Feminist reflections on fitness, sport, and health
Author: elan.paulson
Elan lives in Ontario, where she curls, crochet, games, and explores feminist speculative fiction. A lifelong learner with a PhD in English and MEd in Educational Technology, she often writes about what team sports, personal challenges, and group experiences teach us about resilience, inclusion, and growth. Her cat, Theo, generously shares his home with her.
This past weekend I went back to the Lost Cycle studio for a workout.
I wrote about my trial with Lost Cycle previously, noting its inclusive vibe and sensory experience that left me (during a time of intense personal change) with an emotional as well as a physical workout.
Now I was back riding in the dark, this time for a private birthday party, and a pride-themed mental health fundraiser birthday party at that.
90s spin class playlist “ad” for our private event at Lost Cycle South
I know that @samanthabrennan hosts annual outdoor cycling rides for friends and family on her birthday. But I had never thought about how you could make your birthday party into a fundraiser for a national mental and wellness support organization, then have friends donate by reserving a seat on a studio stationary bike, then have that studio give you 50 minute of curated vintage 80s and 90s tunes, and (while you are sweating and singing) have your lovely exercise instructor wax eloquently about the importance of showing up and being loved and accepted by your community.
Oh, and then you get a popsicle or ice cream sandwich at the end.
There are many ways to celebrate and be celebrated on your birthday. If you are looking for an idea that outside the cake-hat-streamers-birthday box, then consider pulling together your favourite people and your favourite fun activity, then throw in some social responsibility and some frozen treats. It could be your best birthday yet.
In the studio after our birthday ride: tons of fun
In the Azores, on the volcanic island of Faial, 5 friends and I rented ebikes for what we thought would be a scenic and leisurely ride through part of the countryside.
But after a few hours, following stops for an ocean swim and a lunch, the wet and foggy weather started closing in. We had few route options and limited ebike battery life. The guy at the rental shop had warned us: use the pedal assist too much and we’d be pedalling our heavy ebikes home entirely on our own steam.
The team posing: we had cycle, rain, and swim gear all ready for this trip that day!
I am, by instinct, a middle-of-the-pack person. I’ve never been confident or experienced enough to lead a physical group adventure, though I’m not usually slow enough to need too much bringing along. Most of my athletic life has involved participating but mostly being accountable just to myself.
But after two years of riding with my local cycling club, I’d learned enough about how group rides work to provide some safety and support strategies. One person sets the direction and pace. They carry the authority and stress of being first. Another person holds the rear and watches for gaps. They make sure no one gets left behind and communicates trouble forward.
I didn’t know those roles had names until I talked to a friend who, as an avid hiker, described similar roles for groups on multi-day hikes: scouts and sweeps.
(In cycling, my ride leader explained, they are referred to as leads or, in motorcycling, points.)
I had just happened to take a photo of the ride routes map beforehand at the rental store, and I’m glad I did because my RidewithGPS app wasn’t awesome in the Faial backcountry.
I was so eager to ride that day, I ended up at the front. It turned out that my first day as a group cycling scout was somewhat stressful: the weather was not improving and the road on those volcanic hills seemed to head ever-upwards.
A break in the hills and the fog allowed me to snap a picture of the road and town ahead.
By the time we got to the exact opposite part of the island from where we started, we had to make a choice: follow the shorter mid-island route the bike store guy had suggested…or take the longer, traffic-busy road near the water. We had what the ebike community calls range anxiety: running out of juice before we run out of hills. Given the hilliness of Faial island we had already faced, we chose the latter.
There were other experienced riders in my group, so we rotated scouts and sweeps as we made our way towards Horta. By finally hitting some downhill and conserving our energy and our bikes’!), we ended up returning to the rental shop with time and battery to spare. Our apps told us we had made speeds of over 50km and reached an elevation of 330m, a gain of nearly 1000m overall. Not bad for recreational cyclists!
Elevation and weather made this recreational ride a good challenge, even on e-bikes.
Our final ride around the island and back to Horta….the long way.
