either end by a big circular loop road. So we swerved and tore around corners, went up steep hills and flew down others. It was, in a word, fun. And somewhat Andy Artistic.

Then we broke out of his neighborhood and entered a wealthy Disneyland neighborhood where the houses were bigger than most suburban high schools. The roads were smooth and there were even fake bridges between dual ponds on either side of the road. That’s the lengths to which some rich people will go to feel like they’ve got enough money to live in a quaint area that isn’t really quaint.

But we were happy to steal through their neighborhood, cutting tight corners and whaling down streets at 30 miles an hour with no traffic with our bikes spinning along above the speed limit. Andy announced: “We’re going to turn right at the next corner and sprint to the next street.” And we did. He was faster. Much. I learned from the feeling in my legs that more sprinting would definitely help my day-to-day cycling, and also some climbing too. But the sprinting is fun. Although it hurts. So we motored down, circled round and headed back toward home.

But we were still crazy little turtles breaking out of our shells.

We came tripping back through the carefully coiffed customs of suburban unreality. Right past a house that Beach Boy Brian Wilson used to own. Back across the fake bridge between the ponds. Back into the real world.

Andy picked up the pace (again) and burst onto the bike path leading back home toward his house. The flora on either side stood tall and bursting with spikes of yellow goldenrod. The sun was shining at us with that late August morning angle and Andy the artist was happy someone had joined him on his cool little anti-turtle circuit. I was happy that I kept up and didn’t slow Andy the artist down because he’s a pretty good rider.

The empiric results on the cyclometer said 16 miles at 17.8 miles an hour, with lots of climbing. Top speed: 36mph.

Faster than a turtle, you might say. But let’s not be so sure.

For those who might want to actually see a map of Andy’s Criterium, here it is:

http://share.abvio.com/2af6/4e2a/4fae/9d46/Cyclemeter-Cycle-20120829-0700.kml
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Tarsnake lessons: Two brushes with death while running and riding

Posted on August 28, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

It is not maudlin to address the reality of risks to your health while running and riding.

We all need to be aware of traffic safety, how we run or ride along the side of the road, using the classic rules, with runners against traffic, cyclists with traffic. We also need to pay attention to tarsnake obstacles, unexpected circumstances and just plain weird luck.

Yes, the strange and unexpected really can happen. Like the time I was running through Geneva, IL. and had hopped up some small steps at the corner of Route 38 and Route 31, both state highways. The intersection is busy almost any day of the week, and particularly busy on a Saturday, mid-morning, which is when I stopped and was jogging in place waiting for the light to change.

Then some drops of sweat fell into my eyes. I had just gotten new contact lenses and was careful not to brush them out of my eyes while using my hands to clear the sweat away. And then I heard a deep, strange sound. Metal on Metal. I looked up to see a Volkswagen Beetle flying through the air in my direction. There was nothing to do but jump out of the way, and as I did I grabbed an elderly man and pulled him down the stairs with me. He tumbled awkwardly and landed with an odd thump. But the action has likely saved both our lives.

The gentleman stood up, noticed that his wife had pulled up in a car waiting for the light to change, and got in. Never said a word to me. Not “thanks” or “Hey, that was a close one.” He just got in and rode away.

Glancing back at the car resting on its side on the curb, it all seemed quite unreal. But not thinking about the fact there were probably legal obligations on my part to stick around and describe the accident, I took off running east toward my home.

About halfway across the bridge over the Fox River, my body was wracked with a shiver that came out of nowhere. I could only call it a “death shiver.” When you’ve come that close to dying or being physically maimed by a flying car, there have to be emotional consequences. So I stood bent over at the waist, hands on my knees, wondering if I was going to throw up.

The whole scene is a perfect example of how close some of us come to dying without any direct involvement in the circumstances leading up to the risk. I’m sure you can point to a few moments in your life where you were directly or indirectly threatened without recognizing the potential for impending doom. And then you move on. There is nothing else to do. Perhaps share the story with a few friends; “Hey, something really weird happened to me today…” as they ooh and ahh and you say to yourself, “It really could have been bad.”

A second later and my life would have been changed. Perhaps both legs could have been cut off by the flying Volkswagen. Or a massive head injury. It’s useless to speculate. But not pointless.

I also almost died on the bike about 6 years ago. There is a big cycling loop called the Great Western Trail that leads from our towns in suburbs to towns east and south of us. The trail is a mixed bag of converted railroad beds and paved sections leading through forest preserves and backlots. It runs about 25 miles in a roughly circular loop all the way around Fermi National Accelerator Laboratory.

The only problem with this loop trail is that it cuts across a considerable number of roads. At one point the trail drops from a former railroad bed down a short hill to cross a  major street where the traffic moves at 30 mph. I was riding at 18 mph when the ground seemed to drop out from under me due to the embankment. Hitting the brakes, my tail end came around and I stopped just before the road edge. And at that moment, a car came whizzing past at a speed that surely exceeded the posted limit.

