Pandemic pounds, body image, and why people are asking the wrong questions

I’m just saying, maybe we should ask different questions about our fitness during the pandemic.

There are two competing messages in regards to what has happened to people’s fitness during the pandemic.

The first goes something like, “Here’s how to lose all those pandemic pounds!” Or something like that.

The second is a stiff counter narrative, admonishing people to give themselves grace if they’ve added a few, and scolding those who, in their minds, are guilt-tripping people over their inability to uphold a body image ideal during a stressful time.

In both cases, the focus is more or less on appearance. What I’m going to suggest is scrapping both narratives for something more useful.

But first, let me tell you a personal story. It goes like this:

When the pandemic hit the U.S. in earnest about a year ago, my gym shut down. I did workouts from home for a couple of months until it reopened. I waited to see how serious the gym’s management would take COVID-19 safety protocols, was satisfied with their work and started up again. So I began lifting hard, eating to gain some muscle, and running less. Seeing that in-person races weren’t on the horizon, I figured I’d go all-in on the lifting and run just enough to keep up a measure of cardiovascular fitness.

The good news is that I got a lot stronger. I gained some muscle mass. And I was “fit” enough to do some of the more taxing things I love.

The bad news is that without the normal fall race season, I didn’t have that one piece of my training that kept my weight in check: long runs, speed work, and plenty of mileage. Once summer ended, I didn’t switch to race training. I just kept doing the same thing I’d been doing since May.

As my strength gains peaked in February, my body did what everyone’s will do: Plateau. It’s inevitable that any strength program has a shelf life, and the fact that I was able to use mine for nine months and see gains throughout that time is astonishing. But even then, a ceiling was reached.

I got stronger during the pandemic. But I let some things slide that are biting me in the butt right now.

And by consistently eating more than normal (sometimes by design, and sometimes because work-from-home = easy access to the fridge), my body did what a lot of people’s bodies will do: It stopped using those extra calories for muscle-building and started storing them as body fat. There’s a term for it: insulin resistance. And it’s a bad thing. So while I picked up a good amount of strength, I also gained a bunch of extra weight in all the wrong places: in my belly, around my waist, and very likely around my vital organs. Needless to say, that’s not healthy.

I found that as I got heavier, all the other things I liked doing – running, biking and hiking – all got harder, and not just in terms of being winded. My back, hips, knees, ankles and feet all let me know that carrying around a lot of extra weight was doing harm.

So I have a choice: live with my new pandemic pounds or get rid of them.

Going back to my original point about the two competing narratives: In both cases, the focus is on the wrong thing. On one side, you’ve got someone urging you to look your best, and on the other is one telling you to love your body as it is. On the surface, neither is necessarily wrong. But the question they pose is.

What should the focus be? Answer: How is my body performing?

How I see it, body “performance” is examined in two ways. I’m going to use really general terms to keep it easy. One way is “internal” and the other is “external.”

Internal includes things such as how well your cardiovascular system is oxygenating your body. Is your heart working harder than it should? How’s your blood pressure? Does your current physical condition compromise your immune system? Are the habits you picked up during the pandemic negatively affecting your metabolism? How well are you sleeping compared to pre-pandemic weight gain? Are your internal organs functioning properly? How does your blood work look? If the answers to these questions fall to the negative side, this isn’t a question of “body love.” This is a question of your short- and long-term health prospects.

External has to do with how your body moves. Are you more gassed from walking a flight of stairs? Are you finding that your back hurts more? How are your hips, knees and ankles feeling when you’re out for a longer walk? Or when you run? Or after a tennis match?

If you’re more athletically inclined, how are your times looking on your training runs? Or when you’re on the bike? Are you falling further behind your pre-pandemic athletic performance? If the answer is yes, then you’ve got work to do if you want to regain those abilities.

The fact is this: We beat ourselves up with false narratives on body image. BMI is a joke, but it’s still used. We look at “the ideal” and conclude we’re slacking if we don’t resemble fitness models or Instagram stars. All of that needs to go away if it’s undermining your mindset. I’ve seen plenty of people who don’t have the right “numbers,” whether it’s body composition, BMI, weight on the scale, and so on, but their bodies look just fine and they are physically capable of doing all the things they love (my fastest 5K time happened at a weight that was 15 pounds more than when I ran my second-fastest time). And often, they are internally very healthy people.

But if your body is not performing well – internally and externally – then now is not the time to hold back. If you can’t run or play a sport like you want to, or hike as far or as much as you used to, then the joy of those pursuits is stolen.

If I’m going to get back to this form, I’ve got some work to do. And body image has nothing to do with it.

More critically, if your body is not performing well internally, then you’re staring down a future filled with potentially expensive, painful and possibly debilitating health problems. Let that go on too long, and they can cascade. If your pandemic pounds aren’t hurting you and you’re fine with how you look, don’t let anyone guilt you into doing/feeling anything. But if those pandemic pounds are robbing you of your health, it’s time to act.

Bob Doucette

Trail work, conservation taking the next step at Turkey Mountain

Seen on a recent trail cleanup day. Volunteers hauled out trash and did some pruning and basic trail maintenance at Turkey Mountain in Tulsa.

Interesting things are underway on my local trails. Turkey Mountain used to be a place that was occasionally used but often neglected. As it became a more popular place for people to go, we saw more intensive efforts to clean up trash and repair badly damaged sections of trail.

