The Hill Not Taken

(My apologies in advance to Robert Frost … )

Everyone knows the expression that misery loves company. As for me, I prefer to leave misery the heck alone.

In some cases, leaving somebody to his own misery is not only more convenient for me, but beneficial for the other person as well. I encountered just such a situation while riding my bike through Fort Ord this week.

About two-thirds of the way into the ride, I was spinning toward home and pondering which route I would take at an upcoming fork in the road. The intersection lies in a valley, and both paths back to the start area involve significant climbing.

The direct road begins with a killer half-mile climb, then flattens out a bit before a couple of shorter (but still challenging) inclines lead over the hill and back down to the starting point. The alternate route is a few miles longer, with a more gradual climb that reaches a higher summit before descending to the same point.

I had some time to spare, and was leaning on taking the longer way around. Then as I approached the intersection, I saw another rider in the distance, starting up the base of the direct, steeper climb.

Two things are worth noting here:

1) It’s unusual for me to see other riders in Fort Ord, let alone ones that are just close enough to help pull me up a tough hill. So having someone ahead of me like that was a great opportunity. And …

2) When I’m training, I’m one of the most absurdly competitive dudes you’ve ever met. My inner alpha dog was barking like mad; I simply couldn’t resist the challenge to reel in another rider on one of the toughest climbs in the park.

So two roads diverged in a valley, and I - … I took the one with the chump on a bicycle that I planned on hammering into the pavement. (OK, it’s not quite as poetic as another version, but that's just the way I roll.)

By the time I reached the base of the hill, he was about a third of the way up, and I was locked onto him like a heat-seeking missile. Standing out of the saddle, I was gaining ground with each pedal stroke, and right on track to pass him about 200 yards short of the top.

But as I got closer, I started noticing things.

The guy was a little bit overweight – at least, he didn’t have the obvious physique that would identify him as a regular cyclist or triathlete. He wore a big Camelpak and a cotton shirt and rode a mountain bike that didn’t appear to be sized properly. He used one of his smallest granny gears while sitting in the saddle, and weaved the handlebars slightly side to side as he climbed. He was clearly struggling.

And in the space of two pedal strokes, my competitiveness turned to sympathy. I didn’t want to pass him. Instead, I found myself rooting for him - because I’ve been him.

It wasn’t that long ago that I was the heavy guy who had to get off the bike and walk because he couldn’t pedal to the top of the hill. Then I became the guy who used the smallest possible gears and nearly passed out after finally making it to the top.

Over the years I’ve developed my skills to the point that I can power my way up almost any hill, frequently dropping training partners in my wake when the roads turn steep. However, I’ve never forgotten the humility of being willing in spirit, but weak in the flesh.

I remember the tenuous emotional balance of determination and despair that I had on those early climbs, when I often contemplated taking up some other activity that wasn’t quite so agonizing. And as I approached the rider ahead of me, I was fearful of tipping that balance in the wrong direction.

I could have rode past and yelled something like, “Keep it up!” or “Almost there!”, but I knew those words would most likely be fleeting in his memory. What he would remember more vividly is how he got passed like he was standing still by some idiot on a 1980s tri-bike. It could even be enough to discourage him from returning to the hill again.

So with about 50 yards left between us, I sat down on the saddle, coasted until my momentum stopped, then silently made a U-turn. I headed back down the hill, and turned to climb the other route back to our starting point. Most likely, the other rider never even knew I was there, and I didn’t see him at the starting point afterwards.

I hope he made it to the top. I hope he felt the triumph of cresting a large climb, and I hope he returns another day to feel the satisfaction of the hills gradually getting easier. I hope he continues to progress like I did, and learns the confidence of knowing he can accomplish many daunting tasks through nothing more than hard work and dedication.

And I hope that my leaving him to his struggle helped him stay focused on the challenge he faced, rather than making him distracted and dejected.