I say there thinking for a moment. “That was a close one. I could have been killed.”

It is not maudlin to consider the possibilities. What is maudlin is to ignore the realities. That is the tarsnake of travel by roads on bike and while running. You really never can be too careful, or alert.

It happens. We have to be alert out there.

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A reality check tarsnake: The “not so green side’ of cycling and running

Posted on August 27, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

Green or not?

Both cycling and running have reputations as “green” activities. That is, they don’t chew up fossil fuels or pollute the environment.

But if you add up your cycling and running miles, and consider where the bulk of that activity occurs, a true accounting might show that most cyclists and runners are highly dependent on use of public roads for their favorite activities.

In a given week, a serious runner who puts in 60 miles of training might cover 80-90% of that on the roads.

Meanwhile, a road cyclist who cranks out 250 miles of training will do almost all of that work on public roads.

Even off-road cyclists are often dependent on public lands to find space to tear through the woods. Cyclocross races also tend to be held in public parks.

Local scene mimics global challenges

In our county there is now some major debate about establishment of a mountain bike park on a giant local landfill. Total development plans call for building an amphitheater and other attractions to make the overall property a regional attraction.

Some of my Green friends have taken to protesting the plans because they would impact the oak woodlands of a long-established forest preserve. That is already where trail and mountain bikers have ridden for years, rather quietly carving out a space in the far northeast part of the property. Their jumps and obstacles are too difficult for a casual mountain biker like me, so I ride around them if I choose to ride through their little domain. The county has tolerated their presence, but residents of an adjacent affluent community have complained at times about the trails that edge their properties.

So the county has had a tough time working with the mountain bikers, who only want to put some rugged terrain to use. It is a rare commodity in our region. The steep banks of a stream and some glacial moraine make for interesting riding. But inevitably the popularity of the spot clashes somewhat with the overall environmental ethic of the forest preserve system. Any visible impact like stripped soil, fallen trees or compacted trails makes some people itchy and nervous.

Advocacy

That is why, about 5 years ago, I wrote a letter to the county proposing a mountain bike park on the landfill. And while you’re at it, I suggested, throw in a road cycling course that includes several climbs up the steep side of the landfill. Use the landfill as a cycling hub for a county that already gets thousands of riders on its roads every week and there would be an economic engine on a site that is essentially nothing more than a big pile of garbage with some dirt on top of it?

It took all of 5 years for that plan to coalesce, based not only on my letter and further phone conversations with county representatives, but also input from many other cyclists, runners, cross-country skiers and many more. Selfishly though, it would make a great place to ride, and it would also not require dedication of delicate environmental areas to riding.

We’re all dependent on roads, not the greenest surface on earth

So you see, all these factors make it tough for cyclists to claim that their sport is entirely green. Dependence on asphalt and concrete roads is not exactly a green ethic. Same goes for runners of course. Wise runners frequently go “off-road” because the feel of running is much more natural and better for your body, with less shock and impact. During college our cross country team did about 50% of its training on dirt roads. That was about the perfect compromise for both training efficiency and a green ethic.

But how many runners really have access to dirt roads? And truth be told: exactly zero road cyclists prefer dirt or gravel to nice smooth asphalt when it comes to riding. You don’t even see that many mountain bikers riding the few dirt roads we have in our county.

Hard surfaces make for hard choices

The tarsnake here is a somewhat false environmental ethic for cycling and running. Both are clearly dependent on hard-surface environments that prevent rainwater absorption, require massive amounts of chemical and material construction and support, and also great amounts of maintenance in all seasons. Tarsnakes in summer. Show removal in winter. Street sweeping. Sewer and drainage upkeep. Curb reconstruction. Shoulder grading. The list goes on.

We can claim running and cycling are Green sports in many respects. Commuting by bike saves gas. Running requires only a pair of shoes (also not exactly Green in their construction or disposal in many cases) and away you go.

But let’s be honest with ourselves as well: Just like the drivers who love to hate us for taking up space on the roads, we need those roads just like they do. It would probably be fair to license cyclists at some level and generate revenue to pay for the less than Green effect of our dependence on tar, asphalt and concrete. Call it an investment in enjoyment. Or a tax on our Brown side. In any event, it’s one of those tarsnakes of ideology that isn’t all black and white. We’re mostly Green, we runners and cyclists, but let’s not pretend we’re perfect, by any means.

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Talking Half-Marathon, Women’s Running and Connections

Posted on August 26, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

At 8:00 a.m on a Sunday morning, the streets are usually quieter than usual. Perfect time to walk the dog and let thoughts wander. It hardly registered with me that that the wooden street barriers lying near street corners indicated a race that morning. When a race is not on your competitive calendar, it hardly seems to exist.

