Feminist reflections on fitness, sport, and health
Author: Diane Harper
Diane Harper is a retired former public servant who lives and swims (and bikes) in Ottawa. In her hobby life, she is Siglinde Harfnerstochter, a 6th C Merovingian housewife from the city of Metz. Her primary interests are cooking, textile arts and bonecarving. Siglinde lives in the canton of Caldrithig, Barony of Skraeling Althing, Kingdom of Ealdormere.
Sam says lots of people are visiting the this site right now. I’m guessing it’s a year-end, preparing for the new year thing. Maybe folks are looking for inspiration? I hope you stick around because this can be a fun place, full of deep thoughts and some silly fun.
The best part is that we love moving our bodies and know it’s never too late to start. I’m a prime example of that. My friends and I use the expression “do the thing” whenever we want to push ourselves outside our comfort zone.
Although I took swimming and skating lessons, and ran cross-country for a couple of years, I was far from athletic as a kid. I didn’t really start getting active until I took up ballet in my 40s in an attempt to be a good role model for my kids. That was so much fun that the next year I added in regular swimming. Things kept getting added in: belly dance, cycling, skiing (cross-country and even a bit of downhill), skating…. They didn’t all stick, but the joy of trying new things certainly did.
Now I’m retired from my career, and am a part-time lifeguard and swim instructor. I qualified for the job just before my 64th birthday. I take weekly ballet and jazz classes, and cycle year-round. I’ll never manage a really long ride, but I can easily put in upwards of 30 km a day just doing errands around the city.
I still love trying fun things. Most recently, it was a massive aquafit class and fundraiser for the local food bank. We had 370 participants and collected over 2,000 pounds of food.
Me in my Santa hat and green swim cap, taking a selfie in front of Santa, a couple of participants and some of the decorations at the world’s largest aquafit class (pending official ratification).
All that to say, welcome to Fit Is A Feminist Issue. No matter your age or level of fitness, we’re glad you stopped by and hope you’ll return often. Or even better, subscribe to the blog so you never miss an update.
And whatever it is you love or are curious about – do the thing!
This year may not have gone as you hoped. Or maybe it went brilliantly.
Whether you suffered losses, didn’t meet goals, or had a year full of joy with friends and fun activities, I hope that 2026 is (even) better for you.
Image is from a window display at Demetre’s, a restaurant in Stratford Ontario. It shows two penguins and a snowman with decorated evergreen tree. Photo was taken by my friend Sandra.
Just remember, no matter how you choose to celebrate the return of winter, you should do it in style.
Three photos of bicycles in the snow around my neighbourhood. One is parked in front of a giant evergreen at a local shop that is very popular for its selection of holiday foods.
A few weeks ago, I did something to my soleus muscle and have been instructed to rest it, or at least take it easier than usual. Last week, I had an angiogram and was under instructions not to drive for 24 hours or lift anything over 10 lb.
Since it had snowed overnight, I decided to take public transit rather than ignoring the doctor’s instructions and shovelling out my car or trying to ride my bike. Big mistake, but also a useful reminder.
My first trip was to work, which under normal circumstances would take 30-45 minutes by bus. I had looked up the schedules and left the house at a time that should have gotten me there 20 minutes early. Instead, my first bus was cancelled; I walked almost 2 km so I could catch the connecting bus that would still get me there just in time. It got cancelled, as did the one after that. The third one finally showed up five minutes before I was due to start work. I had been waiting for half an hour. Needless to say, I was late.
The next trip was to dance class. The schedule showed a bus would pass 10 minutes after my shift ended, so I raced to the bus stop without even changing out of my swimsuit. Then I waited. And waited. There are three possible connecting buses that would have gotten me the dance school in plenty of time. I missed all three and ended up walking another 2 km. I was late again, and did the entire class in my street clothes and bathing suit.
The next walk was planned because I know from experience that it is faster to walk than to rely on the buses to get home. Another 1.3 km. By this time I was thinking about Christine’s making space posts and the importance of finding ease. I was not finding ease.
A photo I snapped years ago at a bus stop on my way to work. As I recall, it was snowing and the bus was ridiculously late. Someone had taped up this image, which perfectly encapsulated the schedule on that particular route.