Two roads diverged in a sunny valley, and I – well, I rode halfway up one, changed my mind, came back down, and then took the one less traveled by. Hopefully for that other rider, it has made a small difference.

Read more...

Identity Crisis

Thanks to everyone who welcomed me back after the last post – it was nice to see some familiar names again. I noticed a lot of updated profile photos, too. For the record, I don’t think I’m ever doing that – so that as long as I roam the blogosphere, I’m always going to look 32. Just like I’m still 25 on my driver’s license.

Today’s post is a long one, but I have a few random odds and ends to put out there as well before we get started …

• First, remember how hopeful I was that Britney Spears would get her act together and become a scorching hot video vixen again? Well, in light of recent developments … can we all agree to chalk that whole prediction up to my being an idiot, and just forget I ever wrote it? Because she clearly appears headed in the wrong direction. At least Elizabeth Taylor gave us 20 good years before she became oversized and obnoxious (and unfortunately, I was too young to see any of her glory days). The whole Britney saga is just too sad on too many levels for me to talk about rationally anymore.

On the plus side, my friend Dave finally showed up to one of our workouts this week. So I guess that post wasn't entirely for nothing. I know the right thing to say is that I'd much rather have an old friend return than see Britney become a hottie again, but, um ... maybe I better just leave it at that - it would be the right thing to say.

• I love the fact that there’s a popular rapper named “The Game” right now. We’re ridiculously close to realizing the classic “Seinfeld” exchange where George wants to name his kid Seven, and Jerry counters that a better name would be Mug Costanza. From now on, just pick a noun, and make it your name. Can I be “The Race”? Is there a writer out there called “The Blog” yet? The comedic potential is endless.

(Actually, I hesitate to go much further here, because I sort of like The Game. In fact, I think I’ve got a whole post about him in me for another day. Anyone who writes lines like “Bounce it like you’ve got hydraulics in your G-string” is going to capture my interest. Plus, he’s a lot tougher looking than me. Let’s continue … )

• Finally, I’m as excited as anyone about the next round of reality shows slated to start this month … but doesn’t the whole “Apprentice in Los Angeles” gimmick seem a little too desperate? It reminds me of the Brady Bunch’s trip to Hawaii: a relatively harmless idea at the time, but looking back, it probably signaled the show’s creative demise (that is, before they completely unraveled all credibility by bringing on that annoying Oliver kid. Is it wrong that I still have feelings about this?) Anyway, if one of Trump’s job applicants sleeps in the tent and wakes up with a tarantula on his chest, that’s it for me - I’m walking away from the show.

OK, that’s out of my system. I feel better now. On with the post …

**

I used to think that I had pretty good physical stamina. Then I tried to spend a day last week shopping with my wife.

We took advantage of Grandma’s babysitting offer, and spent the day at the shopping center. The point of the trip was to upgrade my work wardrobe a bit – although getting away from the kids for several hours was a nice bonus, too.

I’ve mentioned before that I’m a somewhat “on the rise” person in our organization. While that’s generally a good thing, the part that drives me crazy is that I can’t always rely on the chinos-and-polo formula that I had slowly crafted over the previous 10 years (Oh, and one more thing - I can’t wear my running shoes anymore. In some ways, that fact alone makes me feel like I’ve sold my soul). I need to evolve a more upscale look, which means occasional shopping outings like last week.

The problem is, I just wasn’t feeling it. I never am, honestly.

Part of my dilemma is that I have no fashion-related sense of identity. Do I want my vibe to be like a privileged Ralph Lauren aristocrat? Or perhaps a J. Crew prep-school blueblood? How about an industrious Brooks Brothers go-getter? Maybe a smoldering Calvin Klein urban socialite? Or a high-society Armani man? I can’t say I feel a strong connection to any of these.

The other issue I have is with the expense involved. It’s hard for me to stomach spending hundreds of dollars on clothes that I don’t feel passionately about, and I’m uncertain that I’ll even like six months from now. If I were to buy those clothes, it would feel like I was simply buying into a certain image, then (probably unsuccessfully) trying to project it as my own.

