Mortal soles

Posted on February 6, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth
Wanda (left) and Benny loved to help me write.

Last evening we made the decision to allow our cat Wanda go to a peaceful end. At fourteen years old, some of her vital systems were failing. It would not do to see her suffer through weeks of difficulty. Our family took time to say goodbye to the kitty that had joined the family when my wife’s girls were quite young. And so, like many such passings, this one had a tinge of both loss and transition.

A cat called Wanda

I’ve known Wanda for six years. She was one of two pets that my wife owned when I met her; a big black dog named Zack and Wanda, the tuxedo kitty with the tiny black spot on her white nose.

Before Sue and I married, she moved from a rental house on one side of our town to another because the house in which she’d been living was being sold. After all the furniture was carted over and hauled into the new house, it was time to go back and get the cat.

Ride along

I volunteered to fetch the kitty even though I did not know Wanda all that well. I’d certainly never put her into a cat carrier. She wasn’t all that willing to go, especially for a relative stranger like me. But I half-coaxed and half pushed her into the carrier and hustled out to the car as quickly as I could. On the way driving over to the house, I saw two giant green eyes emerge from the carrier. Then that precocious black and white face. She had pushed her way right out of the zipper.

Something in that moment made me love that cat. Whether it was her spunk or spirit or kitty soul, I don’t know. But the moment she crawled out of that carrier making that big broken…Mee*yoo*uuw of hers I was smitten.

Benny and Wanda frequently shared our bed for naps

The more I hung out with Sue, the more time I got to spend with Wanda, and we grew closer. And yes, I meant to meld that sentence together to speak about both Sue and her cat. Love grows in ways that we don’t always understand.

Then Zack the dog moved out to live with her ex. So it was just us and Wanda and her kids for a while.

Two Cats

Which somewhat opened the door for Sue to accept another cat into our lives. That would be Benny, a rescue provided to us by our vet and triathlon buddy Jeff Palmer. Benny (originally named Bernie, or Burnie) was a stray that crawled up into a car engine for warmth. The little guy got burned and injured when the engine turned on. Fortunately for Benny, he recovered. Then we adopted him… only to have him escape out the back door a few months later. He lived outside for ten days before my wife’s daughters caught up with him in a neighbor’s yard. Stray Cat Strut? He ate like a hog when we brought him back home.

Up to Four Cats

Wanda (left) Mercury (above left) Apollo (above right) and Benny (lower right) sharing space

Then when my wife’s eldest daughter moved back in with us we had four cats living around the house as Mercury and Apollo joined the gang. I can testify that having four cats around was often entertaining and great company, but that is too many cats to have in one house. That ultimately resolved itself when her daughter Stephanie moved out with her other daughter Sarah and boyfriend Boone. We were back down to two cats.

Plus one dog

Chuck and Wanda sharing the warm sunshine on the front stairs

Then my daughter and her boyfriend moved in with us to save money for a house and plan their future. That meant our dog Chuck, who was also once a stray that my son Evan found on the streets of Chicago, was coming to live with us. It took a week for the cats and the dog to work things out, but they did. They pretty much learned to ignore each other.

So it’s been largely a peaceable kingdom with two cats and one dog. Except the cats like to try to eat the dog food and the dog likes to try to eat the cat food. Neither is good for the other. And so on. So we keep them apart around feeding time. Mostly.

She loves you

The running joke around the house was that Wanda had become something of a girlfriend to me. “She looooves you,” the girls would say when Wanda came meowing around me with that split voice of hers. She’d roll over and allow me to pet her belly and nuzzle her neck.

Wanda. The green-eyed cat.

However, when I was petting her a few years back, she gave me a warning nip with her sharp teeth. That led to a case of cellulitis in my hand that required antibiotics to cure. That treatment killed off my good gut bacteria, and I got a case of c. Diff. an infectious disease of the gut that can cause serious trouble and even death if left to its own devices.

So I had to take antibiotics to treat that condition as well. And during treatment, every training ride and run was a guessing game of when I’d have to go to the bathroom. And let me tell you, it would not wait. So I dosed up on Immodium to race in triathlons and got through the summer that way. Finally, my gut returned to somewhat normal, but I’d learned my lesson about taking a cat nip for granted.

Mortal soles

I thought about our mostly happy history together as Wanda lay there on the table yesterday. Her feet were tipped up with pink paw pads visible between black and white fur. Something about that vision hit me deeply. All those days of walking this earth as a kitty were coming to an end. Tears flowed out of my eyes and we all hugged each other. I’ve seen so many things close to me in this life pass away, the experience gutted me in ways that are hard to explain to anyone.