Then to a much-needed massage and home again. Another 1.3 km. By that time, i had accumulated 11.5 km of walking for the day, on top of dance class.. I was tired and grumpy enough that I shovelled out the car, even though I had no plans to use it that night. So much for following instructions!
It was a lot of walking and anxiety, but I am lucky compared to many people who rely on public transit every day.
I had a phone so could contact my supervisor and my job is not at risk.
I was physically able to do all that walking and standing in the cold.
I was late for dance class, not trying to pick up kids from daycare, and being charged $20 or more for every 5 minutes I was late.
Last week my daughter and I had to make the difficult decision to let her beloved horse Fancy go. She was almost 24, so a decent age for a horse, but had been suffering from a couple of things that caught up with her all at once. The tipping point was sinus surgery that required she have a drain in place and therefore had to be on stall rest. Fancy loathed being indoors, and despite the anti-anxiety meds she ended up with colic and very poor prospects for recovery even if we could get her to a specialist veterinary clinic in time for surgery.
Looking back over the blog, I see that I have written a lot about Fancy and the things I have learned about balance, visualization, mental health, and hard work over the years: here, here, here, here, here, here, here, here, and here. She even got a peripheral mention when I wrote about the hot sweaty workout you get from filling the hay barn.
My daughter did a lot of research when she wanted me to buy her a horse at 16. We travelled all over eastern Ontario and western Quebec looking at prospects, and finally ended up at a place near Woodstock Ontario. To my eyes, Fancy did not look promising at all, but my daughter saw something. Plus, as she said, “Fancy may not be the best horse, but she’s the horse that needs me the most”. She spent months getting Fancy built up and ready to ride, and years riding, grooming, and just hanging out with her horse buddy.
Fancy could be an absolute brat who made me chase her for hours when she didn’t feel like being caught. She was the most un-herd-like herd animal I ever ran across, preferring to be at the far end of the field from every other horse. She also loved to jump and worked hard to be a good dressage horse. One of the biggest compliments you can make about a horse is that they had a lot of heart. Fancy’s heart was huge.
Twelve pictures of Fancy over the years. Some are professional photos, some are quick snapshots of my daughter or I riding or just hanging out with her. A few are of her being silly.
She was a big part of our lives for 11 1/2 years. It wasn’t long enough. It never is.
I recently came across this article in the Guardian on fitness routines by age, shortly before suffering an overuse injury that had me incapacitated for a couple of weeks.
I don’t actually hate my middle-aged body. I do hate the misuse of “ladies” though – it should be “lady’s”.
I’m glad it’s just a super tight soleus muscle and not a torn Achilles tendon or hamstring injury. But I’m still not impressed with myself for needing to use a cane for several days. As much as I like my physiotherapist and appreciate her getting me on the road to recovery, I would have been happy not to see her and need to have KT tape all over my ankle.
I will do my best to take my training a little easier, at least for now. And I have already started taking a Pilates class so I can work on improving my strength.
I know exactly what triggered the injury, and what made it so much worse a couple of days later. But will I stop doing dance or lifeguarding (which includes mandatory fitness training)? Not a chance.
Christmas is coming, so my mind is turning to stocking stuffers: growing up, that always meant new toothbrushes. Now that my kids are adults, the only one who still gets toothbrushes is my daughter, as she goes through them at an alarming rate.
The problem is that toothbrushes are generally made of non-recyclable plastic. I have tried bamboo and wooden brushes but they don’t have as many options to achieve the perfect plaque-removing brush.
I did find a good dental floss in a refillable container, but by the time I needed a refill, they were no longer sold except via Amazon and I’m not ready to do that yet.
It’s a very first world problem, but it’s hard to be a good environmentalist when I can’t even get the little things right..
An Asia woman in a green shirt brushes her teeth in front of a mirror. Image: Wikimedia commons
I’m facing probable heart surgery at some point soonish, and I’m finding it all very complicated.
If I were a “normal” heart patient, maybe this would be easier. I have excellent care at the Ottawa Heart Institute; the issue is with me.