Whenever I ponder this for too long, it all becomes pretty depressing. And so it was that my wife found me about three hours into the trip, walking around with a dazed stare, and she initiated the following exchange:

Her: You’ve pretty much given up on this, haven’t you?

Me: No, I haven’t … I’m all right.

Her (smiling): No you’re not – you bonked about an hour ago, and you’ve been dragging ever since.

Me: Is it that obvious?

Truthfully, I wasn’t sure whether to be more embarrassed that she was calling me out, or impressed that she correctly used the term “bonked” in a conversation unrelated to running. All I knew is that she was right: I had totally hit the wall. If it were a race, I would be looking for the meat wagon to hitch a mercy ride back to the car.

The paradox in this whole story is that while I have a borderline moral opposition to spending money on clothing to enhance my professional career, I rarely have any qualms about spending a similar amount of money on my athletic exploits.

I purposely neglect calculating the cumulative dollars I annually spend on race fees, travel costs, shoes, clothing, and other gear, because I fear the amount will be too staggering to justify. But somehow, I rationalize it to myself in that these types of expenses accurately reflect the person I am, and because I know the items I purchase will be extremely well-used. (Yes, it’s a shaky premise, but for now it’s all I’ve got. Just humor me and nod like you agree.)

In this arena, I’ve never had any problem with my sense of identity. I’m a runner (whoops, my mistake. I still catch myself saying that from time to time) – I mean, a triathlete who works out for several days per week, with very specific training-related needs.

I know exactly which products work well for me, and which I can live without. I like New Balance shoes on the roads, Montrails on the dirt, and Asics clothing on my body. I prefer training in compression shorts and loose fitting shirts. I wear moisture-wicking fabrics during a run, and 100% cotton afterwards. I need disproportionately thick gloves because my fingers always feel much colder than my core. I know that the Polar 210 has all the features I need, but the 625X is overkill. And I could give you about 20 more examples.

Granted, it has taken me several years to refine these preferences. But even when seeking the perfect balance, I was rarely filled with as much dread in purchasing running gear as I am when shopping for business attire. I think that speaks to the larger issue of self-image. Namely, wearing workout clothes identifies me as a runner (dang, sorry again - I still mean triathlete), and it’s an identity that I can very comfortably project to the outside world, because it’s an honest reflection of my soul.

(Sorry - I know this is getting pretty deep for a post about clothes, but I think I can make a relevant point here soon … )

I think we all carry an internalized, idealistic portrait of ourselves in our day to day lives, and strive to reveal that person to the outside world by the clothing (and, using a similar argument, the demeanor) we display on a regular basis.

For me, that inner person is a triathlete (See there? I’m getting the hang of it). It’s a guy with sweat on his forehead, chlorine in his hair, and perpetual soreness in his muscles. A laid-back guy who likes to push the limits during a workout, then lounge around the house in shorts and a t-shirt afterwards.

And as much as I try to convince myself otherwise, my inner self is definitely not a corporate executive, or someone who is comfortable in the corridors of power. But that’s exactly who I’m supposed to become - so for now I guess I’ll just keep trying to fake it.

It’s not easy to live an illusion, though. I mean, how many people do you know who need psychoanalysis simply by going clothes shopping? I drive myself crazy with this stuff. When it comes to my career, sometimes it seems like success is my own worst enemy.

Somehow, as a triathlete, I don't think I'd ever have such a problem.

Read more...

New Year, Old Me

Remember the last sentence of my previous post? The one where I said I needed to step up my training? I should have post-dated that entry for today, and called it my New Year's resolution.