Thanks to the Scouts and the Sweeps
Since our Faial ride, I’ve been thinking about the contributions that scout and sweep roles play in group activities. Not just the formal leaders who are trained and hired to lead groups on trails and tracks, but the regular folks who volunteer their expertise to help move groups of people along together. Scouts and sweeps aren’t just coaches on the sidelines. They are part of the group too, and their labour can be invisible until you’re the one doing it (or you are the one being helped).
Me (Elan) on a scout break eating a Nutella sandwich.
This holiday group ride, which was longer and more difficult than anticipated, made me grateful to have had so many great scouts and sweeps in my life, taking care of me and the rest of the group when I didn’t even notice it. And this time out, I appreciated being able to serve my friend group in that same way.
I went back to Sam’s Thursday post in the third week of April 2015 (11 years ago): The rules of cycling rewritten. It was composed of three linked posts and Phil Gaimon’s 3-minute video, New Rules of Cycling.
Sam’s two linked posts describe observations about some negative aspects of cycling she was seeing at the time, focusing on machismo and fussiness.
I found through the Wayback Machine the youth sport UK’s 27 rules for young cyclists, which emphasize respect, consctientiousness, and reality checks during training and races. The rules advise young cyclists to reject egotism and meanspiritesness and embrace competition while still seeing the bigger picture.
Finally, conplete with a makeshift outdoor office, a Cookie Monster mug, and his bike behind him, Gaimon shares general etiquette cycling rules that reject elitism and encourage safety and inclusion. And waving, as Sam notes in her OP.
If I had to boil it all down, the “new” cycling rules in 2015 were to Be Kind To Others and Be Kind To Yourself.
I think Sam’s post from eleven years ago is evergreen, not throwback. As a curious but hesitant road and gravel cyclist, I might not have even joined the sport of cycling a few years ago if I’d have known how gate-keepy it could be. I’m grateful for these posts because the culture of any sport is learned behaviour. As a novice, I only benefit from more seasoned riders who model and encourage unlearning the “old” rules that would have excluded me. Marc and Fred at the LCC lead in this way.
Longtime FIFI cyclists: have the “new rules” from over a decade ago become just “the rules” today? What’s changed, and what’s still the same in your cycling world?
A while back, when I was unexpectedly unemployed, I wrote about the 19th century French flâneurs, taking inspiration from walkers who wandered with no clear destination, noticing everything and answering to no one. At the time I felt unmoored, and the flâneuse way of moving through the world gave some feeling some dignity and opportunity.
I have a job now. And for the first time since university, I walk to and from work, about 45 minutes each way. I went from purposeless wandering to purposeful getting-somewhere everyday.
On my commute, I have started noticing things. I’ll be running through my to-do list or thinking about a meeting, and then I’ll see spring flowers pushing back against the last of the cold, a shortcut worn into a lawn, decorations on a gate for no reason. I follow someone who looks like they know a faster route, only to watch them turn into their own house. I wonder how the person in a t-shirt in March is not absolutely freezing. I imagine what the person with the giant headphones is listening to.
Oh no – spring flowers popping up too soon when there is still snow on the ground.
I think my own thoughts for a while, and then the world interrupts me with a cute covered bridge I have never been on before, and I am back outside myself, making small observations and tiny decisions. It turns out that having somewhere to go makes me more present. Maybe it’s because this path I’m pain attention to is new right now, but I am getting a body and a brain workout each day.
People are walking on this railroad track, and it seems dangerous! But the only way to find out why is to follow them.
I feel genuinely grateful for the job that gives my walk its direction, for my feet that make it possible, and for the path that keeps offering me things to look at. I feel healthy. It is time alone that connects me to everything around me. I am by myself, a stranger among people who know each other, yet I still feel in the middle of things.
I sometimes wonder whether the people driving past me are seeing any of it. And I think of the me four months ago who has seen none of it. I was still on the path to get here, even though I didn’t know where I was going.
Industrial safety gate decorated with plastic bead garland, something I would have done myself if I had gotten there first.
