Being respectful and sensible on the running and cycling trail during this Stay-At-Home, mask-wearing, Coronavirus debacle

Posted on April 16, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

I’ve been using the recreational paths installed on former railroad beds in our part of the country since 1982. That’s a long time ago and a ton of miles covered on these linear parks.

So I know a few things about trail etiquette. There have been few close calls in terms of possible collisions. On the whole, I’ve always leaned toward safety over speed. But sometimes people do unexpected things while out on those trails. You always have to be alert.

There are new rules of etiquette in place during the pandemic. Principally, these involve adequate social distancing. Staying six feet apart is the basic construct. Yet with moving traffic and the volatility of the Coronavirus strain that leads to Covid-19, there is risk of infecting others or being infected if that stuff gets floating around in the air.

I’ve seen some people walking with masks on. Even a few people riding bikes with masks on. But I’ve yet to see a runner wearing a mask. I think there are good reasons for that. Breathing through a mask of any sort while running is quite difficult. Condensation builds up quickly. Oxygen exchange is impinged. So is release of CO2, the inevitable product of breathing.

No mask

So I don’t wear a mask while running. If I’m running during period when there are lots of people on the trail, I go well around them to avoid them.

Some studies have shown that runners and cyclists are at risk of spreading or contracting the disease if they exercise too close together. The draft created while moving can actually carry airborne virus droplets or particles. That’s why races and large group events need to be canceled and postposed. Until this pandemic is under control through proven medical treatments or a vaccine, the potential spread of the virus in public place is simply too great to bring big groups of people together.

Yet out on the public trails, there is plenty of time to anticipate and respond to social distancing etiquette. If I’m cycling and approach a clog of people at some point on the trail, I wait for them to sort it out and disperse. If necessary, I’ll even unclip and stand back until a group breaks up. It doesn’t happen that often, and I don’t let it bother me.

Don’t be a jerk

Hopefully there are not still aggressive cyclists and runners so obsessed with their personal objectives they refuse to abide in simply courtesy and social distancing measures. I’ve known and have seen plenty of cyclists who act impatiently on the trail or ride far too fast in areas where groups of people tend to congregate. To those cyclists I say “Skip the trail” now and in the future. If you’re capable of going 20mph+ (as I am) on a typical ride a busy trail is no place to force yourself upon the world.

That’s particularly true now that so many casual trail users are out trying to get exercise. I’ve seen far more people out on the public pathways than at any other time in the past forty years. The pandemic has families out walking together. That’s fair and reasonable use of public trails. Most pay attention to keeping their distance.

Just yesterday I was running an unpaved forest preserve path when a family walking together came over the hill. Their two young children stepped aside on the narrow footpath and I actually traipsed through the weeds a little to give them fair margin as well. That’s how most people are responding to all this. They’re considerate of each other.

Read situations

It comes down to reading the situation wherever you go. Unless tested, none of us knows if we’re a carrier of this virus. Even without symptoms, we can spread it around and not know it. If you’re more comfortable exercising with a mask on, that’s all well and good. Those of us that aren’t wearing masks need to respect the space of others more than we usually might. That means accommodating more than six feet if we can, and being patient in every circumstance. That’s basic human respect.

I’ve been a runner close to fifty years and a cyclist nearly twenty. I’ve lived through my share of bad colds and flus during all those years. Brought a few of them on from overtraining and I’m sure picked up plenty of germs from locker rooms and public fountains. So I’m no germophobe, but neither do I think it’s fine to be a germajerk.

Going to the grocery store and other places, I’m largely wearing a mask. While out running and riding, I’m taking a pass on the mask while being extra cautious to give people safe space. That’s being respectful and sensible at the same time.

And when the pools open back up, there’s no way I’m swimming with a mask. That’s where I’m really drawing the line.

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On April and track and field

Posted on April 14, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

Ever since 1970, when I was an immensely skinny 8th-grader competing in track and field for the first time, April has been a vexation on my body and my soul.

I too-well recall stripping off sweatpants to stand shivering in the cold on a cinder track exposed to the northwest winds tearing across Illinois. When the gun went off, my body raced into action, almost without me. We ran two crunching laps with bare limbs flying. There was jostling and swearing on the turns, as young runners barely able to hold themselves steady in the wind tried to stay as close to the curb as possible.

When it was all done, I’d placed second to some angrily pale white kid from Simmons Junior High in Aurora. I was angry to have lost, but eager to get warm again. So I pulled my sweats back on and went for a stiff-legged jog around the track. April, I thought to myself. This sucks.