But lately, stewardship of Turkey Mountain has matured. All of the other activities are still happening, but there is an increasing emphasis on making this patch of woods and its trail system more sustainable.

Earlier this winter, a work day included some routine trash pickup and pruning to keep the trails clear. But we also spent some time on habitat restoration.

Part of the recent work at Turkey Mountain: Closing off rogue trails and marking them as ecological restoration areas. Public lands entities have used this practice for years in an effort to repair areas damaged by misuse.

What this entailed was closing off rogue trails that had been marked earlier in the year and installing signage to tell people to let that area be for a while, and let nature take its course in getting it back to a more natural – and sustainable – state.

The National Parks System and the National Forest System has used similar practices to promote healing/repair to sections of trails that had become too worn or were chronic erosion problems. It’s become standard practice, especially in environmentally sensitive areas, like alpine tundra. Damage in those ecosystems can take several years to become whole again.

Habitat restoration work in progress at Turkey Mountain in Tulsa.

At Turkey Mountain, the scars will heal much faster. Temperate woodlands are remarkably resilient. But heavy usage – by hikers, runners, cyclists and others – means a lot more wear and tear. And to be frank, many of these trails were not made with much attention given to the effects of erosion. That’s made several trails turn into ugly, rutted washouts, brown gashes exposing rocks and tree roots that promise to get worse. So I imagine we’re going to be doing restoration work on several areas for many years to come.

More recently, a group went out to scout out more areas where trail work can be done. There are big plans for Turkey Mountain, ideas that focus on making trails more durable while keeping the park as wild as it can be. Some trouble spots were identified, and in looking at these places I walked some paths I hadn’t seen before. There are ponds all over Turkey Mountain, but I didn’t know that one of them (one I hadn’t seen before) was a substantial beaver pond, complete with a lodge. It’s a good reminder that while the park is in the middle of a city, it’s still home to numerous species of wildlife. We enjoy recreating there, but for these creatures, Turkey Mountain is home. Food for thought not only as we work there, but also in terms of how we play there.

The River Parks Authority in Tulsa is working with volunteers and experts to identify future areas of trail work that need to be done at Turkey Mountain. On a broader scale. RPA is working toward implementing a master plan for Turkey Mountain aimed at balancing outdoor recreation needs and conservation for long-term sustainability.

More big news from Turkey Mountain is coming. The pandemic delayed or canned some plans, but with COVID-19 finally starting to loosen its grip, there’s a chance that a lot of the education programming, athletic events and other activities that were put on hold can resume.

It’s not lost on me that just a few years ago, the future of Turkey Mountain was in doubt. Single-year leases, a hodge-podge of privately owned parcels and a proposal to turn a chunk of it into an outlet mall made the park’s outlook unclear. It doesn’t seem that way now.

Volunteers scope out places for future trail work projects.

• Bob Doucette

At the trailhead or on the starting line, the coronavirus may wreck your plans

Climbing Mount Everest has been canceled for the year because of COVID-19 concerns.

The news cycle tends to dominated these days by one thing: the novel coronavirus known as COVID-19.

It’s going to affect pretty much all areas of life for us here in the United States, and from what I can see, things are just starting to ramp up. And “all areas” include those things that we love to do the most: live adventurously.

As an example, China took the extraordinary step to close the north face of Mount Everest for the season. Not long after, Nepal announced plans to close the south side. Himalayan mountaineering there and on the other peaks is pretty much shut down now.

I can imagine that’s going to be a similar story in a lot of places outside the Himalayas. Given the severity of the outbreak in northern Italy, it wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine a near-dead climbing season this spring and summer in the Alps. Certainly that will be the case in the Italian Alps, and as the disease progresses in neighboring countries, it may be a quiet year in European mountain towns for some time.

I don’t know what that means for us here in the States. For now, there haven’t been any restrictions on travel inside the country, but should we experience the level of outbreak seen in Italy, it could happen.

Local races can draw hundreds of competitors and thousands of spectators. Will these events still happen this year?

There’s something else, too. The same community that heads to the hills for adventure also tends to find itself on starting lines. From 5Ks to ultramarathons, and any number of cycling races, the spring usually brings on a ton of events that draw outdoor athletes from all over the place.

Close to my neck of the woods, we’ve got a local half marathon and full marathon coming up next month. In late April, the Oklahoma City Memorial Marathon – a big event by most standards – is on deck. In my city, Tulsa, we’ve got an IRONMAN triathlon set for late May, and the annual three-day Tulsa Tough cycling race series in early June. All of these events draw anywhere from several hundred to several thousand people, be they competitors or spectators.

Will they still happen? It’s difficult to say, but the NBA just suspended its season indefinitely after two of its players came down with COVID-19. College and pro leagues initially looked at playing games with no fans as a way to salvage television revenues and not endanger the public, then came back and canceled events and postponed seasons. Some of the same conditions that are giving these organizations pause exist in running and cycling events, especially the big ones. Will there be a Boston Marathon this year? A summer Olympics? Should there be?

And what about us? Should we be out doing the adventure thing? Should we be racing? Some of that is personal, for sure. Foremost on our minds ought to be one group of people: those most likely to suffer the worst effects of the disease. You never know who might give it to you. And then, who you might bring it to. At this point, I’m playing it by ear. I want some mountain time, but no summit is worth someone else’s health.