FIFI readers may recall I’ve written before about ebike tourism – in PEI, Canada and in New Zealand. This time, I had a new ebike experience: my first ever ebike food tour.
My partner and I went during our recent holiday at my sister’s condo in Bucerias, where we also visited family who winter in nearby Puerto Vallarta. Our morning tour group of eleven buzzed slowly through town on pedal-assist bikes, stopping at locally owned spots for cafe de olla, birria, carnitas tacos, and crema dessert. Vegetarian accommodations were made for me without fuss. Our bilingual guide, Pepe, kept stories flowing, including tales of his own cycling tours throughout Mexico. When the annual chalk drawing festival took over the main strip, he adjusted our route without missing a beat.
We wait patiently behind our 11 bikes for enough seats to open up at this local taco cafe.
Bici Bucerias is owned by Canadian expats rather than Mexican nationals. At the same time, tours like the one we took still funnel money and visibility toward the Mexican‑owned cafés, taco stands, and dessert places that make the experience worthwhile. Some of the places we visited were quite small, or out of walking distance from where tourists stay, which meant we likely would never have chosen them otherwise.
One of my delicious meals: soup, tortilla, cheese, beans, and bread.
It was also my first time on a bike on cobblestone, and slow-rolling over the uneven ground with pedal assist felt surprisingly unsettling. I ended up turning off the assist on those stretches, feeling I had more control that way. I also spotted a few road cyclists out along the busy highway and marvelled at their nerve. It’s a good reminder of how much I take for granted the space and infrastructure that cyclists get in many parts of Canada.
Pepe reviews ebike technology and safety before the ride.
This week, I’m thinking about those who ride and own businesses that are shut down due to shelter-in-place ordinances following cartel-related property damage throughout Jalisco, Mexico. I hope Bici Bucieras can resume their tours soon to continue supporting authentic food culture and locally owned businesses in the area. As my sister who lived full time in Puerto Vallarta for 10 years says, Mexicans are resilient and good at recovering from challenges.
If, like me, you’re a habitual maker of lists, you know how enjoyable it can be to make one. I want to tell you about the two kinds of lists I tend to make.
The first type is a detailed, four-quadrant list that is legibly handwritten in a spiral notebook. It’s a strategy I learned from leadership training years ago: draw two lines bifurcating the left and right, top and bottom of the page. Top left: IMMEDIATE to-dos. Top right: TODAY to-dos. Bottom left: TOMORROW to-dos. Bottom right: LATER THIS WEEK. Now there’s four lists! 🤩
This 4-list system has helped me triage competing demands and deadlines in a busy life schedule. As the top half got completed by the end of the day, I’d feel that little list-hit of dopamine. More satisfaction would come when tomorrow’s items were ALL scratched off and became today’s.
My second style of list is a scrawl of half-expressed ideas onto the back of a mail envelope, program flyer, or receipt. These lists get folded and stuffed into my pockets or become bookmarks, only to be discovered later, partly deciphered partly forgotten.
Over the past few months I have not had the discipline of a tidy schedule. My flâneuse-style wandering has reflected in my list-making. I tried to make a type 1 list, but items didn’t easily sort when my “today” and “tomorrow” have been so fluid. Instead, the type 2 lists catch my daily thoughts before they dissolve, little messy scraps that reveal how I am figuring out what shape my life takes next.
List Type 2: A handwritten list on the back of a Saje sales receipt: CAAT, 4-piece snaps, unemployment (CHECK!), City of London, MOI. What does it all mean? I hardly know myself.
Adam Grant has a WorkLife episode on procrastination where he suggests writing a to don’t list to make visible what’s might be delaying one’s progress and help get yourself out of your own way. That’s not a bad idea, especially when big life transitions mean the work of processing hard feelings, managing stress, and trying to find small wins.
So I’m giving a type 3 list a try. Moving into my next life phase, which doesn’t yet have neat time-bound quadrants, I write neatly down the centre of the page:
Don’t be hard on yourself.
Don’t fail to appreciate what you have.
Don’t seek certainty at the expense of your joy.