For Wanda, those 14 years were loving ones. The vet’s assistant watched as we all cried and left the room. “She was lucky to have you,” she said quietly. That made me think about Wanda’s time on earth, which totaled some 5,110 days (or so). That’s been her mortal life. She even survived an attack by a dog a few years back, and she really gave it back to that, dog teeth and claws, when she spun and around and nailed him.

Wanda’s 5000 days were good in cat years, equivalent to almost 60 human years. And human beings don’t have all that much more time on earth. 85 years is considered a fairly long life for most, and that’s 31,025 days. I’ve lived 22,265 days. Talk about a gut check.

Precious days

Every day is precious indeed. Yet all our anxious thoughts can have the effect of tossing these precious days aside. The Bible warns us not to worry our days away. So do psychologists, work mentors and yes, even triathlon coaches. Stop worrying so much! Let it happen! Let the training work for you! Enjoy the session, the race, the event! You only live once!

Sometimes it takes a solid reminder like the passing of something you love to appreciate the value of our mortal souls and our mortal soles. I’ll grieve the loss of our kitty because she was sweet and loving despite the bite she once gave me. That’s the nature of life itself. We get to taste the bitter with the sweet. We even invite it upon ourselves with these endurance ventures in which we engage. These runs and rides. These swims and transitions and podium wishes. The Bostons and Konas. The first time around the block after an injury. The last time around the old neighborhood before a move. The memories build and the days fly by. Try to keep up.

As for Wanda, I hope she gets to enjoy a different kind of cat nip in kitty heaven. She deserves a good life in eternity.

Posted in aging, aging is not for the weak of heart, death, life and death | Tagged , , , , , , , , , , , , , , | Leave a comment

Chill factor in Chicago

Posted on February 2, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

When a friend and I lived in the City of Chicago for a couple years, our apartment was situated on Clark Street overlooking Lincoln Park. We lived on the second floor of a building commonly called a two-flat.

Our landlord was a curious guy named Horace. We’ll change his last name here because he no doubt has living relatives. I was pretty sure he was dead by now, but I just looked him up on MyLife and Facebook and he’s still very much alive in his 90s.

What I’m about to share about the man is true. He was massively cheap with the heat in the buildings he owned. During the cold winters of ’83 and ’84, the temperature in our apartment dropped below fifty degrees at several points. I recall staring at the thermometer in our apartment and wondering if I could survive the night.

Keeping the buildings that cold was against the law in Chicago, and still is. This morning the Chicago Tribune carried a story about landlords who break the civil code by refusing to heat their buildings well enough. That was Horace, and I bet it would still be the case if the City did not crack down on him. He was retentive in a variety of ways.

No so sexy advice

Once when I was invited to his office to discuss the rent and some other business, he engaged me in a conversation about my dating life. Apparently, he’d noticed the young woman I was dating enter our apartment late in the day, so he felt compelled to offer up some sexual advice. “Never come when you’re having sex with a woman,” he warned me. “It gives them too much power over you.”

Even then I thought to myself. Isn’t that the point? Love is the ultimate risk of emotion and commitment. Sex is the expression of a willingness to take that risk, and live with it.

Breakup lessons

That woman and I broke up when I moved out of the city a few months later. She was so angry with me she punched me in the arm. I suppose I deserved that for leading her into a relationship that I likely could not fulfill. But I really did have strong feelings for her, and with any other circumstance in life at the time, it might have worked out between us. But another relationship won out. Suffice to say she took revenge in a way that hurt me years later. Such are the real risks of love and sex.

Engaged to pain

The fact of the matter is that I was engaged in a relationship with pain at the time. Running all those miles on the streets of Chicago was intense. In 1984 I raced 24 times and won a number of those races as a result of all that training. I was sponsored by a running shop, the closest I’d ever come to being a professional runner, which was truly a rare occupation in those days. I wasn’t good enough to go any farther or faster than that, but it wasn’t for lack of trying, and living with the pain of that effort.

There were nights when it was so cold outside the only way to get in a workout was to mount a bicycle that I owned on MagTurbo indoor trainer that I’d bought and pedal away until sweat broke on my brow and dripped down onto the floor. I was not a cyclist at the time, but strapping myself to that bike was the only way to raise my heart rate and force the oxygen through my lungs until carbon dioxide came pouring back out.

Nights of wonder

Still, I recall lying under those covers in that chilly Chicago apartment with the thermostat showing 48 degrees and thinking, “I’m not going to let this get to me.” And I didn’t. Threw on another layer of blankets and breathed in that cold night air until sleep washed over me in all its mercy.

