Luther, in time…

Trout Run Trail south of Decorah, Iowa, home of Luther College

A few weeks ago we attended a Yes concert and much to my pleasure and surprise, the band performed a song from its Close to the Edge album titled Siberian Khatru that I first absorbed in my high school years.

The lyrics to that song might seem impossibly abstract to some people. But to me they have an almost spooky relationship with my own life, especially my running career at Luther College, where I just spent the weekend enjoying a track reunion with more than 100 other athletes.

The experience of going back to any reunion is famously challenging. We all have those thoughts of compromised self-esteem and the tendency to compare ourselves to others or whatever expectations we never met in ourselves. We all have our relative angsts. And then it’s easy to project all kinds of success onto others and to denigrate ourselves over any failings in life.

As I drove up to Luther following the casually precise directions of Google Maps, I thought about the many times I’ve come back to that campus and how I’d felt about it over the years. That fueled the instinct to let the flow of life pass through me. I use to romanticize those trips to Decorah and Luther so heavily that I honestly thought of the Driftless Region (such a metaphorical title) as a “better place” than wherever else I was living. But I now realize that the best place in this world is always where you are at any moment. Many moons may pass, but that is eternally true.

That brings me to the lyrics of Siberian Khatru, and how they seem to create a pastiche of time and place. I can’t explain why, but they also oddly reflect so many passages of my life right down to specific places I’ve been and things I’ve done. I’ll explain the bold words in a moment:

River running right on over then over my head
(Outboard, river)
Blue tail, tail fly, Luther, in time
Sun tower, asking, cover, lover

June cast, moon fast as one changes
Heart gold leaver, soul mark mover
Christian changer, called out savior
Moon gate climber, turn round glider

I highlighted the “river running” because I’ve done that all my life, from the Fox River back home in Illinois to my time at Luther College, where the Upper Iowa River, a National Scenic waterway runs right through the campus. Many of my running routes followed these rivers. Even the hills that lined the Upper Iowa seem to flow above it. River running right on over my head…

The Upper Iowa River runs right below this bluff on the north side of downtown Decorah.

Luther was also where I truly fell in love for the first time. Through that love I learned to transcend that part of myself that was a stumbling block to success. It helped me lead a cross country team to second place in the national meet.

I didn’t marry that gal, and hence the lyrics “Heart gold leaver,” describe the eventual pain of that breakup. Yet life goes on, and being forced to find yourself after a lost love calls up the deeper aspects of self. In the wake of that lost love I dove into reading to find myself. The books included everything from John Irving to John Updike, Tom Robbins to Hunter S. Thompson, Jack Kerouac and Ayn Rand. That all started in 1981 even as I started writing a novel myself, titled “Admissions,” based on my first job out of college as an admissions counselor. The underlying theme is that sometimes it pays to be dumb enough to accept what’s actually good for you.

With former Luther teammates in 1985, the year I got married in a Missouri Synod Luther church.

That reading and writing turned me into a “soul mark mover” who found himself embedded in a twenty-five year personal and spiritual search within a conservative Lutheran denomination whose congregants were generally kind, yet whose theology embraced a dark vein of fundamentalist Christian fear and willing ignorance. It illustrated that what I’d learn in college was true. “The unexamined faith is not worth having.”

So it had to be abandoned. And I moved on. There is too much good in scripture to anchor oneself to the confined view that God lives where literalism reigns. In that context everything about faith becomes a defense of human rules about how and what God does things and what God wants from us in terms of ritual and display of devotion. That is the definition of bad theology. I decided to do something about it.

So I wrote my first book on theology titled The Genesis Fix: A Repair Manual for Faith in the Modern Age. That book engendered an encouraging response from a Luther College professor emeritus named Dr. Richard Simon Hanson, who mailed me a typewritten copy of one of his manuscripts titled “Religion From Earth.” It had a handwritten note inside, “This is yours to use however you might like.”

I’m now completing that collaborative project, a book titled Truly Sustainable Faith. The book addresses sustainability in terms of what keeps faith progressively in line with the full Word of God. It is not the ritualistic hypocrisy of legalism and or the literal interpretations of scripture favored by tradition or the bad theology of creationism. The research for this book is the cumulation of experience earned both on the road and between the pages of the Bible soaking up metaphorical depth like a walk through an old growth forest.

There are many kinds of forests in this world. And as I walked among the slightly bulging trunks of men who shared a track and field legacy, I pondered the meaning of our mutual presence; to celebrate the years but also to celebrate those moments when, in youthful competitive fervor and belief in a common goal, we all tried to do our best for Luther, in time.