There would be many more April track meets to come. All through high school we’d train in February and March, run a few indoor meets in stale air and then show up for outdoor track just as the last snow melted off the football field to leave cold, dark puddles on the cinders.

Sometimes during school hours it would snow during the day. We’d stare out the classroom windows at thick sheets of fat April snowflakes coming down and worry about that afternoon’s workout or meet, which surely would freeze our legs.

Wind-addled

But it was the wind that always made April the worst month to compete in track and field. Most April track meets were spent hiding from the wind inside thick nylon sweatsuits that fit no body in the universe.

We’d huddle behind gym bags out on an open field while our teammates competed. Even the voice of the stadium announcer would flagellate in the April breeze. Finally the last call for the mile run would be announced toward the end of the meet. A few of us that had already run the two-mile hours before would get up and run around a little, then toe the line with less-than-enthusiastic looks on our faces. The pistol would crack in the gathering gloom. Then we’d find some withered strain of determination within ourselves to actually start caring about what we were in the act of doing. That’s what distance runners do: suffer for reasons unknown even to their own minds.

Refugees

These April memories are piled on top of one another. I still remember lying on the football field of some godforsaken high school track looking up at a sky washed clean by a 30 mph gale. At that moment I wished I could be anywhere but at a track meet. A jet plane then appeared with a stream of vapors tracing its path. All I could think was “I want to be on that plane.”

Of course that didn’t happen. An hour or so later I stripped down yet again to a pair of nylon shorts and baggy singlet. We lined up for the mile like a band of refugees waiting to cross the border and took off when the gun shot. And for once, it wasn’t that bad out there. My daydreaming about the jet had relaxed me. As the race proceeded and my body warmed to the task, it occurred to me that the leader was just a few yards ahead. I waited until the last lap and pulled even. He looked haggard and sick of it all. So I left him behind. What an unlikely outcome, I thought to myself. I just won the stupid thing.

April’s wet retort

I ran steeplechase in college, an event that added yet another cold element of misery and mystery to the April experience. For seven laps we’d circle the track to leap off the barrier and try to catch as little water as possible in the water pit. But sometimes a splash would shoot up your shorts and hit you square in the testicles. But it was even colder when they had to chip the ice off the pit in early April.

Fickle month

Yet April could just as easily turn into a cruel, hot beast as well. I well recall a college 5000 meter race that began in temps soaring into the mid-80s. One by one my teammates dropped out to gather on the near turn. They stood and cheered as a few of us continued racing. I laughed out loud at the rogue’s gallery of grinning quitters wishing us well. They stood with arms crossed and gave little finger waves as we trundled past.

Today is April 14. As iI look out the window of my home office there is snow coming down from the sky. Ten minutes ago it was sunny. Ten minutes before that it was snowing again. Just now it turned sunny again. The landscaping crew from next door is rubbing their hands together to keep warm.

This morning as I walked the dog, I glanced down at a clump of fresh new grass covered by frost on one side of the clump. “Well that about says it all,” I laughed to myself. “It’s April for sure.”

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Lance Armstrong an icon taking on a new, older look

Posted on April 13, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

Yes, by the looks of things on his Instagram account, even Lance Armstrong is aging. For that admission of sorts, I am proud of him.

It took him years to confess that he’d been doping all along during his string of seven consecutive Tour de France victories. He’d risen so high in the sporting ranks an entire industry flourished as a result of his accomplishments. It eventually emerged that the entire cycling world itself was corrupt at its core. But Lance was its figurehead. And it’s starting to show.

The face of change

Now that figurehead is wrinkling and weatherworn. Lance has long since opened up about his transgression. Some will never forgive him for cheating and making the lives of those that sought to hold him to account a living hell. It was certainly not an admirable trait, to aggressively crush those who simply sought to tell the truth.

The truth from Lance only rolled out of Armstrong grudgingly, bits at a time. That interview with Oprah Winfrey years ago was one of the most awkward, orchestrated confessions of all time.

Exile

For a while after the Big Lie was exposed, we heard little from Lance Armstrong. There were rumors that he was hurting financially. But Lance is a smart guy and made smart investments along the way, and he has made a successful journey back from Tour de France hell. Last year he even made it onto the Tour broadcast.

My wife and I listened to his daily podcasts during the Tour the last two years. His loyal friend George Hincapie makes frequent guest appearances, and former coach Johan Bruyneel as well. Despite the scandal associated with the Lance Armstrong years, the insight and experience of these great cyclists still offer the best insights into the escapades of current cyclists in great races.

