This guy almost gave me a heart attack. His.

Posted on March 7, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

While working on a mural project this week I was trekking in and out of the restaurant carrying paint and ladders when a fellow stepped out of a garbage truck and gestured to his chest. “I think I’m having a heart attack,” he told me.

He was not wearing a mask, but that was the least of my worries at that moment. His complexion looked fine. He wasn’t sweating up a storm. But his breathing was thin. He bent over as he talked about the fact that he’d been feeling weird in the chest all morning. “It hurts,” he said.

“Have you had a heart attack before?” I asked him.

“No,” he replied. “But I’m diabetic. And I smoke.”

He walked across the alley and leaned against the wall. “I just ate,” he told me. “So that’s good.”

For a moment I thought, “Heartburn.” But his affect looked much worse than that.

“Do you want me to call the EMTs?” I asked.

He stood thinking about that for a moment. “I’m gonna call my wife first,” he said. I stood a few feet away as I’d done from the start. While he was talking with his wife, I texted my wife. “I’m with a guy who’s probably having a heart attack,” I typed. “She texted back: ‘Careful, might be Covid.”

He hung up. “I only have three stops,” he offered. “Maybe I can finish up.”

“Aahhhh, well…” I suggested. “Does your boss know how you’re feeling?”

We talked for a minute. I was eager to call 9-1-1 on his behalf. His condition was not getting better.

“I’m gonna call my boss,” he agreed.

“Do you want me to call 9-1-1?” I asked.

He shook his head yes. I walked up the street to get away from the noise of the garbage truck parked near the curb. On the way I noticed a flat, red line painted on the wall. That’s not what I wanted to see happen to this guy.

I reached the 9-1-1 dispatcher who kept me on the line while she touched base with the EMTs. Within minutes the ambulance pulled up to the intersection I described to the dispatcher. I waved them down and they parked and the team of paramedics climbed out of the vehicle. I’ve watched EMTs in action a few times. These guys walked up to the garbage truck guy with an experienced eye.

My job was done. The dispatcher hung up the phone once we confirmed things were under control. Thanks to HIPPA laws I had nothing more to contribute to the situation. They can’t tell me anything. I can’t really tell them anything. The guy in question nearly gave me a heart attack. His. That’s all I knew or would ever know. I tried not to give it back to him. Got him to think things through for safety.

A few minutes later on another trip back to the car I encountered a police officer at the scene. “I know you can’t tell me much, but I hope he’s going to be okay.”

“They’re taking him to the hospital. That’s all I can tell you,” the officer offered.

“He didn’t want to go,” the policeman continued. “You know, the ‘guy’ thing. No one wants to admit they need help. But thanks for calling this in.”

I’ve known a few folks who went through situations like this. A heart attack or stroke is scary business and often sudden in nature. One minute you’re fine, the next minute the corpuscles are backed up and the heart or brain says “screw this” and seizes up or goes into lockdown.

It is always better to take precautions than to deny the situation or pretend you’re okay when you’re not. The people who care about you and even the people who don’t know you but want to help need your cooperation in those circumstances. That guy on the street almost gave me a heart attack. His. But I handed it off to those who could really help him. That’s what all of us should do in that situation. As fast as we can.

I’m trained in CPR but the jury is still out on how effective once person can be in keeping another alive during a heart attack. This isn’t some game of chicken. Why chance it?

At the end of the day while walking out to throw my stuff back in the car, I noticed a set of gloves lying on the ground. That’s probably all I’d ever see of that fellow again. I doubt he’ll come back to get a set of $5.99 gloves but if he’s going to live to work another day at his job. That’s what counts the most.

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The fabric of life and a sense of home

Posted on March 4, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

I’m substitute teaching at the high school a block from our former home in Geneva, Illinois. The streets look the same as they always did. The giant cottonwood tree on the corner of the block was a favorite waiting place with my children as we paused to let traffic clear. We lived there for ten years, then moved to a town five miles down the road. Started life all over again.

Watercolor by Christopher Cudworth

Yet one never leaves a place called home completely. Just past the high school, about a half-mile from our old house, sits the outdoor track. These days it is surrounded by an eight-foot fence to deter unwanted visitors. Many years back a crew of kids built a four-foot-tall BMX dirt mound in the middle of the football field. One has to admire the panache of that act. Surely it was some sort of territorial statement against the traditional domain of jocks.

