Category: femalestrength

Flying & Falling into a New Decade
aging · femalestrength · injury · mindfulness · running

Flying & Falling into a New Decade

MinaLeave a comment

The morning after I turned 60, I headed out on a run with my youngest brother who was in town. What a treat! And he pushes my pace. For the first bit, I felt fleet and strong. Flying. The kind of run where your feet barely seem to touch the ground, tiny levitation rockets in my shoes. And that was just a feeling, since my feet were clearly on the ground when I tripped over a tree root.

I went down hard, catching myself on my shoulder. The result: a badly wrenched shoulder and a pivot from a brisk 9-mile run to a nauseous crawl toward CityMD, arm cradled against my body.

Everything in me wanted to scream until my lungs gave out, why me? Beneath that was a darker feeling, too: that the universe had smacked me down, put me in my place. I had wanted too much. I had been too pleased with myself about still being strong, still being fast, still being the person who runs the morning after her 60th birthday. So, the universe decided to show me who was boss.

I was already prickly about 60. About a month ago, a young man I passed in the final kilometers of a 21k (he could not have been older than his early 30s) said, with dismissiveness: well, maybe when I’m 60. I didn’t hear past that snippet. I kept running. I hear versions of these casual dismissals of people based on their ages often. The unquestioned assumption that age is a one-way street, that it diminishes us.

Even with a hurt and hurting shoulder, I questioned. With difficulty.

The list of things I could barely do at first was graceless in its mundanity. Open a bottle. Get dressed (oh yes, including pulling up my pants after going to the bathroom). Brush my teeth. Grab a glass in the cupboard. Never mind trail running or mountain biking. Did I mention I was three days from leaving for two weeks in the Canadian Rockies? I had planned solitude and mountain time to contemplate my new decade.

Close-up of a human arm showing visible bruising and discoloration on the skin, with a wooden background.

I had to borrow rolling luggage, because I could not haul a pack on a wrenched shoulder, and I always travel with a pack on my back. My mountain bike stayed in my middle brother’s garage in Calgary. Still, the first full day there, I wrestled myself into a sports bra, shirt and hiking pants and ventured out. Cautiously. Arm in a sling. A few days later I packed the sling in my little backpack (which didn’t hurt to wear, it was getting the straps on that was the trick). Gradually, I transitioned to trail running shoes and worked myself up to a slow trot. Always aware of my arm.

For the past three weeks, I’ve been managing the background noise of persistent pain.

This is not how I pictured opening this new decade.

And yet. And yet.

Curbed in my go-go mountain enthusiasm, I moved at a pace that allowed me to bask more in all the signs of coming spring. The runoff streams that got deeper with every warming day, so that I had to find new ways to get across that particular bit of trail each time. I had space to think about what it means to cross this threshold.

Because it is a threshold, even if I am, rationally, the same person the day after my birthday as the day before. I have sat with my complicated feelings about being a person in my sixties now for three weeks and something is shifting or emerging from underneath all the accumulated detritus of the years and the immediate distress of the physical setback. It’s a feeling, a sensation, a way of being that is harder to name than fleet or strong or flying.

Out on the mountain trails each morning, even moving with more caution than usual, a feeling spread in me, as the sun moves quietly into the world each day. Grounded, yet light. Buoyant, yet stable. It feels like I have the right to be here without further justification or proof of worth.

This whatever-it-is-ness feels like an arrival. Or a coming home. Belonging. Did I arrive at this feeling because of the fall?  Maybe. If I choose that version of the story, then I can silver line the fall and injury. Forced to slow down, woman discovers inner strength. Another part of me resists the patness of that explanation.  Maybe I just fell. Because I run on trails and other uneven surfaces. A lot. Life happens.  

My shoulder is healing. Not as quickly as I’d like. And when has any injury healed as quickly as we’d like? The pain is still there. Background noise every day. Wearing. And it is retreating. I can increase my effort. Mindfully. The mountains will still be there for next time. My bike will still be there.

I am still here.

Landed in a new decade. Not as elegantly as I might have liked. Penguin-style, which is to say, with awkward grace.

No Surrender: Dancing with Resistance and Acceptance as I Approach a New Decade
aging · challenge · femalestrength · motivation · running · Science · technology

No Surrender: Dancing with Resistance and Acceptance as I Approach a New Decade

Mina5 Comments

Cognitive surrender is an essential new term that’s arisen to describe the abdication of our own reasoning to a machine that sounds fluent, confident, and authoritative. Studies are showing that when people interact with AI tools, they accept flawed reasoning at a startling level (almost 75% of the time). Not because they don’t have the capacity to reason better themselves. But because it is easier not to question. As a writer, it will likely come as no surprise that I’m leery of outsourcing. I worry about dulling not just my cognitive capacity, even more so my creativity.

And, yes, I have started working with AI tools, because I also think it’s important to understand what these machines are all about and how I might use them in an un-surrendered manner. I almost used the word collaborate in that last sentence, instead of use. I chose not to, because I’m not yet ready to acknowledge these machines as entities. That feels like surrender. This from someone who is more than willing to see trees as sentient beings well before reading Michael Pollan’s new book, A World Appears.

I am exploring the border between surrender and leveraging these cognitive machines to free my time for deeper engagement with the world. More akin to my vacuum cleaner than a friend.

I have been thinking a lot about surrender in my body, too. Every time I read an article about aging and activity, which tells me that I should move more gently, now that I’m on the verge of a new decade, a part of me growls protectively. Not yet.  