I haven't done much running since then. I caught a minor cold after the coyote run, and had a crazy week with work and family obligations. Not only that, but my pool has been closed for 10 days, and the weather has been too dang cold for me to get my wimpy tail on a bike in the morning. It's like the exercise fates have conspired against me this week - to which, honestly, I didn't really object too much. I've taken things very easy for the past week, and I haven't exercised at all over the weekend. My plan is to ease back into things tomorrow - but I'm still reserving the right to change my mind when the alarm beeps at me in the morning.

If you're a longtime reader of this blog, you know our family's New Year's Eve tradition (and if not, this post will bring you up to speed). So in addition to eating a lot of brownies, here's what I've spent the majority of the last two days working on:




It's one of those photomosaic puzzles, and this was our status as of about 9:00 PM last night. We've made a lot of progress since then, and I'll post a completed picture later, but you can probably tell what it is already.


That's all I've got to report for now, so I'll wrap up with a couple of administrative notes ...

First, I'm insatiably curious as to how people initially find my blog, and what cyber-vehicle they use to return (for those who choose to return, that is. I haven't been able to find stats on that one yet.) I tend to use Bloglines, but I know that others prefer Feedburner or Google Reader or something else. So I've added some subscription options on the sidebar at right, including a direct e-mail notification if people would rather receive posts that way. If there are any other servers that you would recommend, please let me know.

Also, I've decided to go ahead and turn comments back on, starting with this post. Actually, after an initial detox phase, I tolerated the comment-free days much better than I anticipated, and in some ways, I enjoyed the simplicity of having comments disabled. But I also realized that part of the fun of blogs is seeing other people's reactions to somebody's posts - especially when the somebody who wrote the post is me. So, what the heck - new year, new beginnings. Let's roll with the comments enabled again.

(And if you're keeping track at home .... yes, my wife predicted this about 3 months ago. One of these days I should just listen to her from the beginning, and save myself a lot of trouble.)

But finally, here's one disclaimer about the comment thing: I'm not getting around the blogosphere nearly as often or as extensively as I'd like to. So if it takes me a little while to reciprocate contact with you, please don't take it personally.

That's all for now. I need to get back to the puzzle before my wife takes too much credit for our progress. My plan is to finish early enough that I can get a good night's sleep, and be back on the road first thing in the morning.

But we'll see how I feel when the alarm clock goes off.

**

Updated 9:30 PM PST: We finished! Here it is:



Hopefully I'll be in bed in an hour, and running the streets by 5:30. Good night.

Read more...

Release the Hounds!

Virtually every runner knows the old joke about the two guys who see a bear approaching their campsite. While one guy gets up to run, the other pauses to lace up his running shoes, leading to the following exchange:

First guy: Why are you bothering with your shoes? They won’t help you outrun the bear.

Second guy: I don’t have to outrun the bear … I just have to outrun YOU.

**

I frequently ponder a variation of the joke whenever I’m with a group of runners that crosses paths with some manner of wildlife. In such situations, I wonder - if the animal for some reason decided to turn aggressive, could I outrun anyone in this group in order to save myself?

Thankfully, the question has always been asked from a hypothetical standpoint. But for a few moments last weekend, it looked like I might finally get a practical answer during an encounter in the Fort Ord open space of Monterey County.

Our group frequently does long weekend runs in the 28,000-acre wilderness that, until 1994, was the property of the US Army. Since the base closure, large portions of the open space have been converted to public use trails, allowing runners and cyclists to log endless miles in the same undulating, chaparral-dense terrain where military divisions once practiced battlefield maneuvers.

Fort Ord is also home to a lot of wildlife, as just about every Western creature has been spotted wandering its hills at one time or another. Most are the small, harmless variety, but everyone knows that the big game are out there also. Mountain lion sightings aren’t particularly unusual, and one day about 8 years ago, a brown bear walked out of the hills and into the parking lot of a nearby Target store.

So when you’re running in Fort Ord, it’s a good idea to keep one eye on the horizon. If you hear wild animals howling, you may want to think about changing directions. And if, in such a situation, you decide to keep going … then you better be confident that you can outrun your training partners.