The rest of my life has offered up some serious tests of character and will. I’ve faced the cold winds of death itself as a number of people close to me succumbed to disease and age. Yet sometimes, when the weather turns cold, I’m reminded of the chill factor in that Chicago apartment. That’s when I take stock of any situation and think to myself, “I can make it through this too.”

How about you?

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Closed for business. As if.

Posted on January 31, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

Our two-mile drive to the fitness center was all for naught this morning. It was closed for business due to overnight temperatures exceeding twenty-five below zero.

Plenty of places have been closed for business across Illinois. Workers in a wide variety of fields have either taken a day off or worked from home if their jobs allowed.

In my case, there’s hardly a function of my employment that I can’t do remotely. So I had a pretty productive day. For better or worse, that’s how communications works these days. The interconnected world never shuts off.

Screen time

This is neither a good or a bad thing. It just is. Every week my phone offers a screen time assessment to tell me whether I’ve spent more or fewer minutes and hours checking email, Instagram, Facebook, Linkedin and more.

More than most people thanks to my line of work, this is my world. Sometimes it wears on me to be “on” 24/7 in case there are messages critical to my job cropping up that require action.

Hook me up

Yet when it comes to escaping all this digital communication through fitness activities, technology has chased us down there as well. I’ve long been a Strava user, the app that tracks your every step of a run and every inch of a ride. Or thereabouts.

Then there’s Garmin. My new Fenix 5 watch does amazing things including measuring my heart rate, aerobic versus anaerobic efforts and stress levels. It lists about twenty activities one can measure from indoor cycling to taking a dump. Well, that’s not quite true. The dump part. But it does measure Body Mass Index, and you could probably subtract that last bowel movement and get an accurate number of what’s inside if you really tried.

Data points

Which is exactly my point: There are some things that simply don’t need to be measured. That’s one of the tarsnakes of training these days. The data is all great, but the point of working out isn’t really found in all those numbers and figures. It’s ultimately how it makes you feel that matters.

Which is why there are days when I openly leave all the gadgets home and just go out and run or ride. I also never perfectly relax in the pool unless I leave the watch off. Just keep swimming…

The point here is that it truly can help to take a few moments where you are Closed for Business when it comes to all that data. Just let some things happen rather than measuring every twitch and fart that you accomplish.

There’s an art to embracing the idea of Just Do It and all variations in between. We should not forget that in the wave of information washing over us daily.

Posted in Christopher Cudworth, Tarsnakes, triathlete, triathlon, triathlons | Tagged , , , , , , , , , | 2 Comments

The day my eyelids froze shut

Posted on January 30, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

It’s true. I once went running in temperatures of twenty-three below zero. A half mile into the run, my eyelids froze shut. That’s a weird feeling I can assure you. I stopped, covered my face and warmed the area the best I could. Then I turned around and ran back home.

Wind chills were fierce that day as well. But after three days stuck largely inside the house during the cold winter of 1982, I’d had enough. So I went running. Not the wisest decision ever made, but to this day I can still say I did it.

Voices frozen in mid-air

There have been many other extremely cold runs over the years. During one seven-miler we were climbing a hill into stiff north winds with temps at thirteen below. I turned to talk to my running partner Rob Serres and no words came out of my mouth. My vocal cords were too cold to speak. He burst out laughing and pointed at me. “You can’t talk!” he roared.

Waves of terror

While living in Chicago, I went for a run through Lincoln Park up to Montrose Harbor and back from our place at 1764 N. Clark. Temps were six below and a north wind was howling straight down the shores of Lake Michigan. In several places, the lakefront path cuts quite close to the water. As I eased my way along an icy section of trail, a windblown wave slapped into the breakwater and came splashing down on me from straight above. Instantly I was soaked with icy lake water. It was a cold, harsh two mile run back to our apartment.

Cashing it in(side)

These days I don’t feel so compelled to prove myself tough enough to withstand such temperatures or conditions. I’m no fan of the treadmill and not great at riding more than an hour on the indoor trainer, but they’re far superior to freezing my eyelids shut, losing my voice due to thirty-below wind chills or getting doused with water barely above freezing.

Tough young kid

It’s twenty-four below zero here in Illinois this morning. That makes me think back to being a humble little paper boy in the town of Elburn, Illinois in the early 70s. One morning when the temps hit seventeen below my father go up and drove me on the route. I think something in him admired my dedication to that paper route when I was such a slacker in other areas of my life, especially subjects I did not like in school.

