The most read post this month was by our frequent guest, that west coast runner and fit feminist, Alison Conway. Her post is The Unbearable Lightness of Brie Larson.
Thesecond most read post was a very old one, from way back in 2013, by Tracy Isaacs, The Shape of an Athlete.
A Walk to Remember was the third most read post in March. It’s by Stephanie Morris.
Sam blogged about recovery shoes in September 2022. This month that post was our fourth most read.
Just Stand Up? Catherine blogged about standing from sitting in 2017 and this month it was our fifth most read post.
Our sixth most read post was Cate’s older post about menstruation and about whether continuing menstruating into one’s fifties was a good or bad thing.
For those who celebrate (and I’m among them), today is Easter Day. This day is all about the power of rebirth and renewal and transformation. Yeah, it’s a very big holiday on the Christian calendar– honestly, bigger than Christmas.
And like Christmas, Easter has been secularized and popularized and capitalized to be a day of sweet tasting gifts; they’re mainly for children, but my sister has already laid in a stock of her favorite color (flavor? does that really apply here?) of marshmallow peeps. Of course, peeps aren’t just for eating around this time of year– they’re also their own art medium. Check out this diorama from a public library contest:
1st annual Tour de Peep, with three peeps on the podium. The peep in the yellow jersey (well, yellow body) is in the lead.
Getting back to the traditional themes– rebirth and renewal– I’ve been giving a lot of thought to both of these lately. Several of us at FIFI have been thinking and writing about habit formation and behavior change this year, and I’m paying closer attention to the ways I’m eating and moving in service of making some shifts that I think will be good for me.
But it’s hard. Oh, how it’s hard. Even for habits that feel pretty ingrained, there are hiccups and interruptions. For example, I’ve been a pretty regular meditator for 3.5 years now. I keep track of my meditations days on my app (Ten Percent Happier, FYI). I relish seeing my streaks of consecutive days build up and appear on the app. And things have been humming lately– as of Tuesday, between 100 and 150 days running. I’ve only done that once before, and was hell-bent on getting to 200 (not a very Buddhist attitude, but hey).
My meditation milestone counter– I had hit my 2nd 100-day streak, bearing down on 150.
And then I missed my Tuesday meditation. Just totally spaced. Forgot. Blew by the whole day without my usual sitting. In my (unnecessary, even to self) defense, I was sick that day, so was out of my usual routine. But it happened. Or rather didn’t happen.
Now what? Here’s what I first thought:
Begin again. Remember beginner’s mind. All that matters is the now. Streaks are bullsh*t. The only streak you need to care about is the streak of one, which you are in the midst of right now.
These were the thoughts that greeted me on Wednesday when I resumed meditating. Along with these others:
It’s okay. Just shake it off. You’ve got time. You knew it was gonna happen. Now let’s double-down on that meditation and get ‘er done. Every day. No matter what. Need another alarm reminder? Yeah, we can do that.
Actually, no, I didn’t think all of these thoughts. But they did flit by in the course of sitting on Wednesday. Was Wednesday my meditation rebirth day? Should I have done a renewal ceremony to reaffirm my commitment to this practice?
No. Through my experience with meditation, I’m starting to think that it’s less important to me to pay attention to how many days I do X or Y, but better to focus my attention on the times and days I do X or Y. And do that the next time. It’s not about renewal, but instead immersion and attention. What is it like to take this walk on this afternoon, or cook and eat that meal on that evening?
Why am I writing this on Easter? Because I’ve always seen Easter as a celebration of new beginnings. But maybe requiring a new beginning starting… NOW! is not the best way to respond to or celebrate the holiday, and to celebrate the spring season of newness and bloom. We can enjoy the flowers and baby animals and sweets and family meals and Easter hats and services and special meals that come along. And we can know that the next day is another occasion for experiencing and noting focus, inattention, change in our habits, needs, and goals. And adjust, as we do every day.
So today, I wish you all satisfaction, focus and awareness of the richness of your everyday experience of all your habits.
And, in a departure from the usual bunnies and chicks, here’s a rare pink grasshopper, wishing you a happy Easter and spring celebration.
Pink grasshopper with spring flower, hanging out in the sun. Good idea. Picture from a Washington post article here.
In my geographic area, spring and warm weather have come quickly. It makes me excited but also a bit nervous. For the past few months, it has been easier and warmer to just stay inside, so as the weather changes I find it a bit hard to get back outside into old activity habits, or to start new ones.