A little after 8:15 a group of four runners when striding past as I was walking the dog and it suddenly registered with me that the race was started. The leaders were clipping along pretty well and I regretted not being able to see them up close to take their measure and speculate over my own chances against the current group of of hotshots, if I were in hotshot shape.

My dog and I ran a block to where two women were sitting eating muffins in the wan morning sunlight. It was slightly overcast with a light breeze from the south. There was a long gap between the leaders and the next group of runners, so my dog and I trotted across the street and joined the Fans sitting next to a STOP sign watching the race.

It seemed like a full minute until more runners came along. The two gals explained they were there to support several friends who were running the race. Not yet realizing the actual distance of the event, I asked if their friends were nervous or anything. “Ohhh, yeah,” the one woman smiled between bits of her blueberry muffin (which my dog was eagerly eyeing), “quite a bit so.”

The next wave of runners approached, accompanied by a few cyclists pedaling along beside them. ‘I wonder what is legal these days,’ I asked myself. ‘It’s nice they want to help, but what’s an unfair advantage?’

The waves of runners grew bigger. I asked the Fans if they were runners too. “We both walk and run,” they both said. “And we’re with the Mother’s Club so we know what this racing stuff is all about. We hold a 5K every spring.”

Indeed they do. The race attracts a thousand or more people each April.

The first women racers came by at that moment. Serious looking gals in their little shorts and tanks, eyes straight ahead, moving together in a pack of four.

Two other Fan Friends joined the watching party at that point. Both were dressed in athletic gear. “Don’t we look the part?” they said as they threw their hands in the air in greeting to their friends.

Both looked fit, but not razor fit. More like fit for health than fit for racing. So I steered the conversation toward that part of the spectrum. “Do you know there’s more women runners now than men?” I asked, wanting to hear their theories on the increasing trend of female participation in aerobic sports like running and cycling.

“Well, running’s about perfect,” said one of the new Fans, who told me she was a small animal veterinarian–because my dog was sniffing her out, checking her food. “Running’s cheap. It doesn’t take much equipment and you can do it on your own.”

One of the original Fans chimed in. “That hour by myself when I’m walking or running is just heaven. I never knew that could be so important.”

“Time away from the kids?” I asked.

“And everything,” she replied, rolling her eyes and tossing her head back to look at the sky.

At that point a runner carrying a Pace Group sign reading 1:30 went striding past. Then it finally registered with me that this was a half-marathon, not just a 5K. Again, it was early on a Sunday morning. Our neighborhood block party had been held the night before. My brain was a little foggy.

“What is that?” one of the Fans asked.

I explained the Pace Group phenomenon, that runners now banded together in pace groups to help them make their goals. The practice evolved over the last 15 years or so, I explained. There would be more to come. “Probably even one with 3:00 hours on it,” I said.

“That’s about what our friends are shooting for,” they agreed.

I explained that one point I got to serve as a race-day escort for a world-class marathoner named Bill Rodgers. A runner came up to our car and shouted in, “Bill, what advice do you have for a four-hour marathoner?”

Bill got genuinely wide-eyed, and replied, “You can run for four hours?”

That remains my theory to this day. There are women and men out there willing to do far more mileage running and on the bike that I really ever liked to do. Oh, sure, as a competitor I trained 100 miles weeks and these days regularly top 50-70 miles on my road bike. But I meet plenty of runners and cyclists without much natural running ability who hit those numbers with some frequency.

At one point Bill Rodgers called it “graceless striving.” Athletes who haven’t got a prayer of going fast, covering the distance any way they can. He later amended his observations to a more nuanced opinion about middle and back-of-the-packers, but the damage, as they say, was already out there. The elite often have little patience or understanding for those who aren’t so swift afoot or on the bike. The respective running and cycling communities are taking care of that through education, and time. Everyone counts, it should be known. No matter how fast or slow. Or how long you go.

Just then several half-marathoners went past wearing minimalist footwear. Both appeared to be mincing along. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” one of the Fans said out loud. “It doesn’t look comfortable at all. I hear podiatrists hate those foot shoes, or whatever you call them. Even those extra-flexible shoes aren’t that good for your feet,” she contended.

These are knowledgeable people, I said to myself. But I couldn’t help sharing a couple observations. “In college we raced barefoot,” I told them. “But that’s because we were crazy.” They all laughed.

More “barefoot” runners came past, looking as if they’d had the bottoms of their feet removed in comparison to all the other runners in the race. Is it good, this minimalist trend? Is the average human being blessed enough bio-mechanically to tolerate the joint torsion of pronation or supination, and the pound. Oh, God, the pounding taken by the feet and legs. Even efficient runners, mid-foot strikers and so-called CHI runners still must absorb the shock of force when running. The tend may or may not last. Minimalist runners may be a little too connected to the earth, it seems.