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A Reunion of Champions

Last evening I received a call from Paul Mullen, a college roommate and teammate from both cross country and track. He works in Development for my alma mater Luther College. He wanted to reach out because he is super excited about the upcoming Reunion of Champions event being held this weekend in Decorah, Iowa. The event has attracted more than 130 former track and field athletes from 30 years in which Luther won the IIAC Conference Track Championship 26 times.

Christopher Cudworth steeplechasing on the crushed red gravel track at Luther College, circa 1976

Things have changed quite a bit on that campus since the era when we competed for Luther. A beautiful bright blue all-weather track now forms the oval around the equally blue artificial turf of the Luther football field. There is an indoor track facility as well.

Back when we trained for track and cross country the surface was made from crushed red gravel and clay provided by a local quarry and mining company. On rainy days the lanes would flood with long puddles of water and the grass approach to the steeplechase pit would grow soggy. But we loved it all just the same.

We ran around that oval for four years and put in some pretty fast times in both cross country and track.

Roomies and teammates

My roommate Paul Mullen was a multiple time conference champion in track and once tied for the conference title in cross country. He also placed seventh in the steeplechase at nationals.

My freshman year teammate and roommate Keith Ellingson was conference champion in cross country and ran track before pursuing a college career in golf, at which he also greatly excelled.

My senior year roommate Dani Fjelstad is considered one of the all-time greatest performers in Luther track and field with multiple conference championships. His abilities ranged from 800 meters up to 5000 meters and his mile times was near 4:10.

The other member of our Gang of Five ’79 CC captains was Steve Corson, a speedy half miler and miler who missed out on All-American status by one place while leading our cross country team to a second place in the NCAA Division III championships in 1978.

We had many great times together along with all our other teammates from different classes, backgrounds, abilities and interests. That is why we’re gathering to celebrate the legacy of our era and more than 30 other years of track and field champions through the ages. I treasure these connections and these friends, and expect to make a few more.

Keith Ellingson (foreground) followed by Paul Mullen (center) Dani Fjelstad (right in glasses) Christopher Cudworth (left of Mullen) and Steve Corson (behind) These five runners were co-captains of our cross country team.
Posted in 400 meter intervals, 400 workouts, 5K, aging, Christopher Cudworth, competition, cross country, track and field | Tagged , , , , | Leave a comment

YES the years have flown but they return again

The eternal cycle of classic rock bands touring the world will eventually run out of steam. Aging rockers can’t keep it up forever. That’s a literal and rhetorical reference to why rock stars go on tour in the first place. They live to play music and love to get laid.

But when you’re seventy-plus years old and still love to play music… but feel the voice range start to shrink and the nimbleness of the fingers start to stiffen, it takes a ton of fortitude to endure life on the road.

Because life on the road gets old as well. Age-old partnerships aren’t always easy to sustain. The qualities you’ll endure in a person as a 20-something making stupid money and reaping the rewards of fame grow tiresome as the years wear on.

And that’s true of the audience as well. Now the crowd at YES concerts is mostly happy to get out of its lawn chairs without hurting something.

But the appetite for classic rock endures. That means there is still stupid money to be made by big-name rock bands, even those long past their prime. Which is how a pastiche of big-name rockers came to our local outdoor venue, the RiverEdge concert stage in Aurora, Illinois.

There was John Lodge of the Moody Blues. Carl Palmer of Emerson, Lake and Palmer (ELP) and even some keyboard guy from the Boggles, the group whose song “Video Killed the Radio Star” launched the MTV era in the early 1980s.

The headline act was one of my favorite bands from the 70s, the Progressive Rock group YES. It’s always interesting to see what elements of a band are left when a big name rock group comes to town. I’m not some YES groupie who knows all the history and variations of the lineup, but I do know that Steve Howe is the brilliant guitarist whose work drove much of the lyricism. He was there along with a singer that has been playing the Jon Anderson role for eight years. Missing were Chris Squire (deceased) and Rick Wakeman (someone alluded to his drinking…) but the music was so familiar it seemed like everyone was there.

We now pause to give credit to the obvious creative brilliance of these classic rockers. There is no doubt YES was one of the best groups of their era. I’m not saying that no good music has emerged since then. In fact, I love a whole host of today’s Indie and alternative artists. But the core content of YES was indeed inspired, original and musically sophisticated.