Last Saturday morning almost put this theory to the test. Approximately 90 minutes into our run, six of us descended a hillside, and heard the unmistakable howling and yelping of a coyote. We could distinguish the sounds enough to determine that more than one animal was involved – and the desperate tones led us to think we were hearing a takedown in progress.

We kept heading down the trail. (On a related note, let’s just say that nobody will ever confuse our running group with a Mensa club.)

As we crested the next hillside, the sounds grew louder, and we spotted a truck parked on one of the fireroads. Approaching the truck, we learned it was from the local SPCA, and its backseat cargo was the source of the disturbance we heard: two coyotes being relocated to the wild.

They had probably wandered into a nearby neighborhood or got trapped in somebody’s yard, then were captured with tranquilizers and kept in a pen until they could be returned to their proper surroundings - at precisely the time that we happened to be running by. They were screeching their despair and anxiety about being caged in such an unfamiliar manner.

We waved “good morning” to the game warden, continued down the trail, and looked over our shoulders just in time to see the coyotes leap from the truck and disappear into the brush.

At that point, we were sure of two things:

1) Two agitated, aggressive, probably hungry coyotes had just been dropped off on the same trail we were using, and …

2) The SPCA guy had given us about a two minute head start.

As you can imagine, the pace of our run became noticeably accelerated.

To our collective credit, none of us went into panic mode. A couple of guys made reference to the “I just have to outrun you” joke, and there was some nervous laughter as we navigated the rolling hills and high brush towards our pre-arranged turnaround point - but no one really lost his composure.

And all the while, I was secretly sizing up the guys around me, trying to assure myself that I could outrun not just one, but two of them (one for each coyote) should the need arise. I made sure to position myself towards the front of the group – away from the back where I’d risk getting picked off from behind, but remaining a step behind the front guys so they would expend more energy while I drafted. During those 20 minutes or so, I was strategizing like a chess master in the middle of the pack.

We made it to the turnaround point without incident, then voted on our potential return route. The original plan was to do a simple out-and-back, but we decided to take a more roundabout way that would add a couple of miles, and take us away from the trail we just finished.

The vote was unanimous – so maybe we’re not complete morons, after all.

The remainder of the run passed without incident, other than it being my first 20-miler in about six months. As I expected, the run didn’t feel as comfortable as I’d like, and illustrated that I have a long way to go to get my marathon fitness back. Ultimately, the coyote episode may have been just what I needed to kick my training into high gear again.

Over the years, I’ve become accustomed to training hard in order to attain certain goals. But anyone can train for a road race. Now I'm thinking that if I treat my training more like a matter of survival, perhaps my workouts would take on a whole new sense of urgency. I want to be confident in my ability to hang with whatever training partners show up on Saturday mornings.

I mean, I’m all for the joy and camaraderie of a running group. However, when the hammer comes down, I like to know that I can outrace some of my partners. I've always thought the payoff would come on race day - but Saturday's run showed me that someday, I could be in a situation with far higher stakes.

Either way, one thing is for sure: I need to step up my training.

Read more...

My Christmas List

TO: Santa Claus, North Pole
RE: Wish list

Dear Santa –

Hi! Remember me? I’m the kid from Carmel Valley who wrote last year and told you how a lot of great running equipment could help your toy delivery enterprise. I hope that was helpful for you. I like to help people. All 12 months, too - not just in December like a lot of other kids.

In fact, I was thinking of another way I could help you this year – which brings me to my wish list.

You know, Santa, there are so many great products for runners out there, it’s hard to keep up with them. Sometimes I even have a hard time keeping track of them, and I write a column about running! With technical clothing, specialized shoes, and all kinds of gadgets like GPS systems or heart rate monitors or downloadable coaching software, it’s easy to get carried away with the wish list.