In mid-life, thoughts of safety (or, more specifically, avoiding injury) now enter my brain much more than they used to. As I watch soccer players in my rec league get whacked in the face with a ball, or see on social media friends wearing hand braces after a night of adult dodgeball, I am more encouraged to find fitness activities I can do with people instead of against them to minimize the likelihood of getting hurt.
So this year I joined a rec cycling club in my area, the London Cycling Club. With over 100 members last year, it claims community and fun while riding. I have blogged about joining a curling club in the last few years, which helped me with my Self-Confidence, Effort, and Improvement. This year, I am hoping only for motivation to get outside more on my bike.
The LCC started their season with a 2.5-hour in-person welcome meeting that had coffee, snacks, a PPT, and even demonstrations (which was great because it turns out I didn’t know what a “peloton” was). Leadership who presented emphasized things like getting a toolkit, road ID, and high viz clothing for safety. They described how they were responding to membership feedback by offering more variety in the ride calendar. The President spent 10 minutes talking about eating plenty of snacks to avoid this thing they call “The Bonk.”
The LCC has volunteers organize rides, some for beginners and others just for women. It provides access to phone apps with marked trails, ride sign-up, and the ability to meet up with others. It also plans events with other clubs, while maintaining insurance for all of its active members. At this kick-off meeting, long time members said they have found community and friendship in this group.
This is all much more than I had expected from signing up with this group, but I welcome it. I have spent most of my adult life avoiding team sports and fearing athletic enthusiast groups, not knowing how they could help me understand and enjoy the fitness activity more. Now, happily, I have finally joined the club.
Best Bang For Your Buck: A slide presented at the LCC kickoff meeting about ways to use time and money to a safe riding experience during the season. Love me a great PPT slide presentation! 💜
It’s finally here– International Mermaid day! I know, you’ve been looking forward to telling the kids they can have mermaid cereal for breakfast, serving siren-shaped cookies at work, and putting more than the usual amount of colorful seaweed in your hair for date night. Well, feel free to unleash your inner water-nymph– it’s time!
Seriously, though, International Mermaid Day? Why?
This article suggests that, because mermaid figures have appeared in literature and mythological stories around the globe, having a day dedicated to them offers us a chance to be creative. That makes sense. However, I’ve always associated mermaids with more athletic pursuits. Why? Two words: Weeki Wachee.
Weeki Wachee Springs State Park west-central Florida has featured underwater mermaid shows since the late 1940s. Although the publicity photos are very pin-up and glamour-like, the women working as mermaids have serious athletic skills. They are strong swimmers and divers, and learn to use hoses underwater to take occasional breaths so they can perform graceful and acrobatic maneuvers for awed guests. Here’s a short Youtube piece on the multi-decade tradition of working as a Weeki Wachee mermaid.
NYT video on the mermaids of Weeki Wachee Springs in Florida, on YouTube
You can also explore an online exhibit of the history and lives of the Women of Weeki Wachee State Park, curated by historian Rebecca Schwandt. I did, and it was so interesting reading about these women. They trained, they performed, they went on strike for better pay and they passed on their knowledge to others.
And they’ll pass on that knowledge to you, too, if you sign up for a Sirens of the Deep Mermaid camp weekend (although all 2024 dates are sold out, sadly). Want to know more? Of course you do. Here’s a video about the camp:
Sirens of the Deep Mermaid Camp video on YouTube
For me, the image of the mermaid reminds me of ways women have always been very athletic in and around the water: swimming, diving, lifeguarding, kayaking, paddle boarding, surfing, synchronized swimming, distance swimming, diving, snorkeling, etc.
And yes, there were (and still are) women performing feats of athletic prowess in coconut shell or sequinned bikini tops and pull-on spandex opalescent fins. Why not? It can be fun, and it’s a job that Central Florida women have valued and made their own for decades. Honestly, there are worse gigs than working as a serious underwater swimming mermaid. Am I right?
So Happy International Mermaid Day to us all!
p.s. I keep flirting with the idea of signing up for Mermaid Camp. Whaddya think?
Is there anyone getting ready for a race who isn’t a bit of a control freak? You may be out there, but my guess is that most of us have lists of gear and race plans that we review in the days leading up to an event; we check and double check our kit the night before; we go over various contingencies in our minds; we formulate back-up plans in case of a disaster. All this so that the wheels don’t fall off the bus on race day.
