Letting my legs take over the ride

June 15, 2018

legsWith my injured leg muscles well again (thanks to my therapist’s counsel and a winter that stretched into April), it’s time to regain strength in my bicyclist’s legs. The sports medicine doctor assured me that I will be able to continue cycling the way I have done all these years: many miles per day, day after day (age-adjusted, of course).

My sister, a few years younger than I, has invited me to an aggressive ride up Hurricane Ridge Road in the Olympic National Park in celebration of her mid- August birthday. A four-day bike tour of the Columbia River Gorge earlier that month will help me resume this kind of cycling.

My training plan to get ready for these events combines advice from doctors, expert long-distance cyclists, and my own experience as aggressive open road cyclist.

Ride enough miles all year to keep good base strength. For several years, I’ve been cycling about seventy-five miles a week, including one vigorous ride of thirty to forty miles. During this winter of reduced mileage, that base has declined, and now I’m beginning to rebuild. Progress during the past month is encouraging.  

Overtraining does more harm than good. So get your rest days in. This wording comes from an article by Dr. Conan Chittick with IU Health Physicians Family and Sports Medicine. A day of reduced activity after three days of hard activity, he writes, allows muscles to restore and regenerate. At this stage in my recovery, I’m finding that one long, hard ride per week, two or three shorter but vigorous rides and at least one day with no rides at all is a pattern that works. I’m back to seventy-five miles per week and feeling better!

Ride about 10% of your miles, especially on longer rides, at close to maximum effort. This is one of the recommendations that ultra-marathon cyclist Lon Haldeman gives to cyclists who sign up for the challenging tours that he and Susan Notorangelo conduct through their company PAC Tour (Pacific Atlantic Cycle Tours). I’ve done ten of these tours  and know from experience that this guideline works. These short bursts at full power output help legs and lungs learn how to ride that way and gradually all of a cyclist’s miles become faster and overall condition improves.

I don’t keep a close count on these miles; instead, I let the road do the counting. Most routes have hilly sections, even if some are little more than highway and railroad overpasses. Rather than gearing down, I keep pushing and often can ride right through.

Hydrate more. On one of my many several stays in Claremont, California, I was cycling up an easy grade on a lower slope of Mt. Baldy. Twenty minutes into the climb, I stopped to watch a filming crew at work. Standing there, I grew so dizzy that I had to lean on my bike to keep from falling. As soon as I got home, I talked with my doctor (also an experienced road cyclist).

After examining me and finding nothing wrong, he recommended that I wear a water carrier on my back so that I could more easily keep hydrated. On long rides, especially in remote areas I do what he recommended because it is easier to keep the liquid flowing in when the drinking tube is right there by my mouth. On shorter rides, I still depend upon water bottles. The purpose is to keep drinking so that the heart more easily can keep the blood flowing.

“And don’t push so hard; it might be dangerous.” As I was leaving, my doctor added this warning, explaining that no matter how much you train your heart slows down as you grow older. It made sense, partly because on my own I had recognized that I could push too hard. Maybe thirty years earlier, I was climbing legendary Mt. Tabor Hill on the Hilly Hundred cycling event near Bloomington, Indiana. At the top, I nearly passed out and vowed to ease up a little. I also got some lower gears on my bike to help me in the effort.

A corollary to the rule: “There’s no hill too steep to walk.”

Pay attention to muscle memory. On a thirty-mile ride two weeks ago, I realized as I neared home, that my head was telling me “Slow down,” but my legs kept saying “Go!” There are times when pedaling cadence, breathing, and muscle load are in perfect balance and you can go forever, or so it seems. On two or three rides this spring that same feeling has come, and for a few minutes I quit thinking and let my legs take over the ride. The next day, of course, I sit around a lot.

 

 

 

 


Sermons about God in a University Church

June 5, 2018

Late in the evening of June 5, 1968, Senator Robert Kennedy was shot at the Ambassador Hotel in Los Angeles after winning the California presidential primary. He died the next day. Two months earlier he had consoled a mostly black assemblage in Indianapolis who were just hearing of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., earlier that evening. These murders were but two of the events during one of the most tragic years in modern American history.

They climaxed the academic year that my family and I spent in Seattle while I served as visiting minister-theologian at University Christian Church. Living and working in the vibrant, complex, controversial, and liberal university community was a life-shaping experience for me and my family. We went back to our ordinary lives in Indianapolis significantly changed.

As I remember that brief period of life half a century later, I realize that one of the most important aspects for me was learning how to present the Christian gospel to the increasingly skeptical, irreligious, anti-war, pro-personal-freedom constituencies who seemed to dominate the U-District where I spent most of my working hours during that academic year.

So, who is Jesus? And God…how can we talk seriously about a fatherly divine being in heaven above when the world that he supposedly created and cares for is in such a mess? What does the church, with its quaint ideas and fussy ceremonies, have to do with anything, anyway?

These issues consumed the mind, heart, and work of Robert A. Thomas, senior minister of the church, and in his sermons week after week he dealt seriously with the contemporary challenges to Christian faith and proclaimed its relevance to a world that seemed to be falling apart. I had never heard preaching like this before. Bob wrote his sermons in serious, declarative prose, long sentences, complete with dependent clauses. He frequently included quotations from the Bible, modern scholars, and current news sources. Dressed in his black academic gown with wide sleeves, he read the sermons word for word, standing tall in the high pulpit, full voice and animated style, his arms flailing the air.

His liberal theology had been formed during his studies in the divinity school at the University of Chicago, one of the nation’s most prestigious and influential seminaries. He believed that science, history, and the Christian faith could live together and unite in solving the social and personal crises of human life and society. Week after week, I could scarcely contain my sense of excitement as sermon time drew near.

Midway through the fall season, Bob invited three younger clergy related to the congregation to join him in planning and preaching a series of dialogue sermons during the Advent Season that would begin a few weeks later. He proposed that we choose a theme that was rooted in the Christmas story and relevant to the tempestuous world in which we lived. He invited the religion editor of one of the Seattle newspapers to join us for one or two of the planning sessions.

We agreed that Bob would begin the series on November 26, the Sunday between Thanksgiving and the beginning of Advent. He would explain the series, announce the theme, and spend most of the sermon describing the central challenge of our time that we believed the Christian gospel could overcome. During each of the next three weeks, Bob and one of the younger clergy would describe one aspect of our human condition and point toward the Christ-centered response that the Christmas story offers. On the last Sunday of Advent, which that year was on December 24, Christmas Eve, Bob would proclaim the miracle of new life that Jesus brings to the world.

The process was exhilarating for the four of us and well-received by the congregation, enough so that early in the new year, we decided to do it again on the Sundays in Lent, beginning March 3, 1968, and reaching their climax on Easter Sunday, April 14. We gave a general title to the two sets of sermons: Dialogues on the Incarnation. The Advent series we entitled Born to Set the People Free, and the Lenten series, The Tragic Vision.

Walter Hansen, the church’s business manager, typed the scripts for us each Sunday, and my carbon-copy set has been tucked away in my files all these years. As part of this year’s remembrance of that tragic year in American life, I have transcribed these sermons—all 30,000 words—and plan to spend the summer, which will include a two-week period visiting family members who live in Seattle, studying them and reflecting upon the form and character of this experiment in preaching. I look forward to conversations with the two colleagues from long ago who have maintained connections with University Christian Church all these years.

When the time seems right, I hope to write columns that highlight leading ideas in these two sets of sermons and then offer my comments, half a century later, on these sermons about God preached in a university church.