A wise visage

But what I most admire about Lance Armstrong right now is that he appears willing to move past middle age without pulling his face into a state of permanent denial through plastic surgery cocoon in which his face gets tightened up and his neck wattle removed. Perhaps Lance is honest enough with himself that he feels no need to hide the effects that riding in all kinds of weather can have on our visage.

We all wish ageism wasn’t a thing. Discrimination toward people with aging faces is a reality that vexes those who have plenty more to give the world. Social pressures and prejudice are hard things to fight in this world. Which is why examples such as Lance Armstrong are important to the rest of us.

Honesty and character

Originally it was the Lance Armstrong honesty about his cancer journey that inspired so many to abide in the Livestrong ethic that it’s better than okay to show vulnerability in the face of life-threatening disease. A philosophy of that order can be found in the book I wrote about the journey through cancer survivorship with my late wife. The book is titled The Right Kind of Pride: Character, Caregiving and Community. Through essays about that journey, I make the point that being willing to be vulnerable is the face of authenticity. People are drawn to that because it shows character. That leads to caregiving and community.

Thus in my mind Lance is showing leadership in showing his “true face” as he ages. It gives a whole new meaning to the brand Livestrong even though he’s no longer the face of the organization.

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If the kit still fits, you must not quit it

Posted on April 10, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

Back when I bought the Felt 4C road bike that got me into serious cycling, I could not resist the kit sold on the Felt Cycling website. It was a Hincapie brand jersey and a set of bibs that finally were finally stretched out beyond recovery and worn through in the seat. Regretfully, I tossed them in the go-away-clothes bin a few years back.

As for my Felt jersey, it remains in great condition and still fits after thirteen years of riding. My weight is slightly higher than when I first started riding but not terribly so. My lowest weight the last thirteen years was 163 lbs. the year that I rode nearly 4000 miles. I’m at 180 these days and have dropped winter weight quickly the last month and expect to be riding at between 170-175 lbs. But if the kit still fits, you must not quit it!

Do you have a favorite cycling jersey/kit that love to wear? Send your pix and why you love your favorite kit to cudworthfix@gmail.com and we can share them on WeRunandRide.com.

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Lessons on Coronavirus from a Starbucks run

Posted on April 9, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

After delivering our pup to doggy daycare this morning, I stopped at the Starbucks a mile away and found it was closed. I was open earlier this week when I picked up drinks to bring back home for my wife and I.

Today I had three orders to fill as her daughter is also working from home. So I drove south to the next Starbucks and found the line reaching back out the drive and up the street. No problem. Not in a hurry or desperate for coffee. I don’t even drink it. Chai tea is my thing, along with other forms of tea. I drink them when I write at Starbucks. I have them as refreshments after workouts. We’ve even used Starbucks restrooms to change after workouts. That’s how I got started visiting Starbucks in the first place.

Waiting in line to order, we came around the corner to find a small sign stating that new hours were going into effect. The last order of the day would be taken at 2:45 p.m. I sat there thinking about that. Why would Starbucks turn down business? The lines are long all day? I was about to find out that answer to that question.

Pulling up to pay for the order, I held my phone up and commented to the server (wearing a mask) that I had an earned free drink to use. He rang up the amount and I commented to him, “The St. Charles store just closed today. And so did the North Aurora location. Are you guys slammed?”

He spun around and said, “Yes.”

Admiring baristas

Behind him one could see the normal hub of activity behind the coffee bar. Now I’d like to make mention that I’ve always admired how Starbucks workers handle the pace of their jobs. I’ve complimented many an employee on their speed, their cheer and efficiency. They call out greetings to customers who enter the store. Even the mobile orders get filled somehow between the counter traffic and drive-through. All while keeping the orders straight and the ingredients balanced. I couldn’t do it. My mind does not work well in circumstances like that.

When the occasion has arisen, I’ve spoken with store managers to offer words of appreciation about these things. One store manager explained that her relatively small location was one of the top volume stores in the entire area. That happens to be our most local Starbucks. And right now it is closed. That still seemed like an anomaly to me. But that’s because I still did not understand what’s been happening out there in the world due to the impact of Coronavirus.

The Starbucks store associate also shared that the reason so many Starbucks are closed currently is the lack of staff to work them. Here I was thinking the store closings were designed to protect profits for the company. I thought they were shutting down locations that weren’t driving enough traffic due to restaurant restrictions in Illinois.

Starbucks options

It turns out the reasons stores are closing is that Starbucks associates were given an option whether to come to work or stay home and get paid. Many of them have taken the safer option. If true, that says quite a bit about the Starbucks company and that it genuinely cares about the health of its associates. For that I congratulate them.