It was a bit strange, then, to find myself at an event last weekend where the wheels seemed to be falling off the bus—not my bus, however, but that of the event itself. It began when the race directors of Around the Bay announced, sometime in the winter, that the course had grown from 30 km to 34 km, due to unforeseen circumstances. There would be two finish lines and two finish times for us all, with winners in both groups. I had signed up for the 30k race as an opportunity to re-do my first ATB attempt in 2017 when I failed to take warnings about the hills in the back 10 km seriously and had to live with the consequences. This year, I would beat that 30 km time. The last four kilometres would have to take care of themselves—I wasn’t racing them. Still, it felt a little weird. Two finishes? And, gutted after 30 km, how long would it take me to get to my banana and warm clothing?
The night before the race, we received another notice: a sinkhole had opened along the route, and now we would be running 35.4 km. I mean, really? I felt sorry for the race directors, but I also felt sorry for myself: it was a weekend of freezing temperatures and those last kilometres were going to be cold and miserable, for sure. I tried not to think about it as we made our way to Hamilton the next morning. It was sunny and I was ready to race.
But at the stadium, things were chaotic. No one was around for the bag check, so we bundled our belongings into plastic bags and threw them behind a table. At the start, I tried to find my way to Corral D, but couldn’t see any signage for it. My pace rabbits were up at the front, so I made my way to them and talked strategy: they were aiming for a steady pace for the first 20 km, with a bit of time in reserve for the hills. This was the plan. Almost as soon as we started, one of the rabbits disappeared, presumably for a pit stop, and then reappeared a couple of kilometres later. He pushed the pace and then vanished over the horizon. The group gamely pressed on with his partner, along the lake and through the rollers. I felt terrific as we crested Heartbreak Hill: on pace and ready for the final three km to the 30 km finish line. Suddenly my rabbit accelerated, leaving me behind. What? And then a kilometre marker appeared—it said one thing, but my watch said I was almost full kilometre farther along. I ran past the Grim Reaper, looking for markers. All I saw was kilometre signage for that day’s other races. Where the hell was I? Up another goddamned hill and looking for the 29 km marker, which never came. Or did it? Suddenly a voice shouted, “You’re at 30!” I hit the mat and my watch clicked 30 km, right on time. Or was I?
I thought that most runners would race the final kilometres to the stadium, but it seemed that most, like me, had raced their 30 and were done. I was frozen after a kilometre of making my way toward the second finish on wrecked legs. Suddenly a runner came up behind me, “Hey, Al!” It was Keelan, a young woman whose running I’ve admired since she was three years old, racing her brother down the street in front of my house. She, too, had raced her 30 km, and my joy at her successful first ATB warmed my heart. But not my hands. We walk-jogged our way back to the stadium, weary and cold.
Finally, I found myself in a warm room, with the friends who had driven to Hamilton with me. We were thrilled with our finishes—we hoped—as we waited for the results to be posted. My pace rabbit found me and apologized profusely. He thought he had lost a kilometre somewhere along the way and raced his group into the finish three minutes under the allotted pace time. What had happened out there?
And then another voice called out to me. I turned and said, “Juan!” Juan and I met in a race corral in London, UK, nine months ago. He was wearing an Ontario triathlon t-shirt that morning and I had introduced myself as a fellow Canadian. It was a lovely warm morning and we were both excited to be in London, ready to race through the streets of a magical city. What were the chances of his appearing, here, now, at the end of a race through a somewhat less magical city, where we had circled a sinkhole and frozen our butts off?
The excitement of seeing Juan again was all I needed to set things right, just then. The summer day we had enjoyed in July found its way to Hamilton and the wheels went back on the bus. Because, in the final instance, life is about chances and being thrown for a loop. The same orbital drift that opened the sinkhole and placed the kilometre markers god knows where brought Keelan and Juan to me just when I needed them most, to make the world merry and bright after a long race on a cold morning.
Alison with racing pal Juan VarelaAlison with racing pal Keelan McGoey
Alison Conway lives and works in Kelowna, British Columbia, on the traditional and unceded territory of the Syilx Okanagan people.
It has been four long years since I entered you. Four years of ballet classes via Zoom, while holding onto a chair and then a portable ballet barre in my living room.
I missed having a live musician to accompany us. Sometimes the technology was pretty dodgy. It was harder to get feedback when you were just a little square on the teacher’s computer, or make your own corrections without the big studio mirrors.
But overall it has been a good run. I could take lessons from my teacher when she was in Japan, or while I was travelling in Africa. I even did a few special classes with schools in Toronto or Washington.
Tonight I was a sweaty mess by the time we finished the barre. I must have been working harder because there were others to compare myself to. No more slacking off and sneaking the occasional chocolate between exercises!
Then we moved to the centre and did turns, jumps, and moves across the length of the studio – things I have barely done since 2020 because everyone’s space was different so classes shrank to fit.