One last thing: Don’t underestimate the financial impact all this mess is going to have on the businesses you know and love. People whose shops depend on adventure tourism and sports are going to be hurting. I’ve got friends who are race directors, and know a bunch of people in different outdoor industry circles. Their experiences are going to be a lot like those who count on fans showing up to regular sporting events. If you think canceling a race is no big deal, think about how many businesses in Austin lost out when South by Southwest got canned. It’s no different for businesses (hotels, restaurants, bars and gear shops, to name a few) that are connected to big city races, as well as all those mountain town enterprises that make or break their year by how well the high summer season goes.

Looking for advice from me? I don’t have much. Take care of the things you can control for you and those around you. And when the time comes, be there to support those who are going to take a hit from this outbreak. Aside from that, buckle up. It could be a bumpy ride.

Bob Doucette

The trails were busy on Christmas, and that’s a good thing

I wasn’t alone on the trails on Christmas Day. This cyclist, a hiker in the background, and scores of others were there, too.

This has been a strange holiday season for me, mostly because I worked through both Christmas and New Year’s. It’s hard to get the holiday spirit when it’s just another workday.

But I did have time on Christmas Day to get on the trails. The weather was sunny and mild, and I had time to kill before my shift started. I figured most people would be at home with relatives, soaking in the holiday largesse, and maybe watching “Elf” or something.

I’d have the trails to myself!

Uh, wrong. I showed up to a mostly full overflow parking lot. People on mountain bikes, couples walking dogs, parents herding children… you get the idea. I’d be sharing the trails that day in a big way.

I dig the solitude of trail running. It’s a stark contrast to my city routes, where I’m dodging people, looking out for cars and otherwise surrounded by all the sights and sounds of a busy urban center. Don’t get me wrong, I like my city runs. But trail runs have their place, too. So, I might have been somewhat put off that my trail miles would have to be shared.

But as I thought about it, I changed my mind. As it turns out, the trail system I visited was working exactly as planned. And that’s a good thing.

When I moved to Tulsa in 2011, I’d heard a little about Turkey Mountain, but didn’t know much about it. I spent the next couple of years exploring its trails, and in terms of health, fitness, friendships and quality of life, I can say that the Turkey Mountain Urban Wilderness changed my life for the better. I’ve been advocating on its behalf for more than five years now.

Why it’s so important to my city has a lot to do with where Tulsa is, the health problems the community has, and the opportunity these trails provide. It’s a sorely needed venue for folks to get active. Oklahoma is smack in the middle of America’s Stroke Alley, so you understand the importance of things that help combat the increasingly sedentary nature of the society we live in.

When you think about it, the folks that set aside this land as a wild space decades ago were visionary. They saw the possibilities of what such a landscape could provide the city, other than being a tract for commercial or residential development. There is plenty of that to go around, but not much in the way of a true natural woodlands that people in the city could enjoy.

What’s encouraging is that many communities across the country are seeing the wisdom in setting aside land for human-powered recreation. I’ve seen it in the Denver metro area, and in a big state park south of Nashville. And so many more places. We need it, and folks are recognizing that fact – and acting on it.

So, what the heck. I didn’t get that solitary trail experience, but I got my run, nonetheless. And a bunch of people were out there with me, enjoying the woods, and getting some fresh air outside. I’ll call it a win.

Bob Doucette

Tulsa’s triathlon win: IRONMAN picks T-town for three-year deal, and here’s why

Cyclists race by as crowds cheer – and drink- at the Riverside Criterium of Tulsa Tough on Cry Baby Hill. The success of events like Tulsa Tough is likely one of the reasons IRONMAN picked Tulsa to host its Midwestern race.

When I moved to Tulsa eight years ago, the city surprised me. I was more or less expecting all the stereotypes that go with a metropolitan area smack in the middle of stroke alley: it would be flat, hot, and not much going on in terms of fitness or outdoor recreation.

I was proven wrong. It’s not that my city or state is the healthiest place on the planet, but as it turns out, there’s an active cycling community here, a bunch of road and trail runners and loads of events catering to these crowds that have only grown over time.

So I found myself surprised, yet not that surprised, when the organizers of the IRONMAN triathlon series announced that Tulsa would be the site of its next three Midwestern races.

WHY TULSA

IRONMAN, if you don’t know, is the lead dog when it comes to triathlons. The race includes a 2.4-mile swim, a 112-mile bike ride and a full marathon road race. The two biggies include one race in Florida, and the premier triathlon event held annually in Kona, Hawaii. IRONMAN has sought to stage races elsewhere in the country and settled on Tulsa as that place.

I was surprised, mostly because of that whole stroke alley image Oklahoma has. We’re talking about one of the most high-profile endurance sports events anywhere is doing its thing right here in T-town. I’m not saying big stuff doesn’t happen here, but when it comes to endurance sports, this is big. Real big.

But why I’m not that surprised takes a little explaining.

As I said, Tulsa has some active endurance sports communities. Folks love their bikes. They love their mountain bikes, too. And both are used frequently inside our city limits and in nearby communities.