It doesn’t entirely surprise me. From I’ve been told, and what I’ve observed, is that Starbucks treats their employees decently. Their associates get benefits such as health insurance, for one thing. Granted, working at Starbucks is not for everyone. Some people hate franchise and chain coffee stores as a whole. They prefer local coffee shops as a rule. I frequent those as well. A writer loves to have options on where to go.

The fact that Starbucks cares enough about its associate to allow its business model to cave in a bit and fold back the principle of being on every possible corner suggests there are responsible corporate citizens out there in the world. You can hate on Starbucks for a thousand reasons if you like; for its pricey offerings, its clone-like coffee shops, it’s whatever you don’t like. But if the offer to protect its employees is true, there is nothing to hate about that.

Obviously many employees took the option to stay home rather than risk being on the frontlines of customer interactions where exposure to the virus is almost guaranteed. This highly infectious thing we’re all trying to avoid floats in the air and lives on stainless steel for a couple hours. It is the bad dream from which America and the world wish would end. But to do that, we all actually have to wake up.

Wakeup call

The fact of the matter is that there are still millions of people that prefer to live in the dream world that this massive debacle we’re all facing was not the fault of the President of the United States. They claim that no one could have seen this coming. And that’s a lie. He was warned loud and clear by none other than Peter Navarro, the man in charge of trade relations in this country. And there were many more.

Yet Trump acted like a selfish pig sitting there making up his mind about what to order at Starbucks as if there weren’t a care in the world or people waiting on his decision. So concerned was this narcissist with his own re-election he chose for two months to deny that Covid-19 would pose any threat to Americans. Now he’s telling the world that getting through this pandemic with only 200,000 deaths would be a success.

If Trump had his way all those Starbucks employees would be forced to go to work to prove on his behalf that nothing was wrong. “Go back to normal,” he keeps saying. “Fill up the churches on Easter,” he suggested. “This will all blow over,” he tried to say from the start.

I don’t blame those Starbucks employees from staying home from work. Their jobs are appreciated but not necessarily essential in terms of daily survival. People can live without expensive coffee and boutique breakfast sandwiches. We all get that. Some of our daily choices are definitely an extravagance of convenience, we’re learning now.

But lying to the American people was an extravagance on the part of Trump the nation could ill afford. The President lied to protect his own political interests, and that is all. He wanted to pretend the economy was safe from a pandemic when it was not. His obfuscation was a crime against all of humanity. Of that we are all now well aware.

His supporters still take to social media to trumpet his triumphal accomplishments during this pandemic. But their assertions all depend upon lies. In fact, objecting to criticism of Trump has always been an issue of defending the indefensible. His impeachment failed only because Senators broke their oath to defend the Constitution of the United States. Now America is forced to live with sickness of body, soul and spirit.

So I hardly found it ironic that when I got home from Starbucks this morning, the beverage carrier holding drinks for both my wife and stepdaughter had tipped and my wife’s coffee had drained out of the lid and down through the seat. The guy tailgating me down a country road had distracted me from noticing when the carrier tilted after I turned a corner going 45 in a 40 mph speed zone.

When I got home, I offered to go back out and get more drinks Starbucks but my wife had made her own with a coffeemaker we have at home. That about sums up the current state of things in America. The whole country is on tilt, and some days it just doesn’t pay to go out.

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The only thing you need for joy is sweat

Posted on April 8, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

There was plenty to learn when I took up cycling just under two decades ago. While I’d already spent three decades learning how to run and ran thousands of miles over the years, cycling was completely different. I needed to learn how to ride in a group. How to navigate traffic safely. How to dress for multiple weather conditions. How to shave my legs to fit into the culture.

As that experience built up, I rode longer and harder. Sometimes I got dropped at inopportune times. But sometimes the legs would be good and I’d even help lead the day. But overall, cycling is one of the most humbling sports in which one can engage. Anyone that tells you cycling is ‘no sweat’ hasn’t tried to hang on with a group going 20 mph against a stiff westerly wind on an eighty-degree day. You may not feel the sweat as it blows off your body. But it’s there.

The cycling habit changed in interesting ways once I started doing triathlons. Riding with fellow triathletes, I learned there really is no consistent drafting. Most try to avoid it. Thus there’s no real group mentality. Every ride is a personal venture at staying in sight of someone else. I have ridden lots of miles in the draft of my wife’s bike, however, because we still want to ride together. Finally I put some aero bars on my bike last year and resolved the 20% more wind I was fighting all the while.