A photo of some of the barres and mirrors in my studio, with a reflection of me in a red t-shirt and black tights.
I talked to people I haven’t seen in years, except on a screen. I put faces to names. It was joyful.
My ballet barre was the best investment of the pandemic. It has served me well, but it’s time to put it away and move back to the studio. Dancing like no-one is watching can be fun, but I have missed dancing with others far more than I realized.
My dance teacher, wearing black, is facing away from the camera, standing next to an upright piano. Beside her is an electric keyboard and chairs. Our accompanist had to rush away to catch his bus.
My point here is that I am not moving with any particular speed.
However, since it is still March and will continue to be until we reach April, I guess I *am* technically Marching for now and I will be Aprilling as of Monday.
Yes, I do find myself funny.
An accurate depiction of my inner self when considering my own jokes. Image description: A gif of a seated baby who (safely) tips to one side and falls over while laughing.
So, my point here is that despite labelling this month ‘Move More March’ I realized that I didn’t actually set myself up to do a lot of extra work.
Basically, when I made my plans for Move More March – to exercise for 20 hours – I didn’t actually consider how many hours of exercise I already get in an average month.
Between TKD, walking Khalee, and my mobility exercises, I already automatically get around 18 hours of exercise per month.*
Basically, by setting a 20 hour goal, I was asking myself to do 4 extra minutes of exercise a day.
Not hard exercise. Not specific exercise. Just four minutes of anything at all – stretches, walking, patterns practice, anything.
Image description: a gif of Disney character Chip (or Dale?) a brown chipmunk wearing a purple hat and strolling along in a cheery way. He’s using a cane for casual effect rather than for support.
I mean, I’m all for making small changes but since there was nothing incremental about those extra minutes, no specific level of effort, I hadn’t created much of a challenge for myself.
And that’s fine, really.
I’m not being hard on myself here.
Sometimes, you are really trying to push forward and sometimes it’s enough to just maintain your current position.
I just found it funny when I realized that my challenge wasn’t a challenge at all.
So, with all of that said, I do want to work a bit harder in April.
I haven’t decided what I’ll focus on but I do know that I want to get away from just thinking in terms of time spent.
Instead, I want to choose a focus that relates to increasing my effort.
I’ll update you once we are Aprilling.
*My exercise intensity varies considerably from day to day. I don’t mean to give you the impression that I am putting in 18 gruelling hours every single month.
There’s a feminist resistance to the language of should in the world of fitness. I get that.
There’s a lot of ‘should talk’ around. 5 Exercises Everyone Over 50 Should Do. Why We Should All Strength Train. Stretches every runner should know. And so on.
I confess I find myself sometimes using the language of should too. I’m not writing here on the blog to bully anyone around. I’m very much a “you do you” person.
But at the same time, I worry that women have been told a set of lies about fitness. There’s the focus on weight loss and appearance. There’s a tension between sports performance and the norms of femininity. Women are supposed to glow, not sweat.
For older women, we’re told to slow down and take it easy. Relax.
At the same time, there’s a whole other normative discourse around healthy aging. I associate it with images of trim, white-haired seniors with hiking poles. Maybe they’re doing yoga classes or breaststroke in the pool. Almost always, they’re white, thin, and able bodied.
It’s not sweaty or particularly sporty or competitive.
I worry that some of the joy of physical activity is kept away from women, especially older women. And that’s why I especially appreciated Savita’s recent post about older women and strength.
These are my reasons for doing the things that I do. They’re a mix of instrumental reasons and intrinsic reasons.
1. Mental and emotional health now. Better sleep, better mood, less stress. ❤️
2. To live the life now and in the future I want to live and that includes active, outdoor adventures. That’s bike packing, bike touring, hiking, and canoe tripping right now. 🚴
3. Functional fitness in terms of living my life. Lifting bags of gear out to the car. Putting winter tires away. Getting the Snipe in and out of the water. ⛵
4. Mental sharpness. My brain matters a lot to me, and there’s lots of evidence to show that intense exercise makes a big difference to mental sharpness and memory. 🧠
5. General health and longevity. 🧑⚕️
6. JOY! 😂
As long as there are some intrinsic reasons in there–like JOY–the exercise pill won’t be enough for me . But as long as some of the reasons are instrumental, an exercise pill might be a nice add on.
The past couple of months have been tough. By way of explanation, here’s a partial and intentionally vague list.
1.A bunch of my students are having major mental health struggles. I’ve had so many phone conversations with deans and other administrators, putting our heads together to figure out how to help, get them access to resources, shuffle around their class schedules and assignments, and provide as much support as our roles allow. In desperation I brought candy to one class this week, which, btw, was a huge hit.