In any case, that act of defiance led to the tall fence and the end of my using that track for training. I was angry at the time because my history with that oval goes way back, into the early 1980s before I was a father and a homeowner. My rented carriage house was a prized haven for pot-smoking friends. At the age of 23 I was dating a 33-year-old woman who loved getting high. She never understood why I liked running so much. The only time she saw me train was a warm afternoon when my best friend and I ran a set of twelve 400s together while she sat in the stands smoking a joint. After the workout, her main observation was that our legs seemed to move in perfect synchronization. It was true. We’d felt that during the workout.

I also ran plenty of solo workouts on that track, but was not always completely alone. One evening the high school cheer squads were practicing and I covered dozens of laps to the sounds of teen spirit.

On another night I was running a set of five one-mile repeats at 5:00 per mile. After the second mile, a crowd began to gather in the stands and a soccer match startup up soon after. I completed my workout to the initially curious stares of the fans. As the mile repeats continued, a few voices began to be directed toward me. “Way to go,” one woman called out. “Nice pace,” another said. When I was all done running and jogged around the track to cool down, a couple player on the opposite team gave me the lookover. One nodded his head as in, “I can see you were moving.”

I don’t know why I remember these incidents and old haunts so well. They are part of a fabric that seems to move around with me through life. Live in one place long enough and the world around you is a quilt of experience and a tapestry of time. Some of it eventually fades in color or depth––but not all––if one brings the memories alive on occasion.

That track is still surrounded by an eight-foot fence, but it can’t keep out the sense of home I felt while circling that track again and again. A part of me is woven into that space forever, and it into me.

Posted in 400 meter intervals, 400 workouts, aging, competition, healthy aging, healthy senior, running | Tagged , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Changing appetites

Posted on March 1, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

Today is March 1st here in the center of the universe, or as close as we can get in Illinois. That means the northern hemisphere of Planet Earth is on its way toward the vernal equinox. Spring. The light is changing.

Staring down at the subtle ring of winter fat around my waist, I realize that sub-zero temperatures have a cost. We stay in more, and eat more. Comfort food. Compensation. Submitting to our immediate appetites.

Spring is all about changing our appetites. This past Saturday the sun shone and temperature crawled toward fifty degrees. I hauled the road bike down, pumped the tires just under 100 psi for safety on possibly wet roads and wrapped in layers of late-winter cycling gear, then rolled out for a twenty-five mile ride.

It was so quiet out in the country that I stopped just to listen. To the solitude. The winds were low and the snow banks were still high. They might well have been piles of sugar. That’s probably what my body was thinking. Ride right past them. Change your appetites.

In any case, the world was in transition. Changing from frozen to free. I was happy just to be riding, especially on the way back with a slight tailwind. I averaged just under 16mph for the day. Base building. Time in the saddle. Breaking in the butt. I’m not much for the indoor trainer, you see.

After a few of these rides, the appetite for training kicks in. When that happens, we’re more disciplined with our eating habits and our early morning routines. Changing appetites. It’s the way to go.

Soon the fields to the right and left of the road will be plugged with lines of seed. The first green sprouts show up like a haze across the dirt. We’re riding through spring into summer, when the appetites will change again. Get into the rhythms. Change your perspective. Change your appetites.

And go.

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February thaw and feeling it for real

Posted on February 24, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

Today might have been a nice day to get out and play on the roads. The February thaw we’ve been waiting for began in earnest this morning. Temps hit forty-four degrees. The 21″ snowbanks are sagging now. The earth welcomes the moisture or it runs down the gutters into the run off systems. The river two miles away will carry salt for weeks. I always wonder if the fish can taste it.

The cardinals have begun singing in our neighborhood. They like to perch in the morning sun in the most obvious possible spot.A few years back, I painted this image of a cardinal in early spring, one of my favorite times of the year.

Northern Cardinal in Spring by Christopher Cudworth

These days my approach to spring is considerably different than it once was. Two days ago the faint smell of sun in winter air reminded me of doing an indoor track meet in Sterling years ago. It was time to test my state of fitness before the racing season began in March with the Shamrock Shuffle, a five mile road race that kicked off the racing year in the Chicago area. I ran a 9:28 indoor two-mile and felt pretty solid about the effort. But the weather never warmed up that year and we wound up racing five miles in sixteen-degree temperatures in a race that looped around Montrose Point with the freezing winds whipping off Lake Michigan.

I managed to run 26:15 that day. Not fast, but the winds were so fierce and cold all I wanted to do was get the race over. If memory serves, I got about sixteenth place.