In those days the weathermen did their best by using charts and graphs and calculations to predict winter storms. They were still pretty accurate on most accounts. These days with computer modeling the weather folks (ladies included) can predict an almost precise line where rain will turn to snow and vice versa.

Polar Vortex

They also know why the Polar Vortex is splitting far up north in the Arctic and sending massive blocs of freezing cold air down into the Midwest. Climate change is forcing the issue with warming ocean currents and shifting air masses combining to mess with the world’s weather phenomenon. Our ignorant President here in the United States tweeted out some foolishness comparing cold weather to climate change. His lack of understanding of the issue shows how specious the creep can be about anything that confuses him. And that’s everything.

All these experiences build character over the years, including patience with politicians and weathermen alike. But at some point you get to cash in some of that character, stay inside and run on the treadmill or ride the bike until sweat comes streaming off you like the middle of July.

And my eyes will remain wide open and unfrozen. On all issues.

Posted in aging, cycling the midwest, healthy aging, healthy senior, mental health, riding, running, training | Tagged , , , | Leave a comment

Blood tests

Posted on January 25, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

It’s impressive what a doctor can determine about your health from a blood sample. After the physician’s assistant or nurse has sat you down to measure your pulse rate, blood oxygen level and blood pressure, the doctor looks through the numbers on the printout and can check the health of your cardiovascular system, liver and kidneys at a glance. They can also check for signs of diabetes and cancer.

The numbers seldom really lie. There are standards and norms against which our blood levels are measured that are well-defined and proven signs of a body in good health. Like most athletes, I’m as competitive about those numbers as any other in life.

It all starts with pulse rate. I wear my Garmin to sleep and lately it tells me that my overnight resting pulse rate is 45. That’s a pretty good sign.

Today the nurse took my blood pressure and it turned out to be 118/78. Again, pretty good. I was ahead in the blood tests so far. The oxygen level seemed off to her, so she plopped the finger clamp device on the table with a scoff and said, “Thing needs a new battery.”

Then the doctor came in and informed me that my cholesterol is still a little high. “Family history,” he said with a glum grin. He knew both my folks from years of medical treatments at the same family practice.

I take nothing for granted on any of these fronts. Recently some close friends that are also runners have had dramatic and frightening incidents from undetected heart disease. Some had considerable blockages in their arteries. I don’t want to be one of them.

Whenever I spill some blood in a bike crash it provides a bit of morbid fascination watching the oxygen go out of the stuff until it dries brown and lifeless. When I crashed into the downed tree on the bike trail a few years back I was riding at 20 mph with my head down. After running into the tree, I didn’t realize I was even cut on the face until the people who came up behind me stopped to ask if I was okay. I said, “Yes, I think so” as I stood up from the tumble I’d just taken.

“Because,” the woman pointed sheepishly at me with a wiggling finger pointed in my direction, “You’re really bleeding.”

Indeed I was. Blood was pouring out a genuine laceration on my chin. It would require a few stitches to sew shut the cut. The dried blood took days to clean up. And that’s the most we typically see our blood or think about it. By accident. Yet there it goes, everyday coursing around our arteries carrying oxygen and food to our muscles. On its way out and back it gets sticky in spots where plaque builds up. That’s where trouble can happen.

The plant known as bloodroot emits a red fluid from its stem when plucked.

Thus the real “blood test” all of us face is how to deal with personal flaws in our blood level categories. Some might have problems that are lifestyle or diet-driven. Others have hereditary propensities to develop heart disease. Whatever the case, it’s up to us to face the results of every blood test on our own terms. It doesn’t matter what your neighbor or cousin or even brother or sister have experienced. Your blood is your own, and it’s up to you to pass the test on your own terms.

One of the big recommendations made by heart specialists is to get regular exercise. But that’s not a complete safeguard against potential problems inside your body. We’re as much about channels and flow as we are about carbon and dust. Blood is the life source we cannot take for granted, by any means.

Posted in aging, bike accidents, bike crash, blood on the highway, Christopher Cudworth | Tagged , , , , , , | 1 Comment

Two great sources of motivation: “better than” and “better for”

Posted on January 24, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

As young athletes, we frequently spend all our time trying to be “better than” others. We train hard to get better times. We race hard to get better places. We take home trophies or medals if we’re lucky. Those serve as reminders that on some days and in some way, we can truly are “better than” others. That’s the nature of competition.

Yet there are other motivations in this athletic life as well. On the long road to self-actualization, many athletes realize their pursuits have the potential to make them “better for” the work they put in. Better for the lessons learned from training and competing, and triumphs and failures.