Don’t not trust yourself. (Double negative, but you get it.)
This third type of list has turned out to be important, not because it tells me what I need to do but because it reminds me who I want to be.
One of my favourite fit feminist humans recently suggested I try the two-week trial membership for Lost Cycle, a Toronto-based woman-owned fitness company that expanded to my city in 2019. She thought I would like it because, as she said, it was “cycling in the dark to really loud rap music.”
I am already a fan of doing stuff to music in the dark, as I did with (Remote) Dark Dancing during the COVID pandemic. Also, the timing seemed good to counter any winter break inactivity. So, in spite of reduced holiday hours and some poor weather outside, I made it to four classes, two at each location.
My black car parked in the empty Lost Cycle lot on a cold, wet, sleet-filled winter break morning.
The Lost Cycle studio ambiance is what might be described as “boutique warehouse,” with minimal windows and the company logo spraypainted on walls but also gratis cold towels and individual shower rooms with complimentary products. The fitness areas have quality equipment: ON the bike classes include clip-in shoes and earplugs, while OFF the bike rooms have infrared heat panels and Lululemon yoga mats. The class leaders were all chatty and friendly on their mics, many showing plenty of body tattoos.
The spin class leader‘s station on an elevated platform, close to a podium to adjust sound and light during class.
And, as mentioned, the classes are held in the dark, with just enough artificial and real candle light to see the mirrors and other people.
Dark spin class, with bikes lined up and towels on them. The photo doesn’t capture the ambiance created by the range of electronic dance music and occasional throwbacks.
In class I tried my best to keep up, but made modifications when my knees ached a little. The low lighting and loud music worked to lessen my self-consciousness (being new and only an occasional group fitnesser), though I needed to place myself close to the front to be able to follow instructions. On the mic, leaders were genuinely supportive, reflecting the vibe of the post-it notes on the studio walls: you are enough, you showed up today, you can do this. Other people I have discussed spin with describe being called out during classes. Here, there was none of that.
Dark group fitness with mats, towels, bands, and handweights placed closely together in a heated room. OFF the bike was a blend of HIIT calisthenics, strength training, and yoga stretches.
Near the end of both ON and OFF the bike classes, there is time to really get “lost”: the lights go off and the music goes up and you just have about 3 to 4 minutes to yourself.
And, during the “lost” times while cycling away or lying on my mat, I found myself in tears or near tears. Now, I am in a particularly vulnerable place right now, due to my recent job loss. While I didn’t check if other participants had felt the same thing, in every class I experienced in the dark a kind of emotional release I didn’t know I needed.
Lost Cycle has tapped into different elements of cycle studio / gym ambiance that makes it feel like fun, luxury, and intensity, all the ingredients for something slightly cultish. Though I was on my way to becoming an initiate, I’m not in a $$ position to keep the membership. At least I am taking the lesson home from Lost Cycle: turn off the lights, pump my mid-life music, and make time for both strength and vulnerability.
Rien n’est plus précieux que le temps. (Nothing is more precious than time.)
I was let go from my full-time job recently at a time when my entire sector is struggling. A sympathetic colleague signed off on a supportive message to me with “Stay well.”
Wellness is the focus of much career transition advice I have read so far (on websites, the job program I am in, etc.). Some of it makes sense for anyone: see friends, do exercise, get outside, eat good food, get enough sleep. Some is specific to the emotions and challenges that go along with unexpected job loss: name your feelings, make prudent budget cuts, consider making time to upskill, etc.
Some wellness advice focuses on being mindful about next steps: take time to reflect on and even rethink one’s career goals and job hunting strategy. One piece I read warns against running right back to look for similar jobs when “pursuing a similar role might be the first step in letting history repeat itself.”
It all seems aimed at putting me in a space where I can discover new, even undiscovered, paths ahead for me. But it is a circuitous route: taking time away from looking for work in order to find it. And for a self-admitted workaholic, all this not looking for work feels like work. It is hard to enjoy free time when it is imposed…and the clock ticks with no secure income.