These days there are no pressures to race so early in the season. Of course last year, the surge of the pandemic canceled races starting in March. The previous year, we raced in the Champion of Trees 10K t Morton Arboretum. At the mile point, it started snowing like mad. Big, white flakes that melted when they hit your face and eyelids. I love sensations like that. Any more, it’s one of the big reasons I find to race. Being in the moment.

We did race a few times last year, which produced sensations both good and bad. Doing an Olympic distance tri in the heat of Springfield in July? Hmmmm. Racing a Half Ironman on a cool September day in Madison, Wisconsin? That was an “in the moment day” all around. First ever finish at that distance.

The last race was an Olympic over in Muncie. I was grateful for all three safe opportunities to get out there and “feel it” for real. That’s my goal whatever I’m going. What are your goals this year?

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, competition, race pace, racing peak, running, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , | 1 Comment

A diverse kind of workout (Part II)

Posted on February 19, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

Going into the mural project this week, I estimated that the main 45-foot wall would take three days to complete. That projection was based on prior projects of relatively similar size. Even so, what I did not anticipate is the energy it took to execute this work. Here’s a video of the first portion. I have a few smaller walls to render early next week.

A postcard-style rendering of the word Chicago, a take admittedly borrowed from mural painters who tour the country doing this type of work. “Beginning artists copy…mature artists steal.” –Unknown

I’m fairly fit right now even in the middle of winter. I recently explained to a middle school gym class where I served as a substitute teacher that my resting heart rate is between 45-50. They had all just taken their own pulse rates that morning. When I asked them what they thought my HR would be, one of them guessed “100”! That’s probably how old they think I am. You know how it is when you’re that age. Anyone with gray hair or a bald head might as well be a thousand years old. Old People are just that: Old.

I’m not that old in terms of relative physical health. My blood pressure is typically 110/78 or so. Sometimes it’s up if I’ve been rushed or stressed going to the doctor’s office, but that’s normal. Our bodies respond to environmental and mental pressures.

Those kids kept guessing my heart rate as I gestured “DOWN” with my thumb as it went from 90 to80 to 70…and 60…then they started getting suspicious. They were all sitting in their assigned spots in the gym and one boy spun around to look at me and said, “Sixty? You’re half dead!”

I said, “Lower!” and gestured again with my thumb.

“Fifty?” one girl quietly asked. I stood still a moment for effect. Then I said, “45. That’s what my heart rate was last night.”

That drew a rolling wave of groans and weird noises from the class. “The lowest it’s ever gotten,” I told them. “Was 38.”

The central part of the mural.

Big eye rolls. I went on to explain. “I’m a runner. And a cyclist. And I swim. So my heart is trained from years of exercise. You can do that too…” That made me stop and think about all the other activity life calls upon us. Walking the dog…in my case, that’s a mile and a half every day. Climbing stairs…my Garmin clocks those trips and gives me a GOAL! when I’ve hit ten per day. And steps…the Garmin also measures that. Usually more than 10,000 a day, far higher when I run.

Who knows if sharing my experience made any sort of positive impression on the kids. I do know that one young girl turned to me and asked, “Are you a sub?”

“Yes,” I replied.

“Because our regular teacher is mean,” she informed me. “And you’re nice.” So I guess some sort of impression got through. I guess that’s a message to all the gym teachers out there. Have a heart.

As far as I’m concerned, my little old heart is doing a good job inside my chest. My body also does most of what I ask of it. Granted, I’m about half as fast as I once was as a runner. That’s a natural part of the aging process. None of us stays speedy forever.

That said, I could feel that coming home from the mural project each day resulted in a different kind of “tired.” My wife could see it in me. The effort. The mental concentration. The physicality of climbing up and down ladders, checking my balance and holding the palette on a thumb injured in my bike accident weeks ago. The painting motion itself is a physical task. It all took a bit of measured effort.

Don’t get me wrong: I wasn’t sad that I was tired each. Grateful, more like, that I can still do the things I like to do. Happy that while I’ve banged up my body through years of exertion and athletics it still gets the job done. I collapsed on the couch a bit before dinner, soaking in the satisfying sensation of working hard and having something to show for it. I love that feeling. Live for it. I didn’t run or bike or swim all week. But I didn’t really need to. My wife sensed it too.

What I’m telling you is that while our running, riding, and swimming is important to us, it’s not the only thing that should fulfill us either. Having diverse interests is a different kind of workout, but it is healthy in so many respects.