That is why I was pleasantly surprised when the band launched into the eclectically challenging piece titled Siberian Kahtru from the Close to the Edge album. My wife turned to me and said, “This is really hard to play.” I agreed. The song had its loose moments but it still drove the bus in the right direction.

Top Center: Christopher Cudworth aged 18

I was a junior in high school when I purchased the Fragile album by YES. Then I came into possession of Close to the Edge as well. Later I bought the LP Tormato which originally disappointed, but later in life I realized how great that music truly was.

All those tunes are woven into the fabric of my being because I’d listen to them before going out for long runs. We all seemed to believe that music drove us to better performances. It seemed that way in many respects. We sang those songs in the showers after workouts and blasted them on car radios, sometimes even in stereo when they played on FM.

I recall the August 1974 season when my friend came to stay at our house for a week to begin cross country practice when his family went north to Wisconsin for vacation. I’d wake him up with pretty loud round of YES Roundabout and we’re gather up our stuff and go run in the heat for an hour and come back home. Then we’d head back to practice eight hours later for another hour run and stop at 7-11 to buy Cokes and pack our veins with whatever fuel we could afford.

And the music played on. And on.

YES album cover artist Roger Dean.

But YES reached into my soul in another way as well. As a high school artist I admired the album artwork of Roger Dean, famous for his fantastical landscapes that seemed to go so well with the lyrical style of YES, whose verses often floated into ethereal netherlands. Dean’s perpetually clean yet imaginative style set the standard for great album art the way that the work of Ralph Steadman perfectly fit the Gonzo journalism of Hunter S. Thompson.

These days Dean actually tours with the band and sells prints of his work. Adoring fans line up for his autograph. I took a photo because I’m an admirer of his work and perhaps should have purchased a print or something. Yet I’ve grown averse to raw acquisitiveness and don’t need one more poster to put in the basement.

See, that’s the problem with holding on too strongly to the past. It doesn’t migrate cleanly into the present. Our lives are always changing, if we let them. Forcing them to stop or regress into earlier decades is not a healthy trend. As Steve Howe announced from the stage when he witnessed all the cellphone lights pointing in his direction, “Try to be in the moment for once.”

The 70s remain alive in the hearts of many. And new fans love YES for their music as well.

There was an approving murmur from the audience at the concert. It was still truly amazing to hear music played like that. Were there a few flaws, and did Howe look a little ghostly on stage in his dotage? For sure? But when he lit up the acoustic guitar in a solo piece the audience sat in wonder. This was life in notes. This was time erased by wonder.

After an evening of wading through a bunch of bungled bodies sporting YES tee shirts I was ready to be done with memory lane. But I invite you to click through and watch this video of YES performing the song Wondrous Stories live. It is truly timeless in all the right ways. I predict that you’ll carry the music with you wherever you go. This is a good one to sing in your head while out running or riding.

“It is not lie…I see deeply into the future…”

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Cycling with good friends

My wife leads the way on a ride with a good friend.

I didn’t take up serious road cycling until the 2007. Before that, I’d ridden mountain bikes and an old Trek 400 road bike for four years that got me around, but not very fast.

So it wasn’t until I bought the Felt 4C carbon frame bike that I could motor fast enough to truly enjoy road cycling. Now I ride a Specialized Venge road bike with an aero frame and handlebars to match. It’s all good.

Today we rode 23 miles out in the rural country of the county where we live. It’s mostly flat terrain, but the roads are pleasant because there is so little traffic. My wife is coming off her last Half Ironman a week ago and her legs were a bit tired, but she still gets down in aero and motors along. So my buddy and I let her roll ahead as he’s just rolling into riding shape this year.

Fifty years on

My friendship with him goes way back to my junior year in high school. We met in cross country and ran together even through college. Then we lived together after we graduated and attended each other’s weddings. In fact he served as Best Man in the wedding to my late wife way back in 1985.

Our lives converged and diverged as lives often do. We’ve each raised kids and paid household bills with the best of them. But here we are fifty years later still riding together on a summer morning.

When I started dating after my late wife passed, I met a woman through eHarmony that joined me for a backyard party at the house of my friend. He was lead singer that day for the band he’d formed with some other dudes. They were actually really good. But my date that day was freaked out by the fact that I kept up friendships with guys that I’d known in high school. We parted ways after only a couple dates.

The woman I married not only “gets” our friendship, she has ridden with us so many times we’ve happily lost count. She has her own relationship with them. And that’s the mark of a trusted spouse.