As my brain has been chewing on the work of wellness, I happened to think of flânerie, which one blogger describes as being “all about experiencing the world with an open heart and an unhurried spirit.” In the 19th century, wealthy French male flâneurs walked and wandered the urban cityscapes in a detached, observational way “to appreciate the world […] in its simplest form, free from the pressures of time.” Another way to put it is that they were idlers, which some saw as lazy and others saw as radical.
Paul Gavarni, Le Flâneur, 1842.
Should flâneurs be my wellness gurus right now? You can’t disagree that it’s nearly always a good idea to get out for a walk. In the context of job loss, “staying well” may require some serendipitous, open-heartedfrench wandering. Getting idle in order to see what’s around the next corner. Maybe I will start with Lauren Elkin’s book Flâneuse: Women Walk the City (2017).
Not being of the elite class, however, I only have a limited time to be free from the pressure of time. I can only afford to make flânerie part-time work.
What is your experience with wellness during job loss, and how much work was it “work” to try to savour the time?
I knew my 16-day trip to Egypt with 3 midlife friends would be a fun, budget-friendly adventure, but it also became a test of stamina and strength for me.
We had no tour big bus providing a comfy, air-conditioned bubble. Rather, our ambitious travel schedule took us through half the country, hauling our backpacks up modest hotel staircases and navigating every natural and human-made obstacle in our path. Although we had quiet evenings, including a few days by a rooftop pool, by day our bodies were moving in lots of ways.
Our first of many tomb and temple visits, the burial chamber of Bannentiu, 26th dynasty (Roman Era) in the Baharia Oasis.
Bodies in Motion
In the desert near the Baharia Oasis we climbed up (then surfed down) sand dunes. In downtown Cairo, the honking cars, uneven pavement, and throngs of moving people in the street demanded constant physical manouvering. We toured ancient sites out in the hot sun, including Luxor’s Avenue of Sphinxes and Aswan’s Forgotten Obelisk. We also used steep ramps and narrow tunnels inside multiple tombs and pyramids, crouching under low ceilings carved over three and four thousand years ago!
Folks climbing a ramp in one of the Giza Pyramids, built for Pharoah Khufu in the 2500s BCE. Kim said the ramps were put in after her visit 16 years ago: before it was just dirt.
As well, we hiked three silent, stunning canyons in the South Sinai region that shimmered white, red, and multi-coloured in the sunshine. The next day, after a caravan of camels and their handlers got us most of the way up Mt Sinai, we used 750 steep steps to get up to its peak.
Riding Asfour (the Second), a 7-year old camel up the first 3000 steps of My Sinai was a highlight. And although Asfour did most of the work, my legs were still sore the next day!
Later, it was a relief to float face down in the salty water of the Red Sea over the most beautiful coral and schools of fish I have seen. We snorkelled twice: off the beach in Sharm El Sheik and off a glass-bottom boat in Hurghada. But even in and near the water, I had to be thinking about dehydration and sunburn.
Kimi and me snorkelling just off the beach in the Red Sea. Video by Lisa Porter.
Getting hurt could mean getting stuck. I nearly did a few times, once when I mildly rolled an ankle in the Coloured Canyon and when I jammed a finger on a tomb doorway at the Saqqara necropolis. But it felt good to keep moving. At least twice we saw a tourist who seemed unprepared or was having great difficulty getting through the tomb shafts.
Kim and Lisa going down the low-lit ramps in what I think was the Step Pyramid, built for Pharoah Djoser in the 2600s BCE. Video by Kimi Maruoka.
We covered thousands of steps per day, even on our 2- to 7-hour travel days. At the last minute I decided to leave my fitness tracker at home, and I’m glad I did. It helped me to make sense of how I was feeling in my body rather than by stats on a screen.
Rope repelling, then a rebar ladder, just to get down into the White Canyon. Our guide admitted he used this to judge hikers’ readiness for this canyon.