Posted in aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, bike crash, Christopher Cudworth, cycling, running | Tagged , , , , | 1 Comment

A different kind of workout

Posted on February 17, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

Over the last two days my entire focus is on a mural project that I’m creating for a restaurant. The wall on which it is painted is thirty-five feet wide. I stand on a step-ladder to reach the upper parts of the mural. Up and down the ladder I got, mixing paints and cleaning brushes. By day’s end I’m fairly exhausted.

One half of the mural in progress.

I’m not getting athletically fitter or improving aerobically, but it is satisfying work nonetheless. The mural is separated into a Chicago side and a Lombard side. Tying the two together creative is the main focus of the project.

This is all acrylic paint, the medium in which I’ve worked for forty-plus years. It mixes with water, not turpentine, so it’s the easiest to use.

Working at this scale is not unfamiliar to me. Way back in college I painted a set of murals for the Lake Meyer Nature Center in Calmar, Iowa. Each was 4′ x 8′ and focused on different habitats. As far as I know, those still stand in the facility.

Following this project, I have another one coming up with another restaurant. This burst of opportunity is greatly appreciated, and came about when I noticed a posting on a friend’s Facebook page. I’ve been covered in paint and pastel for days now.

When this is done, I’ll get in some good runs and swims, maybe some outdoor riding if the weather moderates. But right now, I’m plenty tired when I get home at night.

If you’d like to follow more of my work and even get involved in a live painting event soon, I’ve opened a site at Patreon.com/christophercudworth where my art and nature work will be featured.

For right now, this is sure a different kind of workout.

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Feeling out of shape? Hang in there

Posted on February 12, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

We all know the feeling. A touch of flab around the waist. Tight pants. Sluggish on the run. Unmotivated and defeated by the cold.

Hang in there. It doesn’t last forever.

We miss a few workouts due to work obligations. It’s okay.

The scale shows a few extra pounds. That’s okay too.

The weather is too cold in northern North America. Too hot in Australia.

Be patient. Hang in there.

Maybe a nagging injury won’t let up. Think alternative training. Hang in there.

While recovering from my ACL surgery, I took it literally a step at a time. Walked a half mile. Then a mile. Then three miles. Ventured a few jogging steps. In a few months, I was running again.

Feeling out of shape? You can do it. Hang in there.

You know it’s worth it. You know you can do it. Keep the faith.

There will come a day soon enough when you feel like going those extra miles. Extra minutes.

Hang in there. You won’t feel out of shape forever. Not if you don’t quit.

So don’t. Quit.

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Life is one big classroom

Posted on February 9, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth
Subbing for a physical education teacher today.

On the subject of teaching, the cynics of the world are sometimes quoted as saying, “Those who don’t know how to do, teach.”

That irony of that dichotomous reality is ably captured in the movie Mr. Holland’s Opus, in which Richard Dreyfuss plays a music teacher caught in the vise of budget cuts late in his career. His situation is compounded by the irony that his buddy at the school is a PE teacher whose programs will remain intact.

The backstory is that while teaching is his profession, it is not Mr. Holland’s deepest passion. His main goal in life is to compose great music of his own. The “Opus” takes all his career to complete because his teaching obligations, and life itself, keep getting in the way. The work he ultimately produces is a symphonic piece combining classical, marching band and rock music. It all ends with a triumphal crescendo, an exclamation point of musical urgency and relief.

The movie ends with a scene in which Mr. Holland is invited to conduct his own music in a concert secretly arranged by his many supporters and former students. These include the Governor of the state, who credits her success in life to the methods by which Mr. Holland taught her perseverance through music training. The point is that Mr. Holland’s Opus was not just a piece of music. It was the many lives he affected in positive ways during all his years of teaching. That was the real symphony he created, a great work composed of many parts.

So the cynical saying that teachers teach because they can’t “do” is an outrageous and insulting lie.

I’ve been told many times that I should have been a teacher. It suits my nature. I love sharing ideas and helping other people succeed. The ironic truth is that those qualities are not necessarily appreciated in the corporate world, where competition for recognition and claiming ownership of ideas, especially moneymaking ideas, are more highly valued traits.

Perhaps teaching runs in my blood. My mother was a teacher for decades. My eldest brother taught for 30 years. My late wife taught special education and then preschool. As a result of these associations and community connections, I’ve been in many classrooms over the years. Most recently, I’ve been a mentor and presenter for the INCubator business program at our local high school.

As mentor for the INCubator program at a local high school

It’s fun working with those kids. It is also instructional to share in the pressures that students face these days in and out of the classroom.