Private lives

But my friend is not one for social media exposure. So we’ll not be sharing a full photo of us together here. He’s one of the smartest people I know in many respects and knows quite a bit about the vagaries of online privacy, so I respect that.

But I’d be wrong not to credit him for encouraging me to take up cycling. He and another close friend from high school (another cross country teammate) were cyclists together for decades before I finally joined them in my forties. I was strictly a runner all those years.

So here’s to big skies, open roads and long-term friendships. All are good for the soul.

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The tale of one determined girl and the triathlon

Coming out of the water determined and ready to tackle the bike and the run.

There is nothing at once so tantalizing and tortuous as unfulfilled potential. That is particularly true in the sport of triathlon where athletes hope to excel in three sports in a single day.

Things can go wrong, and often do. There are physical problems to counter. Logistics to manage. Even the best preparation can get waylaid by a bad weather day.

That means determination may be the most important aspect of doing triathlons. Determination is what bridges the gap between unfulfilled potential and success.

Her good friend Lida Bond Keuhm serendipitously wore the same kit and had a great race too.

That’s why I’m really proud of what my wife did in the Steelhead Triathlon this past weekend. We traveled there last year for the race and the winds were so strong the lake rhetorically chopped up swimmers right and left. She finished the swim and bike, but by then was cooked. The deep red bruise on her face from getting kicked in the water was symbolic of the day.

The experience was bitter for her because he training had been going so well up to that point. In fact she’d had a run of tough luck on several races. But in between, she kept up the training. Rising at 5:00 a.m. for swim, bike and run workouts. She has been disciplined and determined through it all.

Sue is one of thousands of age group competitors who pour across the finish line after the pros.

Thus when she crossed the finish line and set a PR (all 5s!) it felt like a major vindication for all the work she’s put in. Her coach Steve Brandes has been a wise and patient guide. Saturday morning he sent her a .gif with a funny image of some robot-like character running and running and running. She got the hint. Keep it rolling when you get to the run phase.

Getting through the heat was a logistical challenge. Ice helped.

And she did. Even on a day that grew hot with a sun beating down on the competitors, she kept her cool and got it done. A determined girl whose finish placed her in the top 25% of her age group. I’m so proud of her for the determination she’s shown.

She kept it rolling all thirteen miles of the concluding half-marathon. Determination helps.

There is nothing like the feeling of competing up to your potential. On the way home she was formulating new goals and feeling the surge of achievement rise within her. The bike short tan she picked up along the way was a small price to pay for the stamp of determination she placed upon her own heart.

And that is the tale of one determined girl and the triathlon.

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When reality bites, call in the experts

Last weekend I began to notice a sore area around my #18 molar. That’s the tooth on the far back left side of the mouth. It would flare up and recede in relation to cold or sweets and I knew, this is not good.

By Tuesday it was genuinely sore and getting worse. That afternoon it was on the verge of constant pain and I called my dentist. They said I could come in the next morning for a look-see.

At that point going out to run or ride was the last thing on my mind. But I did get in the pool for a 1200 yard workout and it actually felt good. The flow of water across my relaxed me, and by proxy the tooth seemed to hurt less.

But by Wednesday morning all I wanted was to get relief. I knew something was wrong deeply with the tooth because I’d actually gotten a second (preview) opinion with my wife’s dentist Tuesday afternoon. She loves his work and he agreed to see me. Of course he wanted to know as much as he could about my mouth and I was as forthright as I could be.

Corn looks quite a bit like teeth. Yet we don’t want our teeth to look like corn.

In so many ways our dental history is a record of who we are as a person. Archaeologists and paleontologists can tell quite a bit about the lifestyle of people by examining their teeth. I well recall hearing about the problems experienced by the Anasazi Native Americans who ground their corn on stone bowls and wore down their teeth as a result of grinding both stone and grain as they ate their meals.

My teeth have been through a gauntlet of treatments. They came in crooked as hell as a pre-teen. The two front teeth pointed in at each other. That led to a prescription for braces.

But the summer before I was supposed to get braces installed on my wayward toofers I was practicing at third during baseball practice when twilight fell and got I struck in the mouth by a line drive that was supposed to be a grounder. The baseball hit me straight in the mouth and knocked out my right front tooth. I didnt know it at the time, but the tooth was hanging there by the nerve like the shaking corpse of a condemned and dying man.