The city hosts Tulsa Tough, a three-day racing event that started out as a hopeful endeavor on the cycling circuit that has grown into a must-stop race for cyclists nationally. Upwards of 10,000 people show up to watch that last day’s race (and party a lot) every year now. That kind of support probably meant something to the IRONMAN crew.

In long-distance running, the Route 66 Marathon started out modestly and has grown into one of the finer marathon and half marathon events in the country. People from every state and several countries run in it every year, and it grows yearly. The Tulsa Run, the city’s venerable 15K road race, has been the USTAF Masters 15K championship race for a few years now. And the city hosts another marathon in the spring (Golden Driller) plus numerous other half marathon, marathon and ultramarathon races on both road and trail.

Open water swimming may not be big here, but northeastern Oklahoma has no shortage of lakes, with a big one – Lake Keystone – conveniently within riding distance for all those IRONMAN competitors.

All of these things, plus the amenities the city offers visitors (I had one guy from Texas tell me that Tulsa is being talked about as “the next Austin”) provided just the right mix. In that vein, I can see what IRONMAN chose my city.

BIGGER PICTURE

One thing I’ve told people is that Tulsa is underrated in terms of outdoor recreation. The city’s road and dirt bike paths are plentiful, and we even have some local crags for bouldering enthusiasts. I joked that Outdoor Retailer should have given the city a look back when it was looking for a new home.

But on a more serious note, consider this: There is a nexus between endurance sports and outdoor recreation. Many runners, cyclists and triathletes are also people who enjoy other outdoor activities. Trail runners in particular end up crossing paths with hikers, backpackers and mountaineers. Killian Jornet comes to mind as the most famous of them, but beyond the elites, there are legions of people who, when they’re not racing or training, are making the most of their time outdoors.

The city and the state are in the midst of a big tourism push, focusing in things to do and places to see along Route 66 — the Mother Road of old that stretched from Chicago to California and winds its way through Oklahoma. It’s a good theme, and I’m sure a lot of cities and towns will be able to take advantage of this.

But what I’d say is don’t sleep on the state’s outdoor recreation potential. People are interested in this stuff. The cycling community is active statewide. Trail running is booming, and road running is strong. The same people who run in the Route 66 Marathon, ride in Tulsa Tough or await their shot at IRONMAN will be looking around the state for other ways to get their outdoor fix, which includes plenty of hiking, backpacking, water sports and climbing. The folks looking for such activities include people from outside the state.

IRONMAN gives the city and the state another opportunity to keep that outdoor recreation momentum moving. Frankly, it’s low-hanging fruit and an opportunity to help the region shed its stroke alley reputation. Tell your story. Go get it. If you do, don’t be surprised if the city and the state cash in on another big win.

Bob Doucette

Seen on the run: A city and a state suffer from historic floods

The Arkansas River, well above flood stage.

Over the years, I’ve written about what I see when I go run. If you’ve followed along, you’ll have read about wooded hills and rugged singletrack, urban skylines and gritty streets, and sometimes the more mundane parks and neighborhoods where I log a lot of miles. Eagles and armadillos have crossed my paths, as have hipsters and drug dealers. You get the drift.

Today’s entry is going to be a little different, mostly because the places I run have collided with the relentless forces of nature.

I haven’t run or hiked my local dirt trails in over a month. In May alone, we’ve received 18 inches of rain. I know trail runners pride themselves on not shying away from mud, but this is different. When the trails are this waterlogged, foot and bike traffic do damage. I’m trying to give those paths a break. So that’s left me pounding the pavement or riding my road bike.

The river is seen more than 23 feet above its normal levels, and right under the beams of this bridge.

Sadly, a lot of the running and biking paths I like are under water. Floods of historic proportions have plagued northeastern Oklahoma for more than a week, and eventually, those floodwaters from the Arkansas River topped their banks and swamped miles of paths that I use for many of my runs and almost all of my rides. Riverbank erosion guarantees that they will be out of commission for some time, as sinkholes and shoreline collapses have occurred. It will take many months, of not years, to repair the damage.

Over the past week, I’ve ridden my bike and run to the water’s edge to see how high the river was rising. Short answer: It looks bad. Real bad. Bad to the point where on one Saturday, I saw a guy in a lawn chair on the curb outside his home, fishing. Not in the river. But in the street.

And that was before the flooding really got going.

A RIVER’S WRATH

I don’t want you to think I’m crying about my loss of running and riding routes. Far from it. I can run and ride in a lot of places that are on higher ground, so I’m good. For that matter, where I live is also untouched by the flooding. Compared to many, I’m fortunate.

But the areas that are underwater are familiar to me, and seeing them slowly consumed by the murky, brown floodwaters of the Arkansas over the past week has given me perspective on this unfolding disaster.

From the top of Cry Baby Hill, looking down on a flooded Riverside Drive. To the right, paved park trails are covered by water.

Saturday was the day I went on my bike and saw the dude fishing in the street. By then, the water had blocked off about a block or so of Riverside Drive while also flooding the adjacent park trails. Nearby, a homeless man who had a camp under a bridge up the road was standing on a rock, filling a water bottle at a drinking fountain. I know where his camp is, and it was safe for the time being. Other camps across the river are washed out.