But the one common thing I’ve always liked about cycling is the shining skin that results from a hard effort on a warm day. The only thing you really need for joy is sweat. It strains out the bad emotions and if it doesn’t, it reflects the anger you feel at not riding as well as you’d like. And that’s motivation.

Sweat is essentially the nectar of eternal youth. Yet it also stains the body and dries into a salty, dry brine that flicks into your eyes if you don’t wipe it off. In other words, you know you’ve done something when sweat comes and goes. And that’s all you need to experience joy. Some sweat. Go out there and get it.

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The Ironman dilemma

Posted on April 7, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth
Photos from the Madison Open Water Swim, an event often used as a practice for Ironman Wisconsin

As a Sherpa to a multiple Ironman and Half-Ironman wife, I’ve had tons of opportunity to study the Ironman dynamic from the inside out. And having done enough triathlons and duathlons to know the ins-and-outs of the sport in general, it is right now difficult to imagine how anyone can expect to race much this year.

That’s clearly a disappointing thought to thousands of athletes from pros prepping for big races to impatient amateurs around the world.

But the dilemmas of conducting triathlons in the era of social distancing are real. Because once you enter the Ironman arena at any race conducted in its original form, you are all in. There is no such thing as social distancing either for spectators or participants. The racked up bikes in transition are testimony to the shared space necessary to pull off a triathlon race. So are the tight crowds of people queued up in wetsuits waiting their turn to dive into the water.

The idea of standing six feet apart through all this is daunting. Of course it is possible if staggered starts are implemented. But imagine the logistics of communicating all that before the race and on race day morning. As if race directing were not difficult enough?

I’m not so sure that some triathletes are even capable of reducing risks for others. Not after watching a male triathlete paused at a water station at Ironman Wisconsin. He had his broken shoulder tied up with a black plastic garbage bag and was preparing to get back on his bike despite the blood trickling down his arm into his arm warmer. He was in shock, as far as I could tell, and after watching him lurch onto his bike with the help of a dumbstruck teen volunteer, I called ahead to the race managers to strongly suggest they get him off the course before the next set of daunting hills because he could have killed himself or someone else.

That’s the problem with tough athletes. They don’t always think of the safety and health of others. Some don’t even think of their own health.

As for this pandemic, most of the sport is likely hoping the Covid-19 deaths abate and that Coronavirus cases settle out by mid-summer. But experts have warned that a second wave could begin all over again if people let down their guard. We’d hate to hear that an Ironman race was responsible for starting up an epidemic all over again.

That’s not all that likely, but it would not look good for a sport sometimes accused of being self-indulgent to put personal preference before public safety. So what can we expect from Ironman and triathlon as a sport? What might the “new normal” look like?

On the Run Out at the Naperville Sprint Triathlon.

Logistically, there are two main factors pertaining to the race structure itself. The first is the size of the transition area, which would have to be massive to abide social distancing. Allowing six feet of distancing between bikes and stations is a massive challenge And then there’s the swim timing. But requiring athletes to go off separately with chips is not that big a hassle because it’s already done in some circumstances.

ITU races that allow drafting on the bike are certainly a different kind of challenge. Not only is it beneficial to stay close to one’s fellow races during the bike and run, it is almost a requirement in order to stay competitive. Thus draft-legal racing may be impossible until it is determined that the Coronavirus risk is low enough to justify a return to normal race expectations and demands.

As for the crowds attending races, clearly new rules would need to be instituted in the short term. Cultures around the world have shown commitment to social distancing, so could it be possible to hold a race and expect people to stay far apart? Seems like a stretch and frankly, an odd risk. And for what? So that a few can enjoy their sport.

Ugh. That sounds selfish just writing it.

The swim warmup at the Madison Half-Ironman.

While this is no time to be forcefully negative, it also does not pay to be naively positive. People are dying by the thousands from this disease, which if nothing else is a lesson in the power and force of evolution on our planet.

This pandemic is also a lesson in theology. The idea that human beings are “specially created” creatures apart from the rest of nature has been blown asunder, and forever, by the fact that this virus and many thousands of others are threats to human existence because the infections we face on an annual basis are known to jump from the rest of the animal world to infect us. So much for the creationist contention that God spares human beings from such humble roots. Our gut bacteria alone proves that we’re biologically dependent and derived from the raw stuff of creation.

It is also the spirit of Ironman that is now faced with the cold logic of micro-organisms that can take over our systems like a wave of wetsuited maniacs flailing through the surface of a calm lake. Like generations of humans before us, those of us that love the sport will have to adapt, adjust, and accommodate, or the sport itself will die.