At about age 38, I found the need to wear orthotics. All those miles in high school, college and post-collegiate competition and training led to some increasingly complex bio-mechanical issues. Then age and a flattening foot plant set in as well. No amount of wishful thinking or barefoot running would change the fact that my feet no longer achieve a neutral plane at any stage during footplant or stride. My pedorthist showed me videotape, and the tape does not lie. So I trust the foot specialists.

Using orthotics and executing a daily routine of physical therapy exercises makes it possible to run healthily and reasonably fast. Last summer in a cross country meet sponsored by a local running club, I jumped in with no real prep and ran 21:00 flat for 3 miles. Won my age group. Finished 10th overall. Sure, my PR for that distance is 14:17. But that was at my physical peak. 7:00 is respectable. It feels like you’re running. That’s enough for me, and most of the runners I know as well.

As the 2:00 Pace Group sign came by I decided not to tell the Fans that my personal record at the half marathon distance is just over 1:10. I raced the HM distance six or eight times and never broke 1:10, a major goal. We all have our thresholds. Never broke 31:00 for 10K either. But had fun trying.

Finally the big packs of runners come along and people I knew in the race started to shout out greetings to me alongside the road. One was a former rival now trundling along with a stride that did not look good for him. “I wonder what’s wrong?” I muttered. Then you remember: Always something wrong in every race. An unwelcome surprise of some sort.

I waved to a former softball teammate running the race with his high-school daughter, a former student in my wife’s preschool. How the world circles around and around us. So many connections.

“Do you know everyone?” one of the fans asked.

Then I noticed the familiar face of a woman I knew that had once posed for Playboy. She still looked great in her early 40s and I thought, “She’s got the same challenges as every mom. Keeping weight off. Keeping tone up. Taking care of her kids.” Only in her case, her children require profound medical treatments to maintain normal lives, if that even describes all they’ve been through. Truly, if anyone in the race knew the real story of that runner (and it has been publicized) she would have been receiving applause from every corner just for being out there. Yet glamour is no guarantee from strife.

Saying goodbye to my newfound Fan friends, who had just seen their buddies pass by on scheduled pace, I trotted away with my dog and the little critter seemed to want to race the humans down the road. He took off and was tearing along, making me sprint to keep up, and glad I’d worn good running shoes instead of sandals.

Then we cut through the neighbor’s yard toward home and left the runners to tarry on. 50% of them men. 50% of them women it seemed. How things have changed, and gotten better in so many ways over the years. Many had waved at us and said thanks as we cheered them on. One even stopped to pet my dog Chuck, who gave the guy his best “i need luv” look and it worked. Then off went the runner. A little happier for the connection with another soul.

That’s what it’s all about, people. Male, female, dog, whatever. Finding our way to connections.

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Every run and every ride is a startup investment in yourself

Posted on August 26, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

We often hear the business media lauding the excitement and importance of startups.

Entrepreneurs are considered heroes. Brave adventurers into the economic unknown. American and world heroes.

We’ll we’re here to say that the most important startup in the world is you.

Because we’ve all seen the result of business people who throw themselves so deeply into their work that their health falls apart. Fattens up. Clogs the heart. And lungs. So enough with that kind of “hero.” What is there to admire in a person who “wins the game” and yet loses the most important thing in life, which is quality of life.

There’s nothing that can make you more uncomfortable in life than being in a business situation where the person across the table is mopping their brow with a handkerchief because their weight is too high and their blood pressure through the roof. It’s enough to make you not want to do business with them. Or just give them the deal…whatever it is. Just get them out of my sight!

And it works the other way around as well. If you have someone on your team or in your company, or the boss of your company is so out of shape they create a scene everywhere they go, you know it is costing you good impressions at some level. People want to know you’ll be there tomorrow if they’re going to shake hands and sign a contract with you or your company. Not a good way to start up business.

So while we love to celebrate the heroics of startup businesses because they contribute to the economy, perhaps a real accounting, a true accounting when you get right down to the numbers, is whether the people pushing themselves to unhealthy lengths in business are contributing more to society or leaching more out of it in the long run. And can we afford it? Can anyone? Especially those who are so obsessed with business they lose sight of themselves?

Have a heart. Help someone start up. 

We can have compassion. Some people working to make a living claim they have no time to work out. Their days are wall to wall work or meetings. But do we really, truly buy that line? As friends and good associates, we need to be guides and compatriots in helping our co-workers and even our bosses back into a healthy cycle. It doesn’t help to start up a company or a deal only to hit the brakes when someone’s health suddenly, or tragically even, slows them down.

When some of us get pushed that far, we still find time between the shower and getting dressed to manage 25 or so pushups, some situps, a few constructive knee exercises and maybe a plank or two. It’s amazing what a 10 minute routine can do to raise your heart rate, build core and posture strength and over the long term, keep things at least manageably together.