My father drove me to the dentist stat. He anchored the tooth back in with a metal stake and it held. But then the tooth died, turned gray and lasted well into my late twenties before having it replaced with a fake tooth that I also had replaced at some point along the line.

reality bites
Self Image. A Drawing by Christopher Cudworth, circa 1972

So some of this dental history was not my own fault. And those braces that I ultimately did get? They straightened by teeth but required the wildest combination of metal and rubber bands you’ve ever seen. The orthodontist even glued a black dot of adhesive to an incisor and strapped three rubber bands across my choppers to yank the right side of my mouth into place.

I was a strange combination of persistently withering personal esteem and determined self-awareness at that stage of life. Thus I told my orthodontist when he asked me how I felt when getting braces, “I’ll just have to change my self-image.”

The day that my braces finally came off was a relief and a joy. I recall that I girl I like told me how nice I looked. In the end, that’s what it’s all about to a kid in his teens.

Beyond those early years when my teeth seemed indestructible and cavities were rare, visits to the dentist were largely positive affairs. But the ins and outs of life in my twenties left me with a raft of problems that turned into decay. Ultimately those led to the breakdown of a tooth or two including one that fractured on a chomp of ice and required emergency repair.

There are aspects of my dental care that I certainly wish had gone differently in life. During those years when my late wife was so sick, all our money and attention went into helping her get well. The resources we had were focused on that. I brushed and flossed (most days) but the regimen was not idea. Gingivitis caught up with me, and pain at times too.

Somehow I came into possession of a handheld dental mirror and used to look around inside my mouth. But you can’t much tell what’s going on in there if you’re not trained in dentistry. Our teeth are hard, multilayered structures with sensitive roots down the middle, the exoskeletons of our inner existence.

And when infection sets into a tooth, it can affect your entire health pattern. I’ve experienced that. When a sore tooth was repaired my longtime dentist years back said, “You’re going to feel better after this is fixed.”

The tarsnake of infection is that what heals you can also wind up killing you.

I’ve experienced other types of infections that took over my life temporarily. One was the result of a sliver that pushed some nasty bug into the middle of my left middle finger. The other was the result of our cat nipped me on the hand that led to cellulitis. Both are proof that infections are just opportunists waiting to attack the human body for their own propagation. That’s the strange balance of health and evolution in action. We need bacteria to balance our guts and yet, during that cat nip episode, the antibiotics I took to treat the cellulitis in my had killed off my good gut bacteria. I contracted c.Diff and it was beyond awful. These are the tarsnakes of life. What heals you can also kill you.

There is no real excuse for not taking care of our teeth. Nor is this a complaint that life has somehow treated me unfairly. Just like training on a running track, we sometimes travel the same circles hoping for a different result. Do we brush our teeth well enough? Are we flossing out the food that sits there and creates bacteria pockets and eats away the enamel. Dentists preach and preach but there we go with the same old half-assed habits that lead to decay and destruction of our teeth. And in some ways, our whole health.

Like so many things about myself, my teeth are neither perfect, nor perfectly healthy. With age the orthodontic treatments from years ago have given in to the shifting forces of time. Like the advent of crepey skin and facial wrinkles, there are some things that are inevitable in this world. I’ve held off some of those as long as I can, but it’s also why I’m keeping this photo of my smooth and fit legs forever.

From six years ago. Smooth legs. Life keeps throwing changes at us.

But I’m grateful that yesterday a real pro got hold of my mouth and fixed the rotten root issues in my aging mouth. He was confident and competent and did not mess around. “I do three thousands of these a year,” the amazing endodontist told me as he numbed me up and cleaned out the offending roots, thereby saving the tooth for the foreseeable future.

When reality bites, it pays to call in the experts. At the least they’ll introduce you to the facts about your situation. And at best they’ll cure what ails you. We really can’t ask for much more than that.

Posted in 400 meter intervals, 400 workouts, Christopher Cudworth, death, diet, healthy aging, healthy senior, mental health, running, Tarsnakes, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , | Leave a comment

The Matrix is real in a really organic way

People have long been fond of movies that hint at a reality that exists, yet we just don’t recognize.

The Matrix series starring Keanu Reaves was one such enterprise. Its premise centered around the idea that life was a digital illusion and that mere humans were subject to that dynamic. In other words, we weren’t truly free.

The character Neo somewhat stumbles or is guided into a penetration of The Matrix. That leads him into a world where a group of visionaries is determined to break free from machines that draw energy from human beings.

Science fiction tends to imitate life in spite of itself. Which is why The Matrix is intriguing in an organic way. All of life on earth is actually subject to a matrix of sorts. But it isn’t digital and there aren’t any “agents” assigned to enforce the will of machines. It is an organic matrix built on billions of years of material change and the influence of gravity, the invisible will of the universe.