When I was first diagnosed with a severe heart murmur, I was surprised. After all, I’m active and didn’t have symptoms, or so I thought. But then I was sent for a stress test and told what symptoms to look for.
My cardiologist was happy with my stress test results but I was not. As a friend said at the time, I need to learn to distinguish between diagnostic and competitive. Put another way, I should have been told to go as long as I was comfortable, not as long as I could.
I started learning to acknowledge that I get breathless when climbing stairs, that I may not faint but I definitely suffer from “brown-outs”. That constant chest pressure is not normal and cannot be explained by overdoing workouts (at least not for weeks on end). And that I’ll be lucky to hit 1/10 of this year’s modest cycling goal.
At the same time, I am still active and would like to stay that way. So how do I navigate that fine line between advocating for myself and not wasting scarce health resources before I need to? When does advocating turn into drama queen behaviour?
I may still be quite healthy compared to some other heart patients, but I also have a lifeguarding job that requires me to be very fit.
I have settled on being clearer about my symptoms with my doctor while reminding myself that early intervention may actually save the health care system money in the long run.
I feel a bit guilty, but also have an angiogram scheduled for mid-December, and an appointment with a surgeon after that, which indicates that maybe it was wise to be speak up.
I am trapped in the body of a theatre kid and have the work schedule of a swim club kid.
On the left, a swim club kid with sharpie “tattoos” that say “talk to the flippers” “eat my bubbles” and “I kick ⬇️” from a swim club mom blog. On the right, a theatre kid sings in an article from Kazoo Theatre
Almost 60 years ago, Mom put me in morning kindergarten to try and break me of the habit of sleeping late. Early morning classes and a full career of early morning meetings (plus getting kids ready and out the door to school before my workday started) hasn’t entirely broken my of my night-owl ways.
I am really struggling to get enough sleep, especially with sore muscles, arthritis pains and three cats who demand late night or early morning cuddles. I rarely fall asleep before 11 pm, and sometimes have to be in my lifeguarding chair for 5:30 am swim practices.
When I try to go to bed early, it’s not unusual to wake up 4-5 hours later and be unable to return to sleep.
I know some ways to improve my sleep hygiene: I already broke out the winter duvet so my bed is comfy. I’m reading magazines before sleep instead of looking at my phone, though I do need to move my Duolingo practice to earlier in the day. I am trying to remember to hydrate more throughout the day instead of suddenly feeling the need to drink a litre of water out before bed; that one is very much a work in progress.
What are your best tips to get enough good quality sleep at the times you need it?
No this is not a rant about my provincial government and its overreach into municipal affairs, especially in ways that make it less safe for people using active transport such as walking or cycling. Sam Covered that on Monday.
It’s a rant about the fact that far too many men* assume they should be in faster swim lanes and the women** who are obviously much faster assume their place is in a slower lane.
To be clear, I don’t mean the people who miscalculate their speed and move quickly to the correct lane. I’m also not talking about the people who take advantage of empty lanes but move when faster or slower people arrive.
It’s also important to note that most public pools, at least, have signage for fast, medium, slow and leisure lanes. Many also provide instructions on which direction to swim when sharing a lane, how to pass safely, and a reminder to assess your speed against other swimmers and move up or down a lane if you are passing (or being passed) regularly.
It’s not hard to figure out whether you are where you should be, if you are willing to be honest about your abilities.
Occasionally lifeguards will even intervene to sort it out; in my training, this was considered one of the most unpleasant public relations activities because of the egos involved.
Intervention can be necessary because being in the wrong lane makes swimming more dangerous and prone to crashes as faster swimmers try to navigate around the slower ones.
At best, it sometimes minimizes conflicts between the people who are there for a steady workout and those who like to sprint past, only to stand at the end of the lane, blocking space so other swimmers can’t do efficient turns. Or those that see no need to move to a slower lane when working on drills or slower strokes.
This seems to be a common phenomenon. I see it regularly while lifeguarding or lane swimming, and it often arises as a concern in large swimming forums I belong to.
Interestingly, it is much less of an issue in swim club practices – probably because coaches are ruthless about sorting swimmers into the correct lanes. The women I know who refuse to cede the lane to slower men are almost always club swimmers.