That was when the U.S. Army Corps of Engineers was releasing 256,000 cubic feet of water per second from the upstream Keystone Dam, the structure that basically keeps Tulsa and many downstream communities from flooding on a regular basis. But even Keystone can only do so much, and those big releases (it normally flows at a small fraction of what we’re seeing now) are the only way to keep upstream drainage from overtopping the dam, an event that would magnify the catastrophe.

On the west bank, the flooding’s severity seemed more plain. In some spots, I could see park benches and water fountains that were nearly covered, indicating a floodwater rise of nearly two feet from just a few days prior. Ordinarily, these fixtures were at least ten feet above the water’s edge. In the middle of the river, an island is completely covered, with only a dozen or so green treetops poking out of the water letting you know it’s still there. The “new” shoreline of the river has slowly encroached on a riverside apartment complex, creeping up the banks. I’ve run and ridden by these apartments scores of times. Never in my life would I thought it possible that they’d be close to being flooded.

Another look at Riverside Drive.

By Monday, the problem had only worsened. Heavy rains upstream from the dam forced the Corps to increase Keystone’s outflow to 275,000 cfs, not far from the record set in 1986. That day, I went for a run in my neighborhood, but also to the bridges that span the river west of downtown.

As expected, the waters had risen. What was once a hundred yards of Riverside Drive under water had grown to several city blocks. The floating remains of uprooted trees zipped down the river close to its banks. Elsewhere in the city, evacuations were underway, streets and neighborhoods were inundated, and sewer drains were backing up.

But what grabbed my attention was the river itself.

When it reaches Oklahoma, the Arkansas River is a prairie waterway. In other words, it’s broad, slow and features plenty of sand bars. It’s wide enough southeast of Tulsa that it can be navigated by cargo barges (there’s a port north of Tulsa from a tributary river that empties into the Arkansas), but for much of the year it’s a sleepy, ponderous thing that meanders toward its final destination at the Mississippi.

Looking south from Tulsa’s 11th Street bridge. The current in the river is incredibly strong.

This week, its demeanor is far less benign. The current is fast. If you were to sprint along its banks, it’s doubtful you could outrun it. Where the river meets bridge supports, the roar is loud. The entire channel is full, churning and racing downstream at an urgent pace.

Observing it this week, the imagery looked familiar, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. And then it hit me Sunday. The river doesn’t look like a river at all. It looks like a tsunami. A muddy, quarter-mile wide tsunami that never recedes, but keeps barreling southeast, and I wouldn’t want to be in its way.

THE WIDER PROBLEM

My own observations are fine, but I’ve escaped this flood unscathed. That’s not true for a lot of people. They lost more than a place to run or ride.

Several neighborhoods in low-lying neighborhoods in the city and its suburbs have been flooded. Towns like Blackwell, close to the Kansas border, all the way to Muskogee, Fort Gibson and Webbers Falls near Arkansas are partially or completely swamped. The town of Braggs is basically an island, accessible this week only by boat or rail. Farther east, in Arkansas, cities like Fort Smith and Little Rock are in full-on crisis.

It’s part of a trend this year. In the central and southern Rockies, massive snow dumps have left the mountains with snowpack so deep that it will take at least a month longer than normal to melt out. Earlier in the spring, communities in the Dakotas, Nebraska, Iowa and Kansas have suffered massive, sustained flooding. The Mississippi River valley is facing the same fate.

These Canada geese would ordinarily be puttering around in a nearby lagoon, but that lagoon has been swallowed by the river. So the birds are hanging out on higher ground, hunting for bugs and worms.

And let’s not forget the tornadoes. It seemed like we went several days straight where there were nightly tornado warnings. One tornado killed two people in the Oklahoma City suburb of El Reno. Others ripped through numerous towns across the state, including here in Tulsa. Across the country, more than 200 tornadoes from the Great Plains to the Great Lakes touched down in the past 12 days. They even had a tornado warning in Staten Island, N.Y.

Earlier this week, someone on Twitter called out the local media for not reporting on this as an example of climate change. I’m not climate change denier. Far from it. But I know that weather is not the same as climate, so I’m slower to make the link.

However, scientists have told us that as climate change deepens, weather extremes will proliferate. Periods of severe drought will be followed by seasons of extreme flooding. Roasting hot temperatures can be followed by record cold. More intense hurricanes and thunderstorms will be more common. Longer and more severe fire seasons will come. You get the drift. Look at last year’s western fire season, or hurricanes named Harvey and Maria, and you could make an argument that the patterns are already emerging.

And if so, a lot more will be lost than a few running routes or bicycle paths.

In the meantime, I’m hoping the waters recede soon, and for the suffering to end. It’s been said that it will take years to come back from this, and I believe it. We’ll all have some adjusting to do for quite some time.

Tulsa’s River Parks have miles and miles of paved trails for runners, walkers and cyclists on both banks of the Arkansas River. But most of those paths are covered in water, and many are heavily damaged. It’ll be awhile before they’re repaired.

Bob Doucette

An Outside magazine writer called trail runners ‘lazy’ and ‘parasites.’ Is he right?

A work detail putting the finishing touches on trail rebuilding at Turkey Mountain in Tulsa. 

Leave it to Outside magazine to cause a stir in the outdoor community. In a piece posted online Wednesday, writer Marc Peruzzi posited that trail runners aren’t pulling their load when it comes to performing trail work.