Caring Co-Travellers
And my body did feel many things, as I was under the weather for a good part of the trip: first menstrual cramps, a head cold that turned to cough, then mild heatstroke after the first time snorkeling, and finally a stomach bug. On my worst night, I laid awake shaking with chills, sipping tepid tablet-purified water, and waiting for dawn (or death, I had thought self-piteously).
A short video of Cairo’s downtown streets at night. Our group kept close watch on each other to avoid getting lost or run over.
But I survived. As a white, English-speaking tourist with a credit card and travel insurance on a holiday, I was never really in serious danger. I saw many Egyptians who may have been facing economic hardships and health risks I will never have to deal with as a middle-class Canadian.
Nevertheless, I am so grateful for my three travel buddies, who showed each other constant care throughout our journey. We divided snacks, each bought rounds of water, shared everything from tissues to electrolytes, and carried the mood for each other until someone sick (usually me) recovered.
A cat next to my day pack and water bottle. I stayed hydrated with old and new friends!
Kim, who had planned the travel and booked the local guides and drivers, happily made last-minute arrangements to help me join later when an early morning tour of Isis Temple in Aswan wasn’t possible for me. This caring company was the heart of my trip.
Me in a feeling-better moment, making silly Instagram poses with the backdrop of the Red Canyon behind me. Photos by Kimi Maruoka.
Proof of Life
I believe that our greater exertions paid off in greater fun. In exchange for living out of packs and in our sore, dust-covered bodies, we got to see and sleep in neat places, including under the desert stars, where we felt extremely lucky to be there, together and alive.
Our remarkable view of the white desert at night. This photo was not taken with a black/white filter.
There’s a certain idea of midlife that says to slow down, be careful, rest more. This trip refused that. It demanded and invited all kinds of motion, reminding me how much the body can still do when it must. It turns out that I was strong enough for Egypt.
Lisa and Elan racing (falling?) down a sand dune in the White Desert. Photo by either Kim or Kimi.
And by the end of the trip, I used nearly every pill I’d packed and every muscle I had. But getting over everything became part of my adventure story. I came home with a mildly sprained finger, hardwon but still overpriced souvenirs, and a feeling that my flawed and frustrating body could still bring me much, much joy.
Our fearless foursome trekking in the desert. To borrow a phrase from Kimi and her sisters: “We did it!!”
I volunteered this week at The Grand Slam of Curling event, The AMJ Masters, which features 16 top men’s teams and 16 top women’s teams. Many are from North America, but other countries like Korea, Japan, and Switzerland are also representing.
Sign that says Welcome to the Grand Slam of Curlingt (GSOC)
There’s a lot I like about this curling event. The teams aren’t mixed gender, but the draws schedule them to play at the same time. That means you can watch four men’s and four women’s teams competing side by side on the same ice. I’m still newish to curling, so this was an exciting sports-watching experience for me!
Curlers on the ice sliding to stretch and warm up.
Team members wear matching kits, and their stretchy deliveries and hard sweeping show a shared level of fitness for fast-paced, eight-end games. But body sizes vary. Some athletes wear glasses (rather than contacts), while others sport baseball caps. There’s some small room to bring one’s style, and self, to the ice.
Men’s and women’s teams playing at the same time on different sheets
Near the end of the tournament there is a GSOC Pride Night, with a discounted tickets, beverage specials, and a post-game Pride event featuring live drag performances. Apparently there is a karaoke night too! It is great to see the sport evolving with the community it has always been about.
Sign says Karaoke on Saturday. GSOK Grand Slam of Karaoke
GSOC is still a private, for-profit organization with no standalone policy on gender identity and expression (that I could find), unlike the non-profit, development-focused Curling Canada. Shared ice time and inclusive events show curling’s welcoming spirit. Maybe the GSOC will follow Curling Canada’s lead by eventually offering a similar policy.
Still, it’s a privilege to volunteer for this event, and not only because I get to see up close some fantastic curling by teams from around the world. I hope organizations like GSOC keep making curling fun and celebratory of the many ways curling athletes are different and differently awesome.
In the arena, with four sheets and an audience
Plus, there’s even delicious snacks for volunteers. Thanks Denise!