My plea to women swimmers is to acknowledge your power and claim your lane. And to those who seem to think those swimmers don’t deserve the space: stay in your lane.
Checking back and reflecting on what I have done is always interesting. And novel, because I’m usually that person who doesn’t look back often; I’m too busy chasing the next fun thing. Here’s what I had planned to do. How have things gone since my mid-year check in?
Camp more at the cottage property. My friend Mel was only available for one long weekend, and we had no time for hiking or canoeing. However, we did manage a proof of concept with the cats. Interior finishing is continuing to progress and the cats didn’t escape and get eaten by a bear, so this is definitely going to be a repeat project for next year, once I have electricity to run the heat and water pump.
Bike at least 2,000 km. I might hit 200. The knees are still sore, but I’m continuing to work at physio exercises to stretch and strengthen the offending areas. I have my e-bike back in service for the first time since last fall and I have gone out for a couple of longer rides. There are a few fun group rides coming up. I hope to get out to at least one, because I miss that social activity a lot. And it’s almost time to set up my bike on the trainer and see whether I’ll use it this year.
Read one book a month: goal complete and exceeded! Thank you Ottawa Public Library and your interlibrary loan service. I’m anticipating some quiet days in November and December when I can curl up in bed with a stack of magazines.
Cooking one new recipe a week, with lots of vegan and vegetarian, using what’s in my pantry as much as possible, has shifted a little again. I have decided to focus more on making sure my plate is at least half full of vegetables. I even spent a couple of months tracking what I ate (not quantities though). For the first time in years, my most recent blood tests show my cholesterol comfortably in the normal range, so yay me!
Gardening in a drought was a bit of a disaster. Enough said. I am already thinking about how to make my gardens more climate-resilient for next year.
Swimming 200km a year: I’m close to halfway there, but definitely will not meet this one. I am counting wins in that I reconnected with some old swimming friends, and made a few new ones.
Me with old friends Michelle and Lois at the lake in September. We first met in a swim program many years ago, but headed off to different clubs when that pool closed a decade ago. It has been great to reconnect and swim together again.
Crafting was all over the place: I had fun at my textiles conference and followed up with a six-week course on one of the techniques I learned. There has been no art at all, but one of my really fun challenges has been making a pair of mittens patterned after those worn by Bernie Sanders at the first Trump inauguration, using a pattern I have mostly designed on my own.
Sewing continues to not happen.
Decluttering has definitely been a mixed bag, since I have taken on the challenge of cluttering at Mom’s. Her basement is being cleared, but mostly to my house. I am struggling to keep up with moving things onwards to their final home. It all makes me more determined than ever to tackle my own stuff.
Vacation to visit family and friends in southern Ontario ended up being too short, but it was fun to meet up with all the other bloggers for Sam’s birthday.
Elder care continues to consume way too much time, and yet I know it is precious time as Mom won’t be around forever. The realities of discovering how “not independent” Mom is, after spending a lifetime seeing her as very feminist and independent is shocking. It has me thinking a lot about how to ensure my own independence as I age, and simplify all the decision-making for my kids when they need to take over. An updated list of accounts and passwords would be a good start!
Most of my friends seen to be struggling with similar aging parent challenges, on top of their own health issues. So minimal get-togethers to just hang out. We’re all too tired. Heck, I was too tired even to relax in my hammock.
I haven’t been loud with my activist voice, but I did use my voice for an adventure. I joined in the production of one of the medieval York Corpus Christi plays, finished up my costume (that June sewing deadline on my original list), and acted the part of one of the three wise men.
I’m on the right of a small raised outdoor stage, presenting my gift of incense to the Virgin Mary, accompanied by her maid servant. Another wise man in blue is kneeling on the left, and in the background, you can just glimpse Herod and a soldier waiting for their next cue.
Will I bother to update this list again? Probably not. It’s already almost the end of the year, and I doubt much will change between now and then. Besides, I could use that precious blogging time for a nap.
I will make another list for next year. My goals are always wildly ambitious, but I’m learning that checking in on them helps me to refocus and to remember my successes, no matter how modest.