Pacing yourself and others

I once served as a “trainer” of sorts for the international president of one of the world’s best known ad agencies. He lived a fast-paced lifestyle, with a mistress and everything. But he wanted to “take care of himself” he told me, and I was in a phase of life where I had time, and the conditioning, to help him do just that. So I led him through intensive workouts in collaboration with his personal coach. He went on to set local age group records and drop his 5K time from 20:00 down to 17:15. He wound up marrying the mistress, by the way. I was his trainer, not his marriage counselor. There are limits in some of these things, you know.

Get in touch with the basics

Even if you run just 20 minutes a day, you are doing tremendous things for your health. It doesn’t matter how fast or far you go. Just get moving. That’s the most important startup investment you can make in yourself.

Inspiration is all around us

There’s a guy down the block from my house that gets up and rides his bikes in almost every season. Mountain bikes all winter. Road bikes all summer. Up at 5:00. Back by 6:30. Off to wherever he works by 7:00 a.m.

And if he can do it, I don’t care who you are, you can do it too. That’s your personal capital, after all. The investment pays not only for yourself, but for the ones you love, who count on you not only for economic support, but for physical health and emotional leadership as well.

Keep it in perspective

Unless you get really, reallly carried away, investing in exercise is always a good investment. It really is the most important startup in your life. You’ll be inspired with new thoughts while you’re out moving, pushing blood through your heart and brain. Forgetting the limitations you impose on yourself and thinking of new ways to invest in your future. It’s a fresh start every day. Like spring rain, running and riding brings the new back into life, and washes away that which is best left behind.

Be your own startup. It’s worth it in every way.

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Running and Riding Through the Tarsnakes of Unemployment

Posted on August 24, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

The Sanitary Sewer of Unemployment

By Christopher Cudworth

See that photo above? It’s a Sanitary Sewer cover on a neighborhood street. The term “sanitary sewer” is an oxymoron if you think about it. Or a euphemism, which is just as bad.

The sewer lid also a quirky symbol for unemployment. Because underneath the lid is all the bad shit you can think about yourself if you let someone dictate your worth and value in this world. The lid itself is your personal character and brand–no matter how dinged up it may be. So shine it a little.

Beyond all that is our running and riding, the literal and symbolic act of keeping ourselves moving despite fears and beliefs that can lock us into place, trip us up with tarsnakes, and cost you life, home and family.

So don’t let it happen. You really can run and ride yourself over all that when you find yourself unemployed.

Young and impressionable

The first time I was technically unemployed was the spring of 1983. My career to that point was off to a decent start, three years out of college and working for an investment firm as a graphic designer in marketing. Working in my “major” and learning the ways of the business world.

The investment firm was a relative startup that grew to be sold to Xerox for $400M. Having worked for a couple years in the Chicago and Naperville offices, the company decided to consolidate its marketing team in Philadelphia. One day the CEO, the man who’d hired me, walked in and said. “We’re moving you to Philly this August.” It was June.

But in less than 6 months after moving to Philly, things had gone sour for the marketing group. I recall a conversation while riding in on the train one morning with one of the top salesman in the Wholesale group, who turned to me and said, “What are you guys doing, anyway? We’re not getting anything we need to sell. If you keep this up, you’ll all be gone.” He was more than prophetic.

Our Marketing VP leader was an effete Easterner who believed quite a bit in marketing theory but seemed to know very little about marketing practice. He also might have been sleeping with the Assistant VP. And as we all know, distractions can get in the way of performance, and the other way around.

Eventually the company simply fired the whole department. Lock, stock and barrel. Gave us all severance checks and said “Bye bye.”

But before moving home, I grabbed some of that severance money and took off on a trip down the Atlantic Seaboard to Assateague Island, the wildest place in the world I could find. I went for long solo runs on the wave rocked beaches. Shed clothes and went swimming in the ocean with watched other crazy hippy couples making love in the mist. Ran headlong naked and barefoot trying to regain a sense of self in the face of so the personal chaos.

The trip worked short-term wonders. Then I moved back to Chicago and refused to take another job for a while. Just ran and ran and ran, trying to get to be the best I could. And I did. But that’s a tale for another day.

Dealing with the no fun factor

But the fact always remains, being unemployed is generally no fun. Perhaps people with big severance packages and sources of other income can just relax and search for a job. Or call up a rich uncle and go work for the family business a few months till things pan out. But for most of the rest of the world, being out of work is a daily path of anxiety and dread. It strains relationships and bank accounts. Makes you testy and nervous and desperate feeling, all at once.

But I have to tell you, my early experiment in being unemployed has helped, over the years, whenever job loss or circumstance demanded it. I have used running and riding to keep sanity, wick off stress, gain perspective and maintain self esteem. Running and riding help you ride over the sewer lids of your own worst fears.

Running and riding have allowed me to think, to regain creative perspective, to solve problems and release anger. Running and riding have taught me that keeping yourself in shape is the same thing as keeping your hopes alive.