I’ve signed up to do substitute teaching and help out our local school districts. School teachers are dealing with the effects of the pandemic in many ways, so my assignments are diverse. My first day was a daylong schedule of physical education classes. It’s not your traditional gym class these days. The kids choose options such as Walking Gym, Four-Square or basketball.

As I was monitoring one of the Four-Square sessions I noticed that a shy boy wound up as the “fourth” with a group of three girls. He wasn’t too keen on that situation, and quietly muttered to me, hoping to get out of the group, “I don’t really know the rules.” I stepped into the square with him explained strategy, then looked at all three girls and said, “Help him out, okay?” Then I turned to him and said, “It’s all good. They’re just people…with longer hair.” He gave a quick smile and nod. From there, he relaxed and got into the game. It was one of the more productive games among the six or seven going on in the gymn.

Many of us recall moments like that in which teachers helped us break through insecurities, fears, and misgivings. Some were tough influences when we needed a kick in the butt. Others were gentle guides when we needed encouragement. It takes a village.

There are also unintentional teaching moments that happen along the way. When my 8th-grade gym teacher sentenced me to run the whole hour when I refused to play badminton, he had no way of knowing that his “punishment” would turn into a lifelong love of mine. I felt so alive running for a full hour. Probably it was the first time in life when I ran the anxiety right out of my system. Those two weeks of “punishment” helped make me into a runner for life.

Probably if I had become a teacher long ago I’d now be retired. That might be nice, but we each must run the race set out before us. We can’t change the course of our past. That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t run a new course if we so choose, and forge ahead.

I like to teach. I’m doing it in all phases of my life these days. Our Opus is what we make it. No one can write it for us. Nor should they. Life is one big classroom. Let’s learn together. Along with a will to teach, it is great when people adopt an attitude of lifelong learning.

On that note…if you’re interested in getting a tri or runner coach I’m going to help out a few people this year at an affordable rate. Email cudworthfix@gmail.com if you want to improve your training and performance. I know how to help.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, running, track and field, training, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

We’ve all got our swimming crosses to bear

Posted on February 4, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

Today in the pool I swam next to two guys doing 100-meter repeats. One was clearly faster than the other, a tall gent who wore fins to keep up with his buddy. The faster swimmer alternated strokes from freestyle to breaststroke, butterfly to backstroke. That capacity for multiple strokes is the sign of an actual swimmer, one that has likely competed in either high school of college. There are still plenty of Master’s swimmers who keep at it as well, and when I see one of those older guys or gals doing multiple strokes in the pool, I tend to study their form. They typically know what they’re doing. We can all learn from each other.

Swimming background

Growing up, I swam at the Meadia Heights swimming pool south of Lancaster, Pennsylvania. We had a local swim league and I rode around in sweltering cars with other kids to attend meets in Willow Street and other small towns. We ate Jello packets for energy and I learned how to do a flip turn somewhere along the way. I swam freestyle, breastroke and backstroke. Never much butterfly.

Once we moved to Illinois when I was twelve, all that swimming experience went away. There were no public pools within miles of our house in Elburn. Our home did have an above-ground circular pool in our backyard. In winter it would freeze over. Come spring we’d have to catch the toads that somehow got into the pool, then siphon out all those little insects called backswimmers. Once the pool was clean, usually not until late June of so, we’d invite some girls over to see them in their 1970s bikinis. Um, yeah.

Even if there had been a full-scale pool in Illinois, I don’t think I’d have continued in competitive swimming. My focus in sports was on baseball at that age. Our coach in Lancaster did not even allow us to go swimming on game days. That was a wise thing, because swimming all day in the drains the energy out of you fast.

By the time I hit junior high, I played basketball all winter. In high school it was cross country and track in fall and spring. There would have been no time for swimming.

So I didn’t start swimming again until my late 50s. It has been an interesting journey, but one that has its rewards too.

I only swam 1000 yards today, but swam it all at 80-90% effort. The workout started with one 200 yard swim at 3:46 and six 100s at a 1:50 pace. To finish off, I swam four 50s at just under 50 seconds. By the standards of most serious swimmers, that’s not much of a workout by. It only took me 20 minutes. That’s about the same general effort as running three miles. I do that with some frequency too. We shouldn’t diminish the value of any effort. It all adds up to something.

My swim form has improved enough that recent efforts over 1600 yards are encouraging. A week ago I swam under 33:00 for a mile. My goal is getting under 30:00 before we head to open water swimming in the spring.

Improvement is what all of us are shooting for in this multisport/triathlon game. Incremental gains. This morning, my wife ran a series of 400M repeats on the indoor track and averaged under 7:45 pace on all of them. Even a year ago that would have been tough for her. Watching her running improve is a fun thing to share.