I’ll admit that at some points in life, I thought myself better than others for being a pretty good athlete. The problem with that approach to life is that a “better than” attitude can be extremely offputting. We’ve all known a cocky jock who thinks he or she is better than everyone.

Some of these we perhaps admire but others we just grow to despise. Those are the jerks who appear ungrateful for their gifts. At that point, they are neither “better than” or “better for” their supposed talents.

By contrast, when we meet or hear about exceptional athletes whose talents are maximized through hard work, and whose reputations are burnished through service to others, share their lives or wealth in humble ways, we almost marvel that it’s possible.

As for the rest of us who seek to achieve at more modest levels, it is helpful to understand there are times when its a healthy thing trying to be “better than” others. That’s why we enter events and race, to measure ourselves against fellow competitors and attempt to meet or surpass our goals.

But there are times when going out to do events to become “better for” the experience is just as important. Those are some of the reasons why people choose events and races dedicated to raising money or charities. Others become race pacers to give back to the support. And what a thrill helping others achieve their goals! Those are some great “better for” moments in this life.

By contrast, there are also moments when triumph just isn’t part of the picture. When we DNF a race that was supposed to go great (because our training was spot on) it’s frustrating to give in and walk off the course. Yet sometimes we’re “better for” the effort when we learn from it. We are also “better for” the experience when we learn how to transfer the will to overcome difficulties in many aspects of life.

It’s nice to know that we actually have two great pools of motivation waiting for us out there if we need them. Whether you set out on a given day to be “better than” or to become “better for” is up to you. Just be grateful for the opportunity in either case, and life will be much more fulfilling.

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The Athlete’s Lament

Posted on January 22, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

I didn’t get up and work out at the crack of dawn this morning. In fact, I didn’t get up at all until about 6:24 a.m. That’s late for me. More typically I’m either out the door running, dipped into some pool or down in the cycling room chunking gears to some early morning entertainment.

But sometimes I don’t do any of that. I’m a bit thicker in the middle as a result. I get that. Consuming more calories than you burn off is the Athlete’s Lament in par with Portnoy’s Complaint. If you have not heard of the book by that title, its central character is a highly conflicted character who can’t leave his junk alone to save his life, yet feels massively guilt even as he enjoys the sensations of his erotic distractions:

Wiki version: “Portnoy is “a lust-ridden, mother addicted young Jewish bachelor”,[3]and the narration weaves through time describing scenes from each stage of his life; every recollection in some way touches upon his central dilemma: his inability to enjoy the fruits of his sexual adventures even as his extreme libidinal urges force him to seek release in ever more creative (and, in his mind, degrading and shameful) acts of eroticism.”

A sense of guilt

The same pattern often occurs in athletes. We love our pursuits yet at the same time a sense of guilt builds up if we sense that other aspects of our lives may be suffering as a result of our endurance obsessions. That is the Athlete’s Lament.

At one point in my life I made a massive correction in that category of psychology. Following years of seemingly self-indulgent and obsessed participation in competitive running, I made a semi-clean break and stopped racing and training. I was only 29 at the time, so there were likely a few more years of good results left in my body, but my worldview was complete with what I’d already done. I felt no need to continue trying to prove myself. So I pumped my energies into being a better father and husband.

Some seem to have it all

Some people work out that balance without the need for such dichotomy. They can healthily participate in sports and not have it gut the rest of their existence or undermine their responsibilities. They enjoy the effort without letting it dominate or displace their overall self-image.

Yet I’ve seen behind the scenes even with athletes that seem to have it all together and make it look easy, and that’s just it: they make it LOOK easy but it seldom truly is. Everybody’s got their shit to deal with.

Not the retiring type

Still, it is probably true that every athlete secretly longs for unlimited training time. That seems like such a luxury, doesn’t it? I’ve know a few early retirees who got back into endurance sports in a big way because they have the means and youth to still do it. But those folks are the exception, not the rule. Most of us are not the early retiring type.

Yet allow me to share a bit of insight about having unlimited training time. I’ve been lucky or foolish enough to create that situation for myself at different phases of life. In my 20s, I lived on some savings and trained to get as good as I could get. I’m thankful for that opportunity because it permanently assuaged any questions about how good I could be. I found that out.

During that period I trained 2-3 times a day, had 3% body fat and raced 24 times in a single year, winning or placing high in every single race. While there was a certain amount of fulfillment in those pursuits, I still felt the tug of the Athlete’s Lament. “Should I be doing something else in life?”