Persistence and perseverence

The important thing when going through unemployment is to be persistent, faithful and aware of the many things you need to do to find a job. Especially networking. Making yourself aware.

It has happened like lightning before, on the basis of a single phone call. Other times it has taken months.

But that summer of 1983 did teach me important skills in how to manage the mind and not let yourself feel like less of a person because someone else determined they no longer need you. Despite all the world says, you are loved, if you know where to look. And how to run. And how to ride. Because these things open our minds to our mission. Which is living well in all circumstance.

Despite the sewer lids.

 

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First Day of School. No Bikes.

Posted on August 23, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Monte Wehrkamp

They file past the house, in twos and threes, sometimes one by one. Fresh, clean backpacks slung over their shoulders. Some walk in silence, head down. Others engage in bright, cheery chatter.

Ah, the first day of school. I watch the procession, coffee cup in hand, dog at my feet, as she and I make our way along the sidewalk in front of the house. The dog, old, blind and deaf, goes about her business and pays no heed to the parade of boys in rumpled cargo shorts and girls in tight skinny jeans.

But there’s one thing I notice.

No bikes.

For this former bike-to-schooler, it’s weird. Like something’s missing from the first day of school. Like these kids are doing it wrong.

Is it no longer cool to pedal to school? I ask, because I don’t know. Is it better to walk than to wait at the corner astride a 10-speed, waiting for the neighborhood gang to form, then race off together, weaving and jumping and sprinting all the way to the junior high? (There I go again, dating myself. I should say, “middle school.”)

In my day, walkers were lame. Many school days I’d find a way to balance my trombone case across my bars, rather than submit to trudging my way to school. Even when the sky was spitting snow and a bone-freezing wind was racing in from Wyoming or North Dakota, we rode. After basketball or football practice, with hair still wet from the shower, we rode.

My brother set the record for school bike riding. Around third grade, he decided he had better things to do than sit in class. So we’d ride to school, usually with the other neighborhood kids. I’d lock his and my bikes together in the rack and run to my room to beat the bell. However, my brother would double back, unlock his bike, sneak out of the playground, past the playground monitor and the crosswalk guard. Then he was free. He rode to the dime store to buy candy and comics. To the river that runs through my hometown where he’d throw rocks or look for tadpoles. Meander along our town’s bike path, just…because. Some days, he even rode home, watched TV for awhile. But then, right before school let out for the day, he’d race back to the bike rack and be waiting for me as if he’d been in class the whole day. He even found a girl in his class with very adult handwriting to forge my mother’s signature on absence notes to his teacher.

He’d have gotten away with it, too, had his teacher not said to my mother (a teacher herself) during a parent-teacher conference, “He’d have done so much better this semester had he not been so sick.”

“So sick?” Mom asked.

“Yes. Look at all these days he missed.”

“What!?”

Not that this stopped him. A few weeks later, Dad drove home from work early one day. As he drove along, out of the corner of his eye he saw a kid with white-blonde hair, wearing his Sunday corduroys (we weren’t supposed to wear them to school), astride a green 10-speed. Busted again.

So, all you kids walking to school — you’re missing out. I feel a little sorry for you, seeing you trudging along. Not that you have to go to school, but that your means of arrival looks so…resigned. It’d be much better if you were riding your bikes, racing together, beginning your day with a sense of possibility and adventure.

Just ask my brother.

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The mechanical genius learns a hard lesson on bike repair and maintenance

Posted on August 22, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

When you’re a kid learning to fix your bike and you’re not a mechanical genius, there are bound to be a few mishaps. All those bolts and nuts holding your bike together are so, bolty and nutty, for starters. And if you don’t know what we mean by bolty and nutty, well then you probably actually know how to fix your bike. But you can read on for laughs.

Those of us who don’t know how to fix our bikes. Well, we putter and suffer.

So imagine this kid with a regular large framed bike with bogus uncool handlebars. He wants to stick a pair of Sting-Ray handlebars on his otherwise boring bike. Those of you with mechanical instincts already know there is something going wrong with this picture. The handlebars stick up way too far for a regular framed bike. It’s not going to work. Not really.

But a kid determined to have Sting-Ray handlebars does not consider this to be a mechanical impediment. He or she does not expect or allow reality to intervene in the decision-making.

Problem: The eagerness to see how it looks generally trumps all safety precautions. Like actually tightening the handlebars properly. If you are a mechanical genius, or even a person with a modicum of good sense, you can see where this is going.

So the old bike with the Sting-Ray handlebars is now ready to ride. Or so you think.

To give it a Super-Go now that the bike is looking so sporty with its extra-tall Sting Ray handlebars, the budding young mechanic pushes his bike way back from a short, sharp hill at the end of the yard, then jumps on and starts pedaling fiercely toward the hill in anticipation of a First Big Jump, Sting-Ray handlebars proudly held up at shoulder level.