Which only provides more proof that we’re all in this together.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, competition, tri-bikes, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

A Burning Man of a different kind

Posted on April 6, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

My son Evan Cudworth was planning on attending The Burning Man event in August again this year. But it likely won’t happen. Even that brand of social distancing––rocking out in the Black Rock Desert–– is not enough social distance to reduce the spread of Coronavirus and the deadly Covid-19 infection that is killing people Right and Left.

Some people choose to mock the Burning Man ethic as an impractical response to the world at large. Certainly it could be characterized as one big rave in the Utah desert. But I’ve listened close enough to my son’s experiences to appreciate there is great value in that communal choice to indulge in creativity in an escape from reality.

In my son’s case the reasons for attending Burning Man has shifted and changed over the years. From his mother’s death from cancer in 2013 to his life in New York his move to Cleveland and then to Venice, California, he has had plenty of angst and life choices to burn through.

Which is why an event such as Burning Man can be a spiritual experience. And when that last day of Burning Man comes along and the flames climb up the massive man of the world effigy it is a cathartic opportunity to release whatever one feels necessary to let go. And at the same time, join in that endeavor. While not a religion, Burning Man parallels the dust-to-dust, heat and fire, water and wine and psychedelic substances upon which so many religions are based. Wasn’t there a Burning Bush in the Bible, after all?

Events such as Burning Man tend to teach us that we’re not alone. Not in our need for release of joy and pain. Not in our odd or strange thoughts and fantasies. The one good thing the Coronavirus is now teaching us is empathy for the human experience. Because none of us is alone in the trepidation of a pandemic.

This past weekend my wife and I dug through the basement to start extricating unnecessary possessions. She plucked out some boxes of old bank records and musty photos. I dug out a large box of newspaper clippings from writing I’ve done the last four decades.

That collection included years of articles on all sorts of topics, too many to even delineate here. I kept the most valuable and took digital photos of the rest as the actual clippings really aren’t useful to anyone. The pile of paper was two feet high and four feet wide. I gathered them all back into the stinky old cardboard box and carried it out back to conduct my own little Burning Man session, dumped them into the fire pit and tossed the box back on top.

I reached under the cardboard box and lit the flames. I didn’t want to have any second thoughts. Then I stood back to watch it all go up in flames. Thousands and thousands of my own words curled red at the edges and then blackened into ashes. There were dozens of articles I’d written about track and cross country meets, the exploits of runners younger than I, in most cases. In the late 80s into the early 90s I covered the local teams and became part of their story as I told it.

I thought about how much I burned for recognition while doing all that writing. It was not free from the drive and pull of ego, that’s for sure. In some ways I inserted myself into the lives of others through those efforts. Attending those meets. Talking to athletes as well as coaches and parents. Of course, that’s what writers have to do. One of my favorite writers Hunter S. Thompson was the original “Gonzo Journalist” who entered the story to get it right.

But sometimes we writers also get it wrong. During one of those cross country seasons one of the best runners on a local team had a particularly poor performance after leading the team all season. I made some harsh references to the kid, and it turned out that he’d contracted mononucleosis. His season was done. One of the parents on the team pulled me aside and suggested that I’d gone a step too far. And I agreed. That is one of the tarsnakes of being a journalist of any kind. You always stand a chance of being wrong.

After that experience, my days of coverage of the local sports teams soon ended. I’d accepted a job in the marketing industry and moved on. Yet like so many lessons in life, I learned that my judgment of another person’s character and skill was misguided. So I left that part of me behind. The sportswriter. As I watched the pyre of newspaper stories burning in front of my eyes, I catalogued the many other stories that I’d written over the years. Many of them now reside only on my phone. But others I just let go. Forever. And it’s okay.

Having cleaned out my father’s house after his death, I realized that much of what we keep may have significance to us, but not many others. So I’ll keep a record of my existence, but not try to keep it all. That’s why I embraced a Burning Man of a different kind.

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Running recollections of a skinny young dad

Posted on March 31, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth
one runner's journey through young parenthood

My competitive career as a runner was coming to a close the time by the time I got married at the age of twenty-seven. We conceived our first child in December after a June wedding that year. By then, I’d already considered whether engaging in hard training was a good idea on the advent of having our first child.