I stumbled upon this treat in the candy aisle of my local grocery store. Even though I’m not a sweets person, I now love it beyond reason.
Sweet tart watermelon-berry ropes. Don’t let its weirdness fool you– it’s so good.
2.Three dear friends have lost family members in the last month. I knew all of their family members very well. I’m sad at the loss of them, and sadder for my friends. I’m doing what I can to help make my friends’ lives a little smoother through this intense period of grief and grief rituals. Mainly this involves showing up and/or bringing food, eating food with them, talking and listening to stories.
3.At this time of my life, my friends and I are all dealing with aging parents. Two friends’ parents have had major deteriorations of their health status, requiring changes to living conditions, medications, and treatment. In these cases, all I can think to do is be a good listener, and remind them that I’m here.
4.There’s a very distressing but important work service thing I’ve been asked to do. It’s now clear (to me but not to you all– sorry about the vagueness) that it’s reached a level of distress such that I can’t do the important service work thing. It’ll be okay, but the distress is still sloshing around.
5.Experiences 1–4 have taken their toll on me and my level of self-care. I have been eating a lot of takeout. I haven’t been able to get to sleep before 2am. I haven’t felt like moving much at all. My instincts all tell me to be quiet, be still, play Spelling Bee on my phone and order pizza.
So I’m doing just that. I’m holding down the fort— working, being there as I can for friends and students, sleeping when I can, getting much better at games on my phone.
Right now, I miss more regular and vigorous movement. I miss cooking meals for myself that feel satisfying and self caring. I miss having more productive days for work and play.
So, what to do?
I’m talking with friends and letting them help me by luring me out of my house for activities and quality hanging out time. I’m adjusting my schedule as I can so that I can get enough sleep. I’m meditating a couple of times a day. Oddly enough, being still and quiet for mediation makes me feel more refreshed and energized afterwards. I’m taking advantage of ordinary everyday movement when there’s an opening.
And I know that this too shall pass. Everything does. My bikes aren’t going anywhere. My yoga studio isn’t going anywhere. Lakes and pools and oceans to swim in aren’t going anywhere. Woodland trails and sandy beaches to walk on aren’t going anywhere. They’ll all be here when life shifts and I don’t have to concentrate so hard on just holding down the fort. That helps a lot.
Readers, what do you do when you have to hold on tight? I’m curious.
From a very young age I loved skating, and from that young age I started to skate. I have written about skating before on this blog (Back on the Ice – For a Moment). I longed to be a graceful, whisp-y figure, spinning in circles, skirt flying all ways. I remember learning to glide forward on one skate, other leg behind me, arms wide open and reaching forward, when I was four. I felt like a princess. I was quite surprised to realize that my leg was really not up as high as my teachers, but still loved it.
I think my love of skating was partly because, in my town of 800 people on the Alaska Highway, there really wasn’t much else that kids did for recreation. But it was also it felt so good. So, when we moved to a rural logging town on the West Coast, with no skating rink that my mom would be able to take me to, I was pretty heartbroken. Later, when I moved to Montreal as a young adult, it was a balm to my heartache when I could put on tights and skirt and go skate on the ponds in the urban parks there. Looking back I’m proud of myself – skating on that rough pond ice, poorly maintained, if at all.
So when I heard this week’s World Championship win by Canadians Deanna Stellato-Dudek and Maxime Deschamps, I knew I had to write about it. The duo won in Pairs Figure Skating – a laudable accomplishment. But what is record-breaking is that at 40, Stellato-Dudek is the oldest female world champion – officially CBC describes that she is “the oldest woman to win a world title in sports history,” and the accomplishment has made international news (see here, here, and here)
I am finding this story to be quite fascinating, as I suppose many others are. Stellato-Dudek was a rising champion teenage figure skater, when chronic hip injuries led to her retirement. She put her skates back on at 36 in response to a team-building conversation exercise: “What would you do in your life if you knew you couldn’t fail at it?”
I’m wondering what messages Stellato-Dudek’s story gifts us with? What potential might we be leaving behind, or leaving on the table? I don’t think I’ll be returning to figure skating lessons, and I’m honestly ok with that. But I do feel like this moment is one worth both celebrating and reflecting on.
When interviewed by the CBC, Stellato-Dudek commented “I hope it encourages people not to stop until they’ve reached their potential.” What is your reaction to Deanna Stellato-Dudek’s accomplishment? Do you think we should even be paying so much attention to her age? Do you find any resonances in your own life? Let me know? I would love to hear.