In preparation for the big jump, the young rider gives a massive tug on the Sting-Ray handlebars to gain air time. Upon which said Sting-Ray handlebars immediately come loose at the headset and go swinging down toward the wheel while the young cyclist is still in what qualifies… as mid-air. It all ends in an ugly, sorry way, with young nuts striking the top bar and pantlegs getting tangled in the chain. It takes minutes to extricate limbs and clothing from the bike. And the pain, of course. Then comes the assessment: Is anything really hurt? No? Good God, at least you survived that mechanical mistake.

The bike lies there in a strangely twisted heap. The handlebars point down and the bike chain writhes in the grass like a dumb metal snake. This is a lesson not to be forgotten. Tighten your handlebars, dummy.

It doesn’t take a mechanical genius to learn that.  It’s surprising sometimes how easy it is to forget. To tighten things. Add air. Flip the brake mechanism. And so on.

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The moment you knew you were a runner (or rider)

Posted on August 22, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

By Christopher Cudworth

When you start to know

There are few absolutes in the world, and pointing to the moment in time when you knew you would be a runner or a cyclist is a little tough to pin down for most.

If, as an adult, you decided it was time to do something about your weight and you starting running or riding (or both) as an exercise program, then you probably have a clearer history than most.

For some it is not so clear. There might be early experiments in running when you were in gym class, and you kind of liked the feel of it. But it was probably uncoool to really like it when your friends were all complaining that they had to run two whole miles in gym class.

The epiphany conversion

In 7th grade our gym teacher had us participate in one of those physical skills programs where you climbed ropes, did pushups and other exercises, and run as fast and far as you could in 12:00.

I ran two miles. In Red Ball jets. And that gave a hint that I might be a runner.

The accidental truth

That next spring in baseball our team had practices in early March. The coach wanted us to get in shape as we learned fundamentals. At the end of practice he had us all do 10 pushups and then run around a flagpole way out in centerfield. I was beating everyone back to home plate by the full length of the ball diamond. So he made me do 12 pushups, then 15, then 20, until it nearly evened out the time spent doing pushups with the time it took to catch everyone and reach home plate again after a lap around the flagpole.

I hated pushups. But loved the challenge. It was a fearsome challenge looking up after 20 pushups on skinny arms to find half the team half the way to the flagpole. But then off I’d tear. Determined to beat the lot of them.

The coaches marveled at this competitive streak. They also knew I needed to do pushups, my arms were so skinny. But catching everyone on the team at the end of every practice also gave a hint that running might fit into my future.

The decision made for you

But it was my dad that really decided it for me. Come freshman year in high school, I dearly wanted to go out for football. Yet I weighed 128 lbs and was nearly 6′ tall. That sport would have ruined me even though I won the Punt, Pass and Kick title in our little town and advanced to districts.

Instead my father took me to the high school the first day of fall sports and said, “There’s the cross country locker room. You go in there. And if you come out, I’ll break your arm.”

So it was decided. And cross country suited me perfectly, wicking off the manic energy of an anxious, creative mind and turning me into a real runner. Skinny legs and all.

We all evolve one way or another

Deep down, we’re all mudskippers

It’s funny in a way that we can transmogrify from sports like baseball or football into runners. Sometimes the evolution is profound, like a mud skipper wading up from the slime, you suddenly find your flippers can do something useful other than walk up and down stairs. They can carry you to new sights, or pedal you up and down mountains, or across a state. Even a country. Pretty useful things, those flippers. Crawling up from the slime. You’ve evolved. Darwin would be proud of you.

The sport has carried me that way for 30+ years. Through every challenge in life, running has been there like a release. An intense and discomfiting release at times, but a release just the same.

Sometimes a gift

When cycling came along for me, it arrived through the gift of a Trek 400 steel frame bike from my brother-in-law. By then I knew how to handle the new obsession. Get out as often as you can. Watch and learn. Let the sport test you so that you can learn to test yourself.

It’s an amazing process we all go through, choosing our sports. Or having them choose us. It doesn’t matter. The result’s the same. There when you need it.

But at some point you know, and can tell yourself aloud when no one’s looking: “I’m a runner.” Or, “I’m a cyclist.” And if you say it’s so, it is. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.

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The Nike Air Edge and the previously Untold Equipment Addiction Conspiracy

Posted on August 20, 2012 by Christopher Cudworth

It was a simple purchase. Buying new road racing flats. But I am these days convinced it really was a plot of some sort. A clandestine experiment to see how much joy in running a human being could take.

It was those Nike Air Edges. You probably do not know about this shoe. They were only manufactured for one year. This is clear evidence that the controlled experiment was confined to a small group of individuals like myself who fell for the tragically insane comfort and responsiveness of these racing flats made by Nike, the grand masters of shoe addiction around the world. Did you see the recent London Olympics? Almost every distance runner wore bright yellow Nike racing spikes. Tell me that wasn’t a planned coup! But I digress.