Still, I raced fairly well that first year of marriage, winning a few mid-sized races, breaking 20:00 in a four-mile road race and a ten-miler in just under 54:00. That said, the Running Unlimited Racing Team for whom I’d competed the previous year was disbanded. I tried shifting my talents to the Vertel’s squad in Chicago that spring, but despite the fact that I knew the store manager well, I was relegated to the “B” squad with less-than-inspiring Bill Rodger’s racing tops rather than the new Nike singlets given to the elite runners representing the shop, such as Kevin Higdon.

I thought that a bit harsh given my performance the year before, winning 10 or 12 races out of 24 entered that year. That included a 4th place finish a minute or so behind Higdon at a Melrose Park 10-miler in which I outkicked a bunch of guys that I’d never beaten before.

But my early season results in ’85 weren’t quite as stellar, and as every runner knows, a reputation often depends on the last good race you’ve won.

Thought never more than a journeyman distance runner, a sub-elite at best, I still had pride in what I’d accomplished. So it hurt to be told, in essence, that it looked like I was washed up. Even those Oakley glasses could not disguise the fact that I wasn’t racing quite as fast as the year before.

There comes a time when it doesn’t make sense to punish yourself in training if the time and commitment, the demands and the attention just aren’t there. That fall I did make one last surge in training and was quite fit and prepared to race the Twin-Cities Marathon in Minneapolis-St.Paul. Perhaps I thought it best to cap off a running career with a genuine marathon attempt. That distance was never my focus. The only regret is that I didn’t race a marathon the weekend that I ran workouts of 15 + 10 + 10 miles leading up to a 25K (15.5 miles) into which I jumped when the runner I was escorting at the race, Bill Rodgers, offered me his race number because he didn’t feel well.

I ran a 1:25 that day, and could have cruised home at 6:00 pace and ran a 2:25 pretty easily given the high level of fitness. But alas, that effort exists only in a dream.

A last-minute mistake

Because before racing the Twin-Cities Marathon I made the fatal mistake of trying to get in one last long run the weekend before the race. I bonked at 12 miles and crawled home exhausted. I felt wiped out all week long and arrived at the house of the friend where I was staying a bit fearful that I’d blown my chance.

It was cold the morning of the race, perhaps 33 degrees. I wore only a tee-shirt and singlet, shorts and some racing flats. I was shivering before the gun went off but settled in to run with a group led by Don Kardong, the fourth-place Olympic marathoner known for his writing in Runner’s World. I’d broken out my Running Unlimited top to wear over the red Miami 10K tee shirt that I loved. It gave me a bit of courage to think of myself in context of the previous year. And for a long time in that race, it worked.

The group I’d joined was rolling along at 5:20 pace. I felt good for twelve miles. But somewhere past that point we turned into the wind and my 139 lb body on a 6’1″ frame began to chill to the core. I’d not worn enough clothing to combat the wind chill coming off the downtown lakes. Perhaps my last minute long run the weekend before did not help either.

In any case, a former college teammate and roommate saw me at sixteen miles and noticed that my lips looked blue. He pulled me off the course and suggested it would be wise to pull out of the race.

And in that moment, a competitive career that began at the age of twelve and lasted through the age of 27 was by-and-large completed. For fifteen years I’d trained year round and logged thousands of miles. I’d won a number of races over the years, and had lost plenty as well.

It was time to give it a rest. I never seriously trained and raced that hard again. My son was born the next year and a daughter followed not long after. Being a father made me realize there were other priorities in life.

Call me dad

I did keep running for health and sanity. From that first long workout as a freshman in high school, I recognized that running did good things for my anxious brain. Thus through the stress of being a young dad, struggling to make a place for myself in the world of work, and trying to create works of art and good writing along the way, it was running that fueled and fomented those attempts.

Once in a while I’d get fit enough to give some race a go, but it was always bittersweet to step to the line without much chance of winning. That might seem egotistical or even narcissistic to some. But once you’ve been a competitive runner with some success in life, there is only one way to compete, and that’s all out.

Or else you go about running with a different gauge. And even as I’ve taken up triathlon and had some age-group success, I don’t worry about the results much and they surely don’t define my self-worth or self-image like they once did.

That’s a transition we all likely face in one way or another. For some, it’s becoming a parent. For others, it’s advancing age that dims those competitive instincts.

And for some, the battle and the journey never ends. To each their own, I say.

To each their own.

Posted in 10K, 13.1, aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, anxiety, Christopher Cudworth, competition, healthy aging, healthy senior, marathon, marathon training, running | Tagged , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

You’ve heard of TED Talks. Here’s your first FRED talk.