But you know what, Santa? I’m not going to ask you for any of that stuff. All of those things are available to runners at any time of year. Heck, I’ve even bought some running gear on eBay – I learned how to bid all by myself this year. And I figured that if I don’t get any toys, it would save you some elf labor costs and shipping difficulties in that crowded sleigh. See? Aren’t I helpful?

This year, instead of material gifts, I’d like some things that are harder to come by. Things that can’t be bought from a website or made in the elves’ workshop, but will still help me become a better runner.

Running is an old-fashioned sport, Santa. A runner can have all of the gadgets in the world, but the only way for him to truly be successful is through hard work. It takes a lot of dedication to train every day, and competing in races can be quite intimidating. So I put together a list of things that would make it a little easier for me to keep training and racing.

This year, what I’d really like is:

* Discipline: to set my alarm early each morning, and

* Energy: to actually get out of bed when it goes off.

* Ambition: to set challenging race goals for myself, combined with …

* Confidence: in my ability to achieve them, and …

* Determination: to stay focused on those goals when success seems unlikely.

Get the idea, Santa? Isn’t this refreshing? You can bring me dozens of these things, and it won’t take up one extra inch of space in your bag. So let’s keep going …

* Speed: Because I’m not getting any younger, Santa. I seem to lose a little bit of this each year. But I don’t want to sound greedy – so just leave enough to get me through the next 12 months and I’ll be happy.

* Patience: to accept that significant change takes time, along with

* Perseverance: to see my long-term goals through to fruition, and …

* Faith: that if I keep working hard, I’ll eventually succeed.

By the way, Santa – marathon season is coming up soon. Which means I’ll need some …

* Stamina: to finish my 3-hour training runs this spring

* Tenacity: to do hard track workouts like 8 x 1600m, even when it’s dark and cold, even when it’s raining, and even when the rest of my training partners don’t show up. I’d also need some …

* Toughness: to help me finish all those difficult workouts even when I feel like quitting. But when you bring this, maybe you should include a little bit of …

* Intelligence: to know when to ease up on training to avoid injury.

Most of all, the things a marathon runner needs are …

* Endurance: to stay on pace through 26.2 miles, and …

* Courage: to run bravely in the face of great hardship. (Now that I think of it – can you postpone delivery of this gift until April 29th? Just drop it off at mile 23 of the Big Sur Marathon, and I’ll look for it there.)

Finally, Santa - since it’s the holiday season, how about …

* Self-restraint: to lay off the cookies and ice cream for a while. Otherwise, this whole list won’t do me much good at all. And most importantly …

* Joy: to love every day I’m able to run, and for the countless benefits it gives me. Sometimes I get too focused on training toward a specific race, so this would be an extra special gift for me.

Thanks a lot, Santa. I hope this list makes your work a little bit easier. I can’t wait to start training with all my new gifts starting December 26th.

Have a great flight!


Sincerely,

Donald B.
Carmel Valley, CA

Read more...

Racing Toward Manhood

(Administrative note: I switched to Beta Blogger over the weekend. Shortly afterward, I discovered that about 50 of my previous posts were republished on my RSS feed. So if your Bloglines list was overflowing, I apologize. That part was somehow omitted from the Beta promotional page. Now for today’s post …)


Like any parent, I struggle with finding ways to teach my kids the important lessons in life. Choosing the proper time, utilizing the right approach, and providing instruction at an age-appropriate level of understanding is such an elusive confluence of circumstances, it sometimes seems amazing that I’ve ever instilled anything valuable in them at all.

Other times, opportunities fall right into my lap.

Last week was one of the latter days. I picked my 8-year-old son up from school, and during our short drive home, we had two separate, but ultimately related conversations.

First, immediately after we got into the car:

**
Me: So how was school?

Him: Good. We had P.E. today. They timed us in a one-mile run.

Me: Really? How did you do?

Him: I ran it in eleven minutes. We had to make it in 12 to pass.

(The track around his elementary school is a quarter-mile footpath that rises about 20’ at one end of the playground)

Me: That’s pretty good. You’d probably run even faster on a track that’s flat.