The Matrix we all depend upon in reality is a series of self-evident patterns once you stop to study them. The first level is the order of the universe itself, with gravity and matter interacting in massively complex ways. Gravity isn’t perfectly understood, but we can see how it works. The universe and our galaxies and solar systems are effectively a colorized map of gravity at work.

As we dial in closer to our own solar system, we know the rates of orbit and can see the moons around Jupiter and Saturn. These relate to our own lonely moon. So we know the matrix of gravity also applies to us.

By the time we reach all the way down to the level of earth’s atmosphere, we can feel and see the effects of gravity every day. It affects everything we do from driving our cars to going out for exercise. There is no escaping it.

And yet the human race has learned to exceed the relative pull of gravity and even utilize the control of these forces, sending spaceships to the moon and putting satellites into orbit. We bounce digital information off these satellites even down to the granular level of geo-positioning to track every run, ride or swim that we do. Even if you do not use these apps knowingly, all of us willingly participate in the data-driven Matrix in our everyday lives.

Are you starting to feel The Matrix yet? Well, it’s even more interesting and unnerving than that.

Because while our planet revolves around the sun, it also rotates on its own access, an effect that results in night and day. The angle of the earth in relation to the sun also drives the seasons, winter, spring, summer and fall. The sun’s rays and the relative composition of the atmosphere determine climate along every measurable line of latitude from north to south and from east to west.

The climatological matrix is real. But human beings have been messing with the formula for climate by introducing heavy levels of carbon dioxide into the atmosphere, an element of the atmosphere that helps govern how much heat is retained around the globe. In the past, volcanic eruptions and asteroid strikes have caused global climate change. But this time, it is taking place in a cumulative way, only spread over one hundred or so years.

That’s nothing in terms of geological time. Because while the earth has been traveling around the sun and spinning on its own axis, inside the earth there are massive cycles of heat exchange going on within its molten core. It occasionally bursts through the surface in what we might now label the “Neo Effect.” That is, volcanism punctures the matrix of the earth’s surface, otherwise known as “reality” to the rest of us. But what does it reveal?

Over the last fifty years we’ve discovered that the heated core of our planet and the energy it generates helps to drive the formation and reformation of the earth’s crust. Out in the deep ocean trenches around the world, magma rises up in long ridges and the sea floor splits in the middle and “spreads” east and west. The ridges of new material give off magnetic signatures by which we can detect how fast and for how long these processes have been taking place.

And out on the rim of the Pacific Ocean, there is a corresponding “ring of fire” in which volcanoes and earthquakes drive tectonic forces where continental crust scrapes and lodges until it releases either in the fury of an eruption or the deep tremors of an earthquake.

These are forces that have been taking place for billions of years. They have literally moved the continents across the face of the earth and constructed the shapes of “map” we see today. The edges of these continents match up not as a sign of some sort of magic, but as a direct reflection of the cause and effects of plate tectonics.

Because these forces have been acting on the surface of the earth for so long, the world’s climate is also directly effected and produced by the position of the continents around the earth. Each is a contributing factor to the atmosphere of the earth as well. The steamy forests found along the equator are important sources of oxygen and equally important as tools for carbon exchange as billions of plants conduct photosynthesis that literally produces the oxygen life on earth requires to survive.

But human beings have been chopping down and burning equatorial forests for centuries now. In that same time period, industrialization has contributed billions of tons of fossil fuel carbons into the atmosphere and processes like these are altering the earth’s climatological systems. These are the forces that produce climate change and are resulting in an overall trend of global warming.

Such is the functional relationship of The Matrix so far. But we have not yet explored all of the elements of this highly complex system. Because life itself is pasted like a Matrix unto its own across the surface of the earth and even deep into the oceans. Every living thing is like a digital imprint of the environment it needs to survive. Nothing in this world exists without relationship to some niche in the climate that produces a type of ecosystem.

Deep in the swamps there are species of fish, birds, insects and plants that could not possibly survive at high altitudes on the face of a mountain. Every single atom of nature is evolved to perform a particular function in a highly specific set of environmental conditions. This is the immutable fact of evolution. Nothing evolves without a purpose. No purpose even exists without evolution.

These principles apply even to the human race. Granted, people may choose to believe differently about their origins, but The Matrix of gravity and climate and evolution all function so perfectly together the ideological complaint against this organic matrix is just that, a desire to escape from its grip because the reality and responsibility of our function on earth is too grand for some people to accept.