Posted on March 25, 2020 by Christopher Cudworth

I’ve been seriously riding and racing bicycles since 2007. That when I bought the carbon fiber Felt 4C road bike. I showed up to the group ride that first day wearing a bike helmet with the visor still attached. My wheels still had the reflectors on them.

I was a FRED, in other words.

I don’t know if the term FRED is an acronym or not. There may be a snide abbreviation hidden in there. But in any case, being branded a FRED is not a compliment.

FRED lumps

It means that while you may be riding a bike, you don’t know what riding a bike is really all about. A FRED may wear a pair of spandex shorts, yet somehow they look far lumpier than they should. In places where lumps shouldn’t show, they do. And the lumps in places where they typically do show, well those look awkward too. On men. And women.

FRED colors

A FRED will often have a cycling shirt that is a massively plain blue or red or yellow. Or they may have a brightly decorated graphic cycling shirt from some ride across one state or another, but they’re still a FRED. A devoted FRED can even make a cycling kit with a beer logo on it look lame.

FRED fears

Mainly, being a FRED is a question of harboring repressed aspirations. FREDs never seem to care how fast they get anywhere. And if engaged in a pace line, the gap they maintain between their own front tire and the rear tire of the rider in front of them is completely devoid of draft value. It has only FRED value. As in, “I don’t want to crash.”

Admittedly, that’s a reasonable attitude. None of us LIKES to crash. But to eternally avoid the proposition in order to go willfully, carefully and annoyingly slow is a FRED move to the max. You have probably been effectively stalled behind FRED people driving their cars on the road. They roll along at the precise speed limit or slightly below. This is known as going aggressively slow.

FRED laws

I’m not here to judge the whole FRED thing. I don’t particularly care how people look or act while on their bikes, as long as they don’t damage the prospects of safety and respect for the rest of us. And most FREDS would never do that.

In fact, in that category of behavior, FREDs are probably far superior to far faster cyclists when it comes to respect for traffic laws, stop signs and even stoplights. A FRED will never zoom through a Four-Way Stop because it is not in their makeup. But that’s exactly what makes them a FRED. No risks allowed. Fuck that.

My own FRED tendencies were borne more out of naivete than any calculated attempt to cast judgment on the world by engaging in assertively law-abiding ways. The first few times I tried to join a group ride my bike was so heavy and clunky I simply could not keep up. I only went slow because I could not go any faster.

FRED cures

When I got the Felt 4C I could instantly keep pace for most of the rides I joined. So I rode with the Saturday group that covered 60-70 miles at 20+ every week. Then I rode with the Wednesday bike shop group ride that consisted of both men and women and averaged a clean 20MPH every week, like clockwork. Being part of those rides, along with shaving my legs and purchasing a most excellent club kit made me feel far less like a FRED.

That doesn’t mean my FRED days were entirely over. I once came out of the porta-potty before a criterium and had forgotten to effectively shake my dick before pulling up my bib cycling shorts. It put forth a healthy dribble and there I stood with a big dark stain on the front of my blue spandex shorts. Horrifed at my latent FREDness, I quickly grabbed my bike and rode off to do warmup laps and hope the stain dried out. It did.

FREDness returns

One can go years without feeling that sort of FREDness and then something happens that lets it creep up on you. Perhaps you forget cycling socks before a group ride and have to wear clunky running socks with your bright yellow shoes. Or you get a selfie back from the group ride and realize your bike helmet was crooked on your head the whole day. Or you get fat. Yet while being fat is a typical sign of FREDness, it is not guaranteed. Anyone that has been ridden off the back wheel of a fast fat guy knows that not all Fat Guys (or Gals) are FREDS.

It is not the job of other cyclists to eliminate FREDness in this world, but some are kind. “Hey brother,” they might say kindly at first, and point to their head. And if that doesn’t work, they might say more pointedly. “Fix your fucking helmet.”

That means they don’t want to be seen with you if you don’t. The same goes for finishing a ride with a big drib of brown chocolate GU on your chin. Or wearing your sunglass earpieces under your bike helmet straps. People that aren’t FREDs tend to notice these things. But they won’t always tell you.

FREDDIEness

This FRED enjoys a good Slim Jim now and then.

Being a FRED is possible for women, too. Showing up with floppy bike shorts over top of Spandex is an instant FREDDIE moment. So is having multi-colored flowers on your water bottle, or sporting a bell on your handlebars. These are nice things for a ride on the local bike path, but they are sure signs of FREDDIENESS too.

I know, I know. This is all cruel and snarky. But TED talks aren’t all roses either. It was high time we had this FRED talk. I’m only trying to save you the embarrassment of what all of us former and latent FREDs go through.

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