The thrust of his op-ed is that trail running is exploding in popularity, with millions of runners hitting the dirt every year. The problem is, he says, is that they’re basically no-shows on organized volunteer work days, at least when it compared to mountain bikers.

I can find a few faults with the piece. He takes a few swipes at trail runners’ gear, deriding their “short shorts” and running vests. I’ll admit, seeing a runner in that ultramarathoner getup, topped with a trucker hat, can be a little funny. But it ain’t any more hilarious than seeing someone in full cycling kit. Eighties hair metal bands wore less spandex. Just sayin’.

He also maximizes the damage cause by runners (widening trails by running around muddy/watery parts of the trail) while glossing over the wear and tear caused by bikes. He’s not wrong about the trail widening problem, one that is primarily caused by runners and hikers. But go to any multi-use trail and you can tell where the cyclists have been by that distinct U-shape from bike usage. It’s not fair to lay all the blame on runners for trail damage and erosion. We’re all part of it.

And he admits his observations are based on anecdotal evidence. It’s hard to make solid conclusions without data, but from what he’s seen and heard, it’s the cyclists and not the runners who show up on work days to repair worn-down trail sections.

I don’t want to dwell on superficially nitpicking at his piece. I’ll move past the snark and at-times inflammatory language to get to the heart of it: Is he right?

As you can imagine, the comments section was overwhelmingly negative. Outside and the writer took a few on the chin. But some of the responses were interesting.

“Trail runners are some of the most environmentally conscious people round.”

“I give to conservation causes.”

“A lot of races give to environmental causes.”

“I volunteer to clean up the course after a race.”

“Don’t care. We just want to be out in nature.”

“I pay taxes, and if the trails are on public lands, it’s not my job.”

And so forth, repeatedly, ad nauseum. Good rebuttals, right? Well, not really. Here’s why.

It’s fine to give to causes. But those groups might not do anything to help maintain your trails. Being environmentally conscious is great, but it doesn’t mean anything to the trails you use unless you go out and put your ideals into action on the trails you use. It’s great to enjoy nature. But you and millions like you have an impact on your trails. Cleaning up a race day mess is not the same as trail work. And pulling the taxpayer card is just weak sauce.

Still, hundreds of commenters’ thoughts don’t create solid data points for or against the author’s premise. And because of a lack of data to which he admits, it’s a premise that cannot be proven. At least not yet.

So the best I can do here is offer my own anecdotal observations. Here’s what I’ve seen:

Here in Tulsa, we have an active group that advocates for trail users, organizes work days and promotes conservation. The group is made up of nearly every trail user you can imagine. We do quarterly cleanup days and quarterly trail work/maintenance days, and all of it is done by volunteers.

We’ve done studies on who uses our trails. Hikers, bikers, runners, birders and equestrians are the main users, and to varying degrees, they show up on the work days.

But here’s the thing: Over the past couple of years, it’s the cyclists who are punching above their weight. Although they make up a relatively small percentage of overall users, they routinely are at least half or more of the volunteers who show up on those work days, usually armed with their own tools and trail-building skills learned from groups like the International Mountain Bicycling Association. IMBA is fantastic at this, and I’ve learned a lot just working beside these folks.

It’s not like the runners don’t show up. Some do. I’m one of them. But we’re usually outnumbered by the cyclists by two-to-one or more.

What we have going on here in Tulsa is just one place. I’m sure there are other places where it’s the trail runners who are pulling the bulk of the load. And you can bet that it’s the hikers who are the biggest contributors to volunteer efforts with the Colorado Fourteeners Initiative’s summer trail work projects in that state’s popular alpine trail network. But the existence of groups like IMBA (and local affiliates, like our own Oklahoma Earthbike Fellowship) means that the cyclists already have systems in place to do the work and teach people how. They even have grant programs. I’m not sure that sort of organization is duplicated in the trail running world, at least not to the extent as it is in the cycling community.

So here’s the deal: Does the Outside article make you mad? Did you furiously type your response in the comments section? Threaten to cancel your subscription? Bemoan the writer’s divisiveness? OK. But now what?

Prove him wrong. Find a local group that does trail work and volunteer. Show up in boots and work gloves and turn a shovel for a few hours. Help make your trails more durable and sustainable. Be there for the trash cleanup days. Sacrifice a weekend training run or race and get behind a wheelbarrow. Put some sweat equity in your trails.

So many things about Outside’s piece are wrong. (Trail runners aren’t into brats and beer? Are you kidding me? Has he seen an aid station at a trail race?) But I wonder if some of the indignation is caused by folks getting dinged for what they don’t do and don’t like being called on it.

Bob Doucette

Eighty years, and still showing me the way: My dad is pretty rad

One rad dad.

My dad turned 80 today. I joked with him that some countries don’t last that long. Eight decades of life for a guy who has seen more and done more than probably most people you and I know.

Some of my earlier memories of my dad were times where he was doing the things he loved outside. We played a lot of pickup basketball in the driveway or at the park in suburban Denver. My folks bought a cabin in the mountains that served as our family retreat, an investment that stuck with me and instilled a love of the mountains that stubbornly clings to me to this day.

And I remember him on his bike. He had this lime green tank of a ten-speed Schwinn that he’d take out on sunny weekends, complete with a small leather pouch attached to the saddle. He’d keep his smokes in there, and I imagined he’d take a break, light up a stogie and take a look at the view from wherever he was at the time. I was too small to ride with him back then, so I guess I have to go with my imagined memory of how all that went down.