This is the problem with the approach of religious believers seeking to dismiss the factual evidence for the organic Matrix in favor of a magical explanation for all of reality. Some abide in a belief system called ‘creationism’ that relies entirely on a literal interpretation of the Book of Genesis to describe all of reality. The metaphor of scripture functions must better, for it describes the order of the universe without turning those words into rigidly conflicted claims of religious authority.

Because when you think about it, that approach actually enforces the naive outlook sense by Neo before he discovered how The Matrix actually worked. Once he got a look behind the scenes, he never wanted to go back. In fact, there was no going back.

It is just as important to realize that Neo found new meaning behind the curtain of naivete that was The Matrix. That greater meaning was more demanding of course. It required new levels of commitment to principles of concern for humanity. Not ironically, it was The Agents assigned to enforce the naivete of The Matrix that were the true enemy.

Thus as we go about our lives carrying our phones with us everywhere we go, and swipe and delete, create and comment our way through this digital reality, it is important to realize that true meaning ultimately comes through the organic forces to which we are all subject, and that is creation itself that drives that understanding, not some pale and literalistic imitation designed to control the minds of the masses and feed the machine, which is tradition.

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I don’t plan too heavy or too far ahead

I kind of take training as it becomes available. For example, that’s me doing some heavy lifting with a local tree. All part of the natural regimen I keep.

But seriously…

We got to the pool this morning at 6:00 a.m. Usually the lanes are filled then, but swimmers pile out of there like crazy after that.

Lane three was open toward the shallow end. I tossed my pool float and flippers next to the water and stretched my shoulders a bit.

Another fellow showed up at the same time. He looked a bit distracted and I told him, “You’re welcome to share my lane. I’ll stay to the right.”

He was a decent swimmer, but the kind that makes big waves. Which is actually good practice to get tossed around by waves from another swimmer. We’re coming up on open water season and now’s the time to get ready.

Plus we finally found my wetsuit in our house. It had been hanging on my wife’s side of the closet the last few months and I’ve been digging through every corner of our home looking for it. She walked down holding it up, and asked, “Is this what you’re looking for?”

Now that the lost wetsuit is found, I can turn my attention in earnest to building swim fitness. I missed some swim time due to a hand injury from a bike accident and then tripped on a root and smacked my chest on the ground a couple weeks ago. The bone under my right tit still hurts.

That said, it felt good to get into the water and have at it. I averaged 1:47 per 100 which is good for me. Granted, some of that was swum with a pool buoy between the leg. But I reason that’s just like swimming in a wetsuit.

Which I’ll also do next week to see where I really stand. My plan is to do a Sprint distance Tri or two and a couple Olympics this summer. We may also do one crazy race at an odd distance up in Wisconsin.

I’ll admit that I don’t plan too heavy or too far ahead. It’s a product of the life I lead that things need to remain flexible. My goal is to always be in good enough shape to race when I feel like it. Then dial it up the best I can, and have fun.

I like it that way.

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A carnival of years gone by

The day was overcast as it often seems to be in mid-June. Summer has not quite arrived. The calendar teases us with the equinox turning and yet the days automatically start shortening. The yin and yang of yearly destiny. That is when the official season of sun and carnivals arrives.

I wander through the Tuesday atmosphere of our local festival. The mothers are pushing kids in strollers and fathers walk with kids in tow. A few families perch on the ground to listen to a lone guy playing electric guitar to a sparse crowd on the lawn of the courthouse. I’ve been here so many times. So many scenes like this. So many years. So very American.

I’ve pushed my own kids in strollers around this town. Rolled them up the street to the parking lot where the rides and games are stationed. “Give us your money,” they all cry. But the Carnies are silent these days. No barking or temptations allowed. Just walls of repetitive junk to lure the suckers.

Once in a while, someone actually wins. That is the American Way. Just enough winning to keep the disenchanted from popping all the balloons of the otherwise cheerfully wealthy. It works for casinos. It works for the lottery. It works for the government. And it works for the carnival. It’s worked that way for years. All it takes is for us to see some random kid walking away with a bouncing ball to continue believing in the carnival of dreams. So very American.