Self discovery

At one point I mentioned to my mother that I’d been a bit self-indulgent during that period. She turned to me and said, “I don’t think so. I think you burned brightly.”

Of course I was, to some degree, free at that time to do whatever I wanted outside of the running. I spent whole days writing, for example. On other days, I’d paint all day. Still, the rent had to be paid and I worked in a running shop for some of that cash and did freelance design work when I could find it. The economy wasn’t all that great in the early 80s. To be honest, I was scraping by. But I’m proud of that too.

No complaints

Later in life while working for myself I could train and ride all I wanted as well. But I’d built a governor into my system that keeps me from going bonkers over my own athletic pursuits. For better or worse, I’m at peace with the Athlete’s Lament and no longer guilt myself over what I have or have not done. I still feel motivated to participate, have fun and keep my weight in check, but I’m no Portnoy when it comes to persistent angst and I am certainly not complaining about what I can still do. These days, I race and train for the fun of it.

One has to be grateful for that, or nothing will feel satisfying.

Posted in 10K, 13.1, 5K, aging, competition, mental health, race pace | Tagged , , , | 2 Comments

A Captain at sea and on land

Posted on January 17, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth
Mike Czarnik (right) retires after 30+ years of service in the Naval Reserves.

As a Captain the Naval Reserves, Mike Czarnik spent many months at sea over the last thirty years. In an event held at Great Lakes Naval Center in North Chicago, Illinois on January 12, 2019, he completed the second phase of a retirement ceremony that began at the naval base in Norfolk, Virginia. 

The Navy’s retirement traditions focus on sending a shipmate ashore one last time. Thus attired in fully formal Navy dress uniform with a bristle of medals clinking on his chest, Captain Czarnik was celebrated for his many missions and service to country. That included 38 years of total Navy dedication including the training that began in high school and extended through four years at Marquette University in Milwaukee. 

On a day where winds were blowing snow against the east windows of Whitehat training center on the Great Lakes campus, one could hear the roll of waves against the Lake Michigan shore 400 meters east. That roar of surf reflected the significance of life at sea. At one point during his speech about his career, Czarnik related how it felt to be casting off on a naval ship headed for destinations around the world. “Every ship has its own distinct hum,” he shared. “You learn to sleep with the noise, and when you stand on deck and feel the breeze, there is nothing else like it.” 

Czarnik (third from left) is joined by longtime shipmates and peers.

Thus a Navy man explains the lure of the sea and why so many feel drawn to the life of a sailor and shipmate. Sitting still in the face of that pull of the sea is simply not an option. Certainly, those who embrace a sailor on land sense the unique character of Navy life. There’s a sacrifice inherent to the journey. Those that serve know there is no call for apology in that venture. The nobility of the Navy is tied precisely to the fact that one cannot turn around and come back at a minute’s notice. Yet woe to any man or woman unfortunate enough to fall off the back of a ship. The point is this, the risks of life at sea are real. 

In the retirement speech covering his years in the Navy, Czarnik related the character but not necessarily the details of Navy missions around the world. These included missions to danger zones such as Somalia during times of regional crisis. Czarnik also saw many changes in the nature of engagement over the years, for while civil unrest raged on shore, the Marines who departed from his Navy vessel were met with the flash of cameras as journalists covering the story awaited their arrival. In some respects that presumptive presence seemed more unsettling than the nerve-wracking call of duty beyond the shoreline. 

Captain on land

Czarnik’s “other life” beyond the Navy reserves is managing global teams for the telecommunications giant AT&T. As he gave his speech about Navy retirement, he glanced around the audience to compliment his voyageurs in that realm of his life’s journey as well. 

But perhaps there is no more symbolically relevant occupation that Czarnik enjoys more than doing triathlons. The migration from sea to shore is literal and physical, and his multiple full Ironman distance races are testimony to his love of the sport.

Czarnik is a multiple full Ironman distance finisher.

Thus during his speech he also thanked his triathlon friends for their companionship as well. Czarnik’s constitution seems to be that of the Energizer Bunny as he has indeed drummed his way from Navy duties to AT&T to athletic pursuits. Sometimes he seems indomitable, such as the day he completed back-to-back running races at the Gasparilla distance event in Tampa during February 2018. First, he raced the Half Marathon distance in just under 1:45, then turned right around and ran the five-mile race with his partner Julie Dunn. 

Mike Czarnik and his partner and fellow triathlete Julie Dunn.