And then there was the music. Dad has broad tastes, much of it guided by his years as a professional musician. He loves classical, loves jazz, loves rock ‘n’ roll. His record stacks include Aaron Copland, Chuck Mangione, Al Jarreau, Pink Floyd, and the Eagles, among others.

Another favorite was Chicago, and one particular song sticks out: “Saturday in the Park.” The imagery of the lyrics in that song make me think of people enjoying sunny summer days in some fantastic green space, the world at peace, at least for an afternoon.

It all resonates with me, some days more than others. It did did so deeply today, as I was on my own bike, enjoying the sun and a cool breeze on a spectacular spring afternoon. Saturday in the park was real for me.

I saw tons of people on the parks, playing disc golf, riding scooters and listening to live music on an outdoor stage. Birds flocked on a sandbar in the river and frogs sang from pools of standing water left behind from the previous week’s deluge. The smell of the woods on another leg of my ride was sweet in a way that only a forest can exude.

I don’t have a leather pouch on my bike, no smokes to burn on a mid-ride break. But all these years later, I get it. I understand how the words of that song, the faces in the park, the green of the trees and the breeze in my face as I crank away on my ride are woven together for me today just as they were for my dad back then. It made an impression on me, and I guess the apple doesn’t fall far from the tree.

Happy 80th, Dad.

Bob Doucette

Work day: Trail repairs, great volunteers and a word about preventing future trail damage

Hi ho, hi ho, it’s off to work we go… (Laurie Biby photo)

I’ve been a big believer in taking care of the places that take care of you. And I’m glad we have a bunch of like-minded people here in the Tulsa area.

The Tulsa Urban Wilderness Coalition, partnering with Tulsa’s River Parks Authority, held a trail work day last Sunday at Turkey Mountain. This is different from cleanup days, in that the focus is trail repair.

Somewhere around 30 people showed up. The trails there are popular for cyclists, runners and hikers, but all that traffic, plus the normal wear and tear from the elements, has taken a toll. People using their free time to do some hard manual labor for the trails is a good sign that people aren’t just engaged as users, but also as stewards. Here’s a bunch of pics of people getting after it on Sunday morning.

Rutted trail needs some work. (Laurie Biby photo)

Volunteers getting started. (Laurie Biby photo)

Working on the trail. (Laurie Biby photo)

We were blessed with a huge dirt pile and plenty of people willing to move said dirt from Point A to Point B. (Laurie Biby photo)

Building the base of an improved trail section. (Laurie Biby photo)

This gal was nonstop movement. (Laurie Biby photo)

Repairs coming along… (Laurie Biby photo)

Putting on the finishing touches. (Laurie Biby photo)

We’re several years past the day when the TUWC was formed. If you remember, the organization was born in the wake of plans to build an outlet mall on Turkey Mountain’s west side. Strong advocacy from TUWC members and effective public pressure turned that plan aside, eventually leading the land in question to be set aside as a permanent part of the city’s greatest wild green space.

During that period, the TUWC held a bunch of work days like this, and turnout was strong. We know a lot of that was due to the publicity Turkey Mountain had gotten over the mall controversy. Seeing a solid turnout last week, now a few years after the mall issue was resolved, is a great sign that people still have a sense of ownership of the place where we all like to play. Many of the people who showed up have also been active in developing trail systems in Claremore and Tahlequah, so there is a sense that not only will Turkey Mountain remain a high priority for outdoor enthusiasts, but that the region is primed for growth in outdoor recreation and sports.

There is, however, another issue that has arisen. And this one is not as positive.

January was a wet month here in Tulsa, and the section of trail we were working on was a muddy mess. It made our efforts more difficult, and frankly, I lobbied pretty hard to have that stretch closed for a month or so. It needs time to settle and harden.

In the midst of doing all this work, there were people out doing their thing, including a good number of cyclists. In the muddy sections we weren’t working on, new, deeper ruts were being formed before our eyes.

To be clear, let’s just say it: Any sort of traffic on the trails when they’re muddy is going to cause damage. And I know cyclists don’t want to hear this, but bike traffic on muddy trails leaves the most wear and tear.

I’d offer this: Wherever you live and whatever trails you use, think about the condition of the trails before you go out. A little muddy is no big deal. But if they’re saturated, consider letting those places dry out before you go. I’m happy to do the repair work. That’s going to be needed no matter what. But it makes sense to mitigate the damage by laying off when you know your favorite routes are going to be mud soup. You’ll save the trails some grief, as well as the components on your bike.

Bob Doucette

Welcome to the neighborhood: Cyclists, racing and a city’s biggest block party on Cry Baby Hill

Cyclists race by as crowds cheer – and drink – at the Riverside Criterium of Tulsa Tough on Cry Baby Hill.

When I got up Sunday morning, the parade was already started. Out my window, lines of people were strolling down the hill, coolers and lawn chairs in hand. Some were in costume. Most were dressed for the heat. Some were already half-tanked.

A typical Sunday morning for the third day of Tulsa Tough, an annual cycling race series and festival that has bike enthusiasts from across the country descend on T-town with all the spandex anyone could ever want. Crowds gather for all three days of Tulsa Tough, but it’s the third day, on Cry Baby Hill, that folks really get revved up.