I was that kid a few times. With an arm that would not quit and deadly accuracy from years of life as a baseball pitcher, I could hit the stack of pins exactly where they needed to be struck in order to knock them all down and win a prize. Desperate to impress and urged on by girls who wanted free prizes, I handed out cheap and brightly colored snakes to the girls that begged me to win them one and when that ran out, I handed them to all the girls I could find. Their eyes would flash with a quick thanks. Then they’d turn and look for more dangerous boys to bring the thrill of the carnival alive. And then the Carnie banned me from playing the game any more. And that is America too.

Those girls all turned into mothers or aimed some other direction that life presented. All have their histories now. But it used to be such a mystery to me. Life. What girls wanted. Without sisters to study I had to learn about women by wandering about in the wild world. Now it’s all there in black and white. I see how it works. We’re all part of a repeating cycle. The merry-go-round is whatever makes you happy. Or sad. That’s all that anyone really has.

It is also true that sooner or later, life catches up to everyone. It happens to some faster than others. But after enough time goes by, the past is a blur, the present is the horse you’ve chosen to ride and the future will chop off your arm if you’re not careful. I once sat at the top of a Ferris wheel at the County Fair with my son. We waited while others got on the ride, and then our car lurched and feel three inches on one side. Those things are put together again and again by people who must cease to care after a while. It’s just another town. Another carnival. And if lives are at stake, well that’s America too.

The carnival is a sideshow of people. I see the folks that have taken care of themselves and others, not so much. People watching can be a rush. And then reality strikes. A panicked grandfather bursts out of the Midway calling the name of a child that he’s lost somewhere. We all stand there watching the drama unfold. I ask the man if he wants me to call 9-1-1. His eyes are wide with fear. Then he runs off again calling the child’s name. HIs arms are raised. His body taut. The entire carnival comes to a standstill. Then he finds the child and admonishes the frightened looking kid who had simply gotten into the wrong line for a ride. It was thumbs up by Grandpa though. Tragedy averted. Everyone goes back to their amusements. The American Way all over again.

I left the carnival after that. Walked toward the street where the shops line up hopefully. Supposedly this is what summer carnivals are all about. Combine fun and commerce. Sometimes the two don’t mix that well.

America is like that. Playful hopes and selfish interests collide at every intersection. the people in charge of town zoning and the organizers of carnivals know that you can’t please everyone. The best you can do is attract the masses and hope for the best. Cash flows in. Cash flows out.

I’ve run on all these streets when the carnival is gone and the food booths are gone as well. I rise early and trot through the early morning fog when no one else is around. The carnival of years is a manic ghost that comes and goes. The streets are empty again. The equinox has turned. Summer has begun in earnest. And the next carnival awaits.

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The adorable doggo tale of Max, Megan and Augie

Toward the end of my run through the woods and prairie at Dick Young Forest Preserve, I turned east on the last stretch of trail toward the parking lot and beheld a strange sight up ahead. At first I thought it was someone carrying an injured deer on their shoulders. But as I got closer the it became apparent there was a young man carrying his rather large dog.

Max holding his dog Augie on his shoulders

At first I assumed the dog had grown tired or was aged and needed to be carried during the last part of his walk. But the young couple smiled and his Doggie Mama Megan told me, “No, he just doesn’t want to come home. He likes it out here so much he just lies down or tries to crawl into the weeds when we turn around.”

Augie had the sweetest face in the world. I bent down to nuzzle his nose and he gave me a lick. He did not seem like a stubborn soul at all. Then Max and Megan said, “Maybe he’ll walk the rest of the way if you walk with us.”

Max and Megan pause for a photo but Augie looks suspicious.

So we started walking toward the parking lot. But Augie was having none of that. He wasn’t falling for such shallow tricks. Instead he plopped his butt down and would not move. He even attempted to pull on the leash for a dive into the weeds.

I thought to myself: “This is a dog that knows what he likes and there is little anyone can do to change his mind.”

Augie’s reticence to go back home meant that Max needed to get Augie back on his shoulders for the last one hundred yards to the parking lot. Megan helps position the pup…

Then Max gets his head under the belly of the dog.

Finally he can stand up with Augie on his shoulders.

Then it’s time to portage Augie to the parking lot. He’s calm once he’s up there. Doesn’t put up a fuss.

Something about this meetup just made my day. Such a sweet young couple who loves their dog. Perhaps the dog trainers out there will deem this behavior unacceptable on the part of Augie and his owners. But I prefer to think of this as a happily symbiotic relationship that will evolve over time.

At any rate, thank you Max and Megan and Augie for one of the nicest little conversations yesterday. And Augie, I suggest that you don’t start making them carry you out into the field as well. That’s what the leash is for, good buddy.

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