Him: Yeah. How fast can you run a mile?

Me: My fastest was five minutes. Right now I could probably do about five-and-a-half.

Him: Wow. That’s fast.

Me: Not really. You can run that fast before too long, if you work at it.

**

The second exchange happened after we stopped at the mailbox at the base of our street, and continued into our driveway. It was triggered by a Christmas card addressed to my son.

**
Him: Hey – what’s this word mean in front of my name? It says “Master.”

Me: That’s a proper form of address for a boy. Just like people use “Mister” for a man. You’re called “Master” when you’re young, and when you’re a grown-up, you become a “Mister.”

Him: Oh. So … when do I become a man?

(I mean … that’s a pretty loaded question, right? Am I allowed to tell him that I’m still wondering that about myself? I realized I could have gone several different ways with this: physical maturity, emotional independence, industrial self-reliance, etc. I hesitated just a second, then decided to play to my strength.)

Me: You’ll be a man when you can beat me in a one-mile race.

**

So maybe that wasn’t the best answer. I’m sure if I thought about it a bit, I could have come up with something a bit more profound. Or maybe not. I said that these opportunities fall right into my lap – I didn’t say that I know how to capitalize on them.

But despite the misguided illustration, I might have inadvertently made my point. He’ll need to get older, stronger, more determined and more driven before he has any chance of beating me. I’ve got a several minute advantage now, but the day will eventually come when his ability will exceed mine. And like any other milestone, this one will probably be here much earlier than I anticipate.

It wasn't quite the response he was looking for - but on some level, I think he got the idea. So maybe the conversation wasn’t such a lost opportunity after all.

Read more...

Sir Chafealot

I’ve never been a big fan of editors.

From a writer’s standpoint, there’s something inherently malicious about an objective third party slashing key sentences or paragraphs out of your work – especially if it’s done merely to allow space for a half-page Mercedes-Benz ad, or for a 600-word AP wire story about the rise of frisbee golf in America.

Even more frustrating is when they selectively edit words or phrases that might be offensive to Joe Newspaper Subscriber or whoever else might happen to see our articles at the bottom of some birdcage. It’s not like we go out of our way to offend people – but there are some things that just sound funnier or more memorable when we use language that is more, shall we say … descriptive.

Mike and I have been fairly lucky in our Herald gig, in that our editors seem to print pretty much whatever we submit. They occasionally chop portions of our articles to save column space, but they rarely censor the subject matter itself. (I guess if you’re publishing a column about running, you rarely need to worry about it getting too edgy.)

That’s why we were somewhat surprised when the following column got partially modified when it appeared in the Herald last week. It wasn’t anything major (and not nearly as much as our sex article last year), just selective elimination here and there that made the whole thing seem less colorful. It was kind of a bummer.

Thankfully, I don’t have that problem with this blog. So here’s our article from last week, full length and uncensored. Think of it as the Director’s Cut version. And be reassured that I’ll always give it to you straight.

***

Running Life 12/07/06 “Red Badge of Courage”

Warning: this column contains graphic depictions of sensitive body areas. Reader discretion is advised.

Winter is rapidly approaching, which for most people means celebrating the joys of the season. Like ski weekends. School vacations. Nervous laughter as your boss gets hammered at the company party. Things like that.

On the other hand, many runners become preoccupied by thoughts of flaming thighs, mistybutt, and udder cream.

Cold weather forces runners to wear extra layers of clothing, which can irritate the skin in many places. For them, winter ‘tis the season for increased chafing. So even though it may make you wince or grimace, today we’re gonna talk about it. (No need to thank us. We consider this a public service.)

It’s a problem as old as the sport itself. The first recorded case of chafing afflicted one of the lesser-known Knights of the Round Table, Sir Chafealot (thus the word origin). After a long day on horseback slaying enemies of the king, Sir Chafealot was heard to complain, “Forsooth and alas! My inner thighs feeleth hot as dragon’s breath.”