And it happens in my neighborhood.

A little about my ‘hood: it’s tough to define. It’s older, right on the edge of downtown Tulsa, and built on the banks of the Arkansas River. It’s a mix of people, from bohemian to bums, families and retirees, living in stately older homes, shotgun houses, or in open fields not yet developed. It’s a place where you can watch incredible sunsets from your porch, or view transients stumbling down an alley. I feel perfectly safe here, but sometimes there are police helicopters and searchlights. Typical urban neighborhood, I suppose, and the site for the Riverside Criterium of Tulsa Tough.

So let’s talk about Tulsa Tough. This was the 13th year for the event, which attracts top cyclists from across the country and the world. For three days, they race through different courses downtown, and as the years have gone by the crowds have grown. There’s also a gran fondo ride that goes well outside the city and a townie ride where anyone with a set of wheels can take a more leisurely trek.

The climax of Tulsa Tough is the Riverside Criterium. It’s the toughest course, with steep inclines on every lap. I’m sure that’s something cyclists can appreciate and dread, but for most people, the Riverside Criterium is all about the scene that is Cry Baby Hill. It draws the biggest, most raucous crowds of the entire weekend, and I’d say most people are there more for the party than the races. Folks show up by the thousands.

It wasn’t always that way. When Tulsa Tough started, people in the neighborhood gathered at a house or two to watch the races, guzzle some beer and cheer them on. One legend has it that regulars at the Sound Pony, a downtown dive bar frequented by cyclists and other endurance athletes, started making the Sunday Tulsa Tough races a thing. However it started, someone built this party scene, and man, did it grow.

Today, the Riverview neighborhood is choked with Tulsa Tough spectators and revelers. There’s lots of skin, vats of beer, weird costumes and creepy baby-doll heads on sticks. There are a bunch of whistles and people in referee uniforms helping the crowds “mind the gap” so cyclists can actually freely race without fear of running into errant fans. It’s grown so big that the food truck cabal decided to come, and live music on a stage popped up. Debauchery of all sorts happens, though most people keep it in check. I think. Anyway, I tell people that Cry Baby Hill is an annual excuse to get drunk on a Sunday morning, and I think that’s mostly true.

Some of the cyclists get into it. If they’re not concentrated on actually winning, they’ll slow down and take a brew from the crowd before continuing. Cops are there in droves, as are paramedic crews. It’s hot out there, and sometimes the combination of a 12-pack of Natty Light and high heat/humidity doesn’t work out too well.

You might think the description of my neighborhood, the event, and the crowd is negative, but let me shut that down right now: I dig this scene. Endurance sports don’t get a lot of love, so when the hordes arrive to cheer on the competitors, I’m all for it. Come on down, invade the ‘hood for a few hours and have a good time. Too many parts of town (any town, really) are too buttoned down, becoming regimented to the point of lifelessness. My neighborhood is a trip pretty much every day, and I guess it’s fitting that Day Three of Tulsa Tough is sort of a holiday of weirdness for my weird little place.

That all of it surrounds cycling hits home, too. I don’t race, but I spend a decent amount of time in the saddle these days. I chose where I live so I could bike to work. It’s also close to a paved trail system that’s great for longer rides. I’m not a racer, but I get these people even if my ride costs less than the accessories they attach to theirs.

So how did all this go down for me? Well, as the crowds clogged my streets, I mowed my yard. Picked up a half-empty can of Coors Light kindly donated to my lawn. I dumped the rest out, recycled the can, then jumped on my bike and rode to the center of the action.

While recording part of the race from a more “family friendly” part of the course, a half-baked spectator noticed by Denver Broncos ballcap and proceeded to talk smack. Turns out, he was a Chiefs fan. They got us twice last year, but I reminded him that the Broncos have three Lombardis in the case to Kansas City’s one. He was forceful at first (I was hoping that this wouldn’t turn into a real fight), but chilled out long enough to have a more nuanced discussion about how the AFC West was going to play out. His girlfriend got bored, so we bro-hugged and they left.

I rode to a few more spots, taking pics and taking in the scene. Everywhere I went, the streets were lined with people, sometimes ten deep. Whistles would blow, a chase vehicle would zip by, and then a couple of cyclists would follow. Behind them, the whirring gears of a few dozen more cyclists, bunched up in the peloton, breezed by. The crowd cheered, yelled, rang their cowbells and took a swig from coozy-lined cans and red Solo cups.

This scene repeated itself for several hours until the last pro races were done. Podiums were mounted and trophies awarded. Fans eventually stumbled back into their houses, or toward their cars, and not a small number of them took the next day off.

What does this all mean? I’m not sure about the origins of Tulsa Tough. There’s a healthy cycling community in Tulsa, but not more than any other mid-sized city. Even so, Tulsa Tough is a huge success, an international draw, seemingly getting bigger every year. That an obscure endurance sport can become so huge here is encouraging, even if half the appeal is just showing up for the party. It’s a weird, geared-up and beer-soaked thread in a community tapestry that might otherwise be mildly bland.

Come next June, we’ll do it all over again. See ya next time for Year 14 of Tulsa Tough. Cry Baby Hill awaits.

Bob Doucette