All the while, Czarnik keeps a running commentary going. The man loves a good joke and even a few bad jokes just to keep things interesting. He admitted that keeping life interesting is part of his persona, relating how he and his shipmates shared life as they traveled from port to port. “And what happens on shore, stays on shore,” he laughed. So did many of shipmates. 

He also related how American Navy policies differ a bit from other naval forces around the world. It seems that the vagaries of life at sea demand tradition not just for the respect and order it accords, but to affirm the knowledge necessary to prepare and protect those who serve.

Naval tradition is rich in significance and ceremony.

The Navy holds to these traditions because they work. Sitting in the chairs below the Whitehat training ship one can study the many ropes, pulleys and implements that Navy trainees must learn before heading out to sea. Knowing your stuff in the Navy, like many other military occupations, is indeed a life or death knowledge base. The tension on a massive rope holding a giant ship at port is dangerous indeed. That’s why Navy personnel train and train again.

Those who rise in the ranks are responsible for helping others put that training to use. In fine Navy tradition, the entire force is considered to be ‘standing watch’ both in literal and rhetorical fashion. Thus when a Captain retires, it is confirmed that those trained by that leader are there to relieve them from duty. 

That is a tremendous statement about the nature of military service. There is a direct commitment to duty that must be fulfilled. Then it must replaced by those who follow.

Those who lose their lives in the process of standing watch are revered for their sacrifice and appreciated for their service. In the Port O Call building where the reception following the retirement ceremony was held, a table sits with a red rose to recall those who lost a loved one. On a plate sits a slice of lemon for the bitterness of death. A black napkin mourns those who are gone. The chair is tipped to indicate those who will not return.

Nearby, a beautiful brass bell sits ready to chime the passage of time and how the lives of sailors and officers ring on. 

As Czarnik saluted his shipmates one last time a solemn sailor piped his passage out of the room. Tears flowed from strong men and there were lumps in the throat of many in attendance.

In a world where so many seem to avoid solemnity at any cost, the Navy knows its importance and celebrates the sound of the wind and the shrug of waves carrying ships on the sea. It is both a solemn and salutary profession. 

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Why I’m equivocal about legalized pot

Posted on January 16, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth
Wisdom comes from strange places sometimes.

For quite a few years I’ve been a believer in legalizing pot. Not because I want to smoke it these days. Frankly it was fun to smoke a bit in my twenties, but I just don’t want or need it now.

Part of me is Libertarian on the issue. It seems to be hypocritical to sell so much alcohol in America and yet ban some other kind of drug that is no worse and possibly less damaging in some respects. The volumes of booze we consume in this country is daunting. Have you been to a Binnies or any liquor store and actually looked at those shelves? Human beings actually drink all that. Just stare at the whiskey aisle sometime. It will blow your mind.

Lots of booze

All that drinking is a rather daunting practice if you really think about it. I still like to drink for social reasons. I’ve learned to enjoy different types of whiskey, but I’m not expert on the subject. I like varieties of wines as well, particularly the oakier and dry types. But I’m not educated on them by any means. As for the whole craft beer revolution, it’s interesting, but I’m sick of absorbing all those calories. Every 300 calories craft beer I drink is a workout down the drain. And I’m fatter than I’d like as a result.

My go-to wedding drink is Jack and Coke. I know my pacing with that mixed drink and can avoid getting plastered just by having familiarity with it. Plus it’s a nice balance of booze and caffeine. Again the extra calories are never fun, but that’s drinking. It comes with a price in many ways.

Habituation

One of those prices is, of course, the risk of habituation to alcohol. I use that term with judiciousness. I’ve got many friends whose alcohol habits became problematic. I’ve also had friends that developed addictions. Most eventually emerged knowing their limits and tolerance. It takes discipline for sure.

Then there were a couple friends and former teammates who were not so lucky. One of them was a college teammate whose alcohol consumption was out of control and we all knew it. So was his use of pot. It was a wicked combination. I’ve written about these types of challenges before, so no need for details here. I also watched another teammate go from top runner on the varsity to not even making the team, largely due to pot use. But even at that young age, I recognized the thin line between love and hate when it comes to drugs.

And that one friend and teammate? He died from his addictions.

Delving into pot

After college I got high with pot now and then. I even dated a much older woman who loved the stuff. She knew how to get the strongest mix of pot available. Back then, you’d sometimes get pot that didn’t even get you high. Not her. These days the strains are reportedly much stronger and more refined.

I never tried running while high or doing much of anything else except being young and idiotic just for kicks. That’s exactly why I got high. So I didn’t have to do anything hard.