We all try to improve where we can and at the rate that’s possible if we keep at it. While changing in the locker room after swimming I could heard the faster swim guys talking loudly in the shower. One of them said, “I try to swim 10,000 yards three times a week.” He went on to explain that when he swims in competitions, he makes sure to shave his body. “When I feel smooth, man, I feel faster,” he enthused. Then he added. “Once a year, I shave my back for one of the bigger meets. But a few days later it gets so itchy I could die.”

We’ve all got our crosses to bear. Some of them come from a razor and some hair.

Posted in 400 meter intervals, 400 workouts, Christopher Cudworth, cross country, running, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Wear patterns say plenty about us

Posted on February 1, 2021 by Christopher Cudworth

While walking the dog this morning I looked down to see my footprints in the fresh layer of snow that fell overnight. The shoes I was wearing are Timberland boots that I’ve owned for five years. They’re still in solid shape, largely waterproof and comfortable in all kinds of conditions.

These days, without need for office time due to Covid-19, the Timberlands are my daily “go to” shoes. They “go” with everything in my jeans closet. They even go with more formal jeans that are a step up from the many colored denims stacked in my closet. We’ll get back to wearing those someday, we hope…

The Timberlands get so much wear that the heel of the Vibram sole is now worn smooth. You can see that effect in the tracks they make in the fresh snow.

That footprint in the snow also shows how I push off with the forefoot while walking. That’s why the snow is removed beneath that part of my foot. On the other leg, my right foot slightly rotates slightly beneath me, leaving a twisting pattern in the snow, the result of compensating for a slightly shorter right leg. On that side my foot sweats more too, because it’s working harder.

I’m pleased that the footprints I leave are clean from front to back. That means I’m walking with integrity. The fact that there are no long scuffs behind each footprint says the gait is clean. My feet also point straight forward, a habit/technique adopted way back in the 1970s when I first started running and read about the importance of not “toeing out” in a Sports Illustrated article on running form.

Back when distance ace Bill Rodgers was dominating the American marathon scene, I recall that when asked what he thought about while running, his response reflected a mindset of attention to detail. “I wanted to everything right,” he observed. He even focused on how he carried his hands.

I can’t help it. I think about these things while out walking or running. Yesterday while walking our dog up the path I cut with the snowblower, I thought about the fact that the things we did yesterday so often impact the way things go today. Yet there’s no going back to fix them. So it pays to walk right the first time, if you can manage it. There’s a life philosophy for you.

I’ll not pretend to be perfect in any way. My character flaws equalize my attempts to live in a state of studied concentration. As such, these wear patterns that start from the ground up reflect both the good and the bad in our world. Perhaps you even find yourself out in the world and you may ask yourself, in Talking Heads fashion…Well, how did I get here?

The answer is: one step at a time. Every one of those steps contributes to the wear pattern of your existence. We also have wear patterns of the mind and emotions. Those of us who wrestle with anxiety slips sometimes from fear to determination and back. If depression catches up to those feelings of anxiety, we run hard just to stay in place some days.

There are triggers to all of that. Wear patterns in our conscious and unconscious minds. Past failures. Current challenges. Those rub our minds raw in places. It can be hard to get a grip on what’s real in terms of fear and what’s only imagined. Sometimes the best thing you can do it literally put your feet up and give your mind time to think.

But I’ve spent so much time around the house of late that over the weekend the thing I needed most was to get out and move.

On Saturday, I ran six miles at 8:40 pace. That’s a relatively hard run for me these days. I still like I needed a run on Sunday too. I stepped out of the house and turned my face into a cold, snowy wind for a five-mile run at a much slower pace. No pressure. No hurry. No worry. Just run.

I’ve learned that the best way to cope with any real and imagined worries fluttering around the brain is to move headlong into the face of it. Let the cold strip away murky thoughts and seek clarity on a cold winter’s day. Sweat out questions when the sun is fierce and unforgiving. Let hard effort deliver a cleansing effect on our whole being.

With luck and perseverance, we arrive home with a new perspective. Sometimes it takes plenty of miles to get there. I so love it when problems get solved, creative ideas enter the mind and hope flows through me, even if arrives at first in small amounts.

Wear patterns are also ‘where’ patterns. They tell us where we are at any given moment. Next time you’re out walking in the snow, the sand or the mud, take a look down at the wear patterns of your feet, and let them teach you how you got where you are. You might learn more about yourself than you ever imagined.

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