Runners definitely know how Sir Chafelot feels. Virtually all of us, at one time or another, have had what’s sometimes called the Red Badge of Courage: a particularly nasty case of chafing that grows worse with each passing mile.

Sure, you may decide to gut out the pain and finish the run – but then you end up walking bow-legged for a week and screaming bloody murder anytime you get in the shower. Every subsequent run feels like your skin is peeling off. Alas indeed.

Chafing can occur anywhere that skin rubs against skin, or against certain types of clothing. The most common areas are the inner thighs, but virtually every part of the body is fair game. The longer the run, the greater the chance of chafing.

If you don’t believe us, watch the finish of a marathon someday, where you’ll encounter members of the Bloody Nipple Society. When cotton shirts or other coarse fabrics rub against unprotected nipples for several hours, the results are sometimes horrific. It can happen to both men and women. Sometimes it takes weeks to completely heal. The psychological scars last even longer.

Scarlet Cleft Syndrome is a relatively underreported medical condition caused by running in tights. Many runners wear tights or compression shorts to reduce the occurrence of inner thigh chafing. Unfortunately, if the tights are too snug at the waist, or have thick seams, they can cause this syndrome at the top of the buttocks – a mark known endearingly as “mistybutt”.

You may be surprised to hear that this topic has actually been researched. Dr. Andrew McMillan from the University of Glasgow in Scotland, in a particularly enlightening study, concludes that, “Contact between buns and fabric tends to become troublesome when layering is involved.” Um, no kidding.

Dr McMillan suggests running sans underwear beneath the tights, and that for females, ”Thongs and g-strings can be problematic”. (Remember, that’s only while running. Otherwise we’re very much in favor.)

So how can runners prevent excess chafing during the winter months?

Thankfully, there’s an entire industry devoted to keeping runners’ tender areas tender. Several products are available; some of the more common ones are Runner’s Lube, Body Glide, Chafe Eez, and Bag Balm.

Many runners swear by Udder Cream, which was designed to keep cow udders from getting chafed by milking machines. It’s available in most feed stores or hardware stores. (We know - you think we’re making this up. But it’s true.)

Some resourceful runners use Crisco or Pam right out of their kitchen cabinets. Others use Johnson’s baby oil, Desitin, Gold Bond powder, Balm X, or other bathroom remedies that you’ve always heard about but never really knew what they were used for.

One runner’s website has an expert suggestion for mixing your own formula with various ingredients including A&D ointment, Vitamin E and Aloe Vera Cream. Never question the lengths that runners will go to protect their valuables.

Of course, the most predominantly used product is that old-school classic, Vaseline.

Many elite marathoners extol the virtues of petroleum jelly. Frank Shorter, the last American to win a gold medal in the Olympic Marathon, gave a clinic at the Big Sur Marathon expo several years ago. One runner asked Frank exactly how he prevents chafing.

Frank’s answer was simple and sage-like. He uses Vaseline. With increasing emphasis, he stated, “I use it everywhere. EVERYwhere. EVERYWHERE. I use it on my legs. I use it on my toes. I use it on my arms. I use Vaseline EVERYWHERE. Whatever place is in your mind – I use it there too. I use it EVERYWHERE!”

We definitely agree with Frank on this one. Go ahead and use it. Use it everywhere.

Your choice of clothing is also very important. Better fitting clothes will reduce your chance of gaining a Red Badge. If you wear tights, make sure the seams are soft and don’t lie over delicate areas.

With shirts, there are a large number of moisture wicking fabrics that move sweat away from your body, preventing the shirt from becoming heavy and coarse. Many runners also wear Band-Aids to decrease their risk of developing nipple “issues”.

Chafing doesn’t have to be inevitable. With a little trial and error you should be able to find the right combination of products that work best for you. Once you find a system that works, stick with it.

Then hopefully you won’t end up like Sir Chafealot this winter.

Read more...