That’s the problem I see with pot use in general, and why I feel equivocal about legalization of pot here in Illinois and other states. What I saw in close friends who did a lot of the stuff was that it seemed to steal the motivation right out of them. Getting high was an escape for sure.

Sometimes, it seems, it becomes so much of an habituated escape it becomes difficult to return.

Still should be legal

There’s no question there are risks associated with any type of recreational drug use. I still feel it’s better to legalize pot than keep it criminalized. Too many people have been arrested and jailed for the “crime” of possessing a joint or selling pot. It’s hypocritical of our society to pretend one drug is better than the other.

We all eventually have to make choices about what we choose to abide, or not. And as The Stranger in The Big Lebowski says, “The Dude abides. I don’t know about you, but I take comfort in that, knowin’ he’s out there. The Dude. Takin’ ‘er easy for all us sinners.”  – The Stranger

The thing none of us want to see happen is the collapse of any individual to the control of the drug they enjoy, or need. Certainly the opiates “crisis” is an indication that it’s not the source of the drug that matters, it’s the potency and availability.

That’s the battle each and every one of us faces when it comes to drugs. How much can we safely take? For those of you curious about the yin and yang of this issue as it relates to world class athletes, may I suggest the book Duel In the Sun about Dick Beardsley and Alberto Salazar. Compelling stuff.

Proviso

So I embrace the legalization of pot, but with a proviso. It’s also time to put some common sense advice about use and management of pot out there for public consumption. Getting advice from your high buddy in the back seat of a Chevy Impala used to constitute some sort of conventional wisdom. But we know better now, especially those of us that train our bodies on a daily basis, and want to know what’s going into them.

I propose that the word “EQUIVOCAL” should be printed right on the label of every pot item made once it is legalized. Getting people to stop and think about what they’re doing is always good. Making them wonder what the fuck you mean is even better.

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It’s a Flat Earth and Fast Food world so go for it, you’re going to die anyway

Posted on January 15, 2019 by Christopher Cudworth

A Los Angeles Times story recorded that the Clemson football team will be served fast food during their ceremonial visit to the White House.

“Clemson’s national championship football team went to the White House to be honored for winning the title, and President Trump had an elaborate feast ready for them:

“The Clemson national championship team will be coming tonight. It will be exciting,” Trump said. “Very great team. An unbelievable team. I think we’re going to serve McDonald’s, Wendy’s and Burger Kings with some pizza. I really mean it. It will be interesting. I would think that’s their favorite food.”

The President reportedly paid for the food out of his own pocket. The reason this was necessary has something to do with a government shutdown, which the President denies was any of his doing. As reported on Vox,

“A week ago, President Donald Trump said he’d be responsible if the government shut down. Now that a shutdown is imminent, he’s trying to blame it on Democrats.

On Friday morning, with a government shutdown looming as Trump and Congress struggle to agree to a budget deal, Trump tweeted, “The Democrats now own the shutdown!”

Way to Go Coach

One wonders how it work if the Clemson football coach operated by the same standards. “Okay boys, I’m the coach. I’ll call all the plays and you execute them! If we don’t succeed, I’ll own this!”

The team goes out on the field, runs the four plays sent on the field by the coach, and none of them work. They offense runs off the field and the coach berates them. “What are you doing! Why in the hell did you run those plays?”

“You called the plays yourself coach. We did just what you said. It seemed like the other team knew what was coming!”

“Well this isn’t my fault, I can tell you that! Now go eat some junk food and drink a bunch of soda before you got back out for the next set of downs.”

Trump and Triathlon

Or what if the President was a triathlon coach. Every week he’d order you to eat junk food from Wendy’s, McDonalds and Pizza Hut. Then he’d send workouts with instructions such as these: “Now, don’t exert yourself too much. You’ll die sooner if you use up the finite amount of energy in your bodies.”

Yes, truth is stranger than fiction these days when lies and denials and backwards beliefs rule the day. I’d blame it all on the Christian nihilists that are again predicting the End of the World in 2019, which they seem to do every year, but if we all die this year it will more likely be from an asteroid semi-predicted to strike the earth on February 1st. That’s just a day before Groundhog, the morning when Trump makes a statement on whether shadows truly exist or not. “Fake News!” he likely proclaim.

Flat Earth mentality

And the world’s still turning, unless you’re a Flat Earther, in which case you believe that you could literally swim, ride and run until you hit a giant ice wall at the edge of the world.

But that’s still not as strange as the fact that an orange blob who loves fast food and believes that people shouldn’t exercise because it’s killing them is President of the United States.

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