If the original Nike Air Edge racing flat not been some sort of corporate intrigue by Nike, then why were the shoes discontinued when they in fact produced incredible effects in the people who wore them?

Let us take my humble participation in this secret experiment for an example. And perhaps my bravery in exposing this massive intrigue will encourage others to confess their dependency on favorite shoes as well.

The Nike Air Edge was a brilliant combination of air sole in the heel and hugely responsive shoe foam in the forefoot. This enabled this simple racing shoe to absorb shock through the heel when you needed it, but did not slow you down when you were a forefoot striker doing 5:00 pace or better.

Yes, I know. That’s absolutely insidious, isn’t it? To make a shoe so good that it works two ways. And it was awfully wonderful to be a victim of the design genius of this particular shoe.

That year I raced 24 times, won 12 races and set PRs at 5K, 5 miles, 10K, 15K and 10 miles. Yes, it’s a tragic story already, I know. But it also involved PRs at the half marathon and 25K as well. Do you see what I mean? This was an absolutely cruel game for Nike to play, tantalizing me toward a full, absolute commitment to running. But here’s the tricky part: I could no longer tell if it was the shoes or me that was doing the work.

The Nike Air Edge was an evil, brilliantly conceived scheme to take over our lives, you see. In fact, the very next year I got married in a pair of silver Nike Pegasus. It’s true. And I gave Nike Pegasus to all the groomsmen, who wore them in the wedding as well. What kind of person does this? Never mind that it was my wife’s suggestion to make the Nike

The Nike addiction conspiracy is on full display in this wedding photo.

Pegasus our footwear of choice, and that the shoes matched wonderfully with our silver and charcoal tuxedos. That’s how this whole conspiracy addiction thing works, you see. They rope you in and then even your closest associates and loved ones become enablers. You begin to wear Nikes for all sorts of other occasions. Even at nudist camps, for God’s sake. It was a conspiracy, I maintain. It really was. The voices in my head told me so.

It has taken years to get over the Nike Air Edge addiction. Treatment has included wearing racing flats by adidas, Puma and Asics, but nothing worked completely or as well as the Nike Air Edge. And once you’ve had a pair of perfect racing flats, it’s just like being an alcoholic. You can’t just settle for just any old shoe, or race and train halfheartedly. It’s either all or nothing. All in or all out. But I have only myself to blame. Putting one foot in front of the other in a pair of Nike Air Edges was like being hooked on smack. They don’t call it the 12 Step Program for nothing.

The joy of the perfect Air Edge lasted just a year. Then Nike tried to wean us distance runners off the perfect shoe. But it wasn’t easy. The Nike Air Edge appealed to those of us who fell easily for cosmetic gifts as well. For starters, the Air Edge had two different colored Nike swooshes, red on one side and blue on the other. I know, that’s really mean-looking, right? And the texture of the exterior surface of the shoes was almost velveteen. You could have sex with those shoes they were so sweet.

And the tread. Oh, God, the tread. The Nike Air Edge had fabulously designed tread that, get this, actually swayed to the arc of its curved last. Now that’s just cruel. Because it made running so natural and clean, and the rubber on the insole never failed to grip the road surface, not even in wet conditions. I recall running straight through puddles on my way to victory during the Frank Lloyd Wright 10K that year. Splish splash splush. And the water didn’t even seem to soak in, I was going so fast. Tra la la. That is really not something you can sustain forever, you know.

That kind of fearless running is not healthy or realistic. And I think that’s why Nike decided that despite the tremendous success of their experiment, they simply had to discontinue the Nike Air Edge or there would be dire consequences. Like, runners who ran themselves to death. It would not do to have runners collapsed in the ditches with news media standing around, holding out recorders and cameras while the vapid runner gasped his last words, “It was the Air Edges.”

To wean runners off the Nike Air Edge, the company turned the model into an all air-sole shoe the following year, but it was absolutely not the same shoe. Too much cushiony air under the forefoot actually slowed you down.

But now I realize: The “new” Nike Air Edge with an all airsole was like methadone. Not the same rush as the original, but it did serve to mask the the effects equipment addiction and allowed you to again function in society.

Oh, those of us involved in the experiment would still show up at 10ks with that hopeful look in our eyes, dreaming that the new Nike Air Edge would float us to victory. But it was never the same. Not without the original Nike Air Edge.

I once met with a counselor who told me it was important to confront unresolved issues in your life. So this is the first time I have confessed being part of Nike’s Untold Equipment Addiction Conspiracy. It feels good to get it out there, and confess. Tell the world that yes! I wore Nike Air Edges and I’m proud of it. Never mind that I never set another PR on the track or road racing again. It was worth it, damnit! I’m glad they used me and then spit me out. It was wonderful being used, and I’d do it again. And again. And Again. And AGain. Well, I think you get my point. It was wonderful. It really was.

But God I hope they never issue the Air Edge again.

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