This physical version of surrender can be seductive. Messaging that encourages the little voices that say: I’m older now. Intensity is harder. Recovery is harder. Maybe I should just… let these things be harder. Be gentle with myself. Slow down. Stop. Lie down. The End. Okay—those last four are the hyperbole kicking in.The reasoning (without exaggeration) arrives fluently, confidently, with authority. And, as with AI reasoning, if I’m not careful, I might accept these blandishments about aging without interrogating the particularities of my own case.

I see the parallel this way: an authoritative-seeming signal in the form of an AI answer or an aging body; the availability of a path of least resistance; the ways that acceptance is not neutral, reshaping what we expect of ourselves and ultimately what we are actually capable of.

What the cognitive surrender research captures is that the problem isn’t using external tools. We humans have been off-loading cognitive tasks for a while now. Thank you, calculators. The red flag is what happens when we stop verifying. When silken reasoning substitutes for truth. When we accept not because we’ve evaluated, but because it’s so frictionless (and pleasant) to not expend the effort.

In the physical realm, adjusting our expectations as we age is not always surrender. Of course not. Surrender is unexamined acceptance.  Letting the message of limitation go unchallenged. Sliding past the effort of finding out just what we are still capable of.  

I turn 60 this year. I’d like to say I feel easy, breezy about that. I don’t. I’m in search of the right balance of grace and grit. I have set myself the goal of running a half marathon (21 kilometers or 13.1 miles) every month. Twelve months, twelve runs (among all the other runs I will do). When I was younger, that distance was a regular sized effort. Last year, I did not run that distance even once. And my year culminated in foot surgery in late November (which I wrote about here).

The decision has an element of stubbornness, to be sure. I am a Taurus, after all. On New Year’s Day, I started the year running 21k with my brother on mountain trails. I had a genuine concern that I would not run the whole distance. It took a while. I got it done. I was inspired. And so, this challenge. As I write this, four 21k are done. Eight to go.

I hear the voices that tell me: You’re not built for this anymore. I’m checking their veracity. They might be right. I might not be up for the challenge. I want to be gentle with myself, if I’m not. This is not about punishment. It’s about exaltation. The joy of discovering, each month, that I still have the capacity.

When I was a child, my mother always made us take the stairs. I remember glancing longingly at elevators as we passed them by. Now I live on the eighth floor, and I take the stairs almost every time I leave or come home. Not always. I’m realistic, not rigid. Not because I’m proving something. Because the habit of not surrendering has become its own kind of instinct. My mother was training something in me: the reflex to push gently against the available convenience, to stay curious about what I might actually be capable of.

The AI researchers found that people with higher fluid IQ scores were more likely to maintain their own judgment under pressure. I do not claim any extra intelligence. I think gentle resistance is more about habit. The habit of fact checking.

This is what I want to hold onto as I run my way through this year, one half marathon at a time. Not the delusion that there no limits that come with age. I have plenty. Instead, I want to cultivate the discipline of inquiry, to distinguish real limits from the limits that are presented with confidence, waiting for me to accept them without scrutiny.

My body, like a large language model, will tell me what it thinks I want to hear in smooth and reasonable tones. Rest. Take the elevator. Watch Netflix.

Sometimes my body is right. And I will be dancing with surrender and resistance, until I find the choreography that leads to graceful, gritty acceptance.

celebration · femalestrength

Casually Strong

Diane Harper1 Comment

One of my reflections from the blogger barbecue at Sam’s was just how strong and fit everyone is. Shocker! It’s a fitness blog after all.

Cate talked about tossing off 75 km rides on a poorly fitted bike with seized pedals in France. Others exchanging plans for upcoming charitable rides. There were mentions of camping adventures and favourite hikes.

Talk of a visit to Newfoundland turned to reminiscences about Sam and Sarah’s ride from Deer Lake to St Anthony’s some years ago, and whether that would be a fun group thing. I have been a passenger driving on that route several times. I immediately offered to drive the support van because I would never survive those hills.

What struck me was just how strong and fit (and smart and interesting) every single woman in the group was. Frankly, I felt intimidated and had to remind myself that I’m actually a pretty good swimmer and a decent cook.

I’m a little older, and can’t do those exact things but diversity is good and I have different interests and fitness goals and that’s okay. One of the things I have learned from hanging around (virtually until now) with the bloggers is that self-talk is a very useful tool, and for a while on Saturday I had to put that lesson to good use.

Will I continue to be impressed all they do? Heck ya! Will I feel more than the slightest twinge of wanting to be able to do what they do? Probably not because I will remind myself that comparison is the thief of joy.

I will just keep doing my little goofy activities that keep my brain engaged and my body moving, and sometimes help make swimming or cycling safer for other people. They make me happy and sometimes they entertain other people, and I love that for me.

Me with a post-walk ice cream. Chasing after the ice cream truck by following the sound of its music is one of my favourite summertime fitness activities. I have occasionally walked for more than an hour to track it down, and then walked home.
Camping together gives women autonomy and community
camping · challenge · femalestrength · fitness · fun · kayak · kayaking · paddling · rest

Camping together gives women autonomy and community

elan.paulson

I recently went kayak camping with 6 friends at a remote Ontario provincial park called Killarney. Over 6 days and 5 nights we kayaked on a lake to 3 different camp sites. It was a chance for some holiday rest but also some active challenges.

Each site stop meant packing and unpacking my (borrowed) kayak: sleeping gear, food gear, hygiene gear, camp chair, bug repellants, clothes, and drying line. These were stored in dry sacs that kept stuff dry in inclement weather or if the kayak tips. We also agreed to each pack out our own garbage, which had to be stored every night in our kayaks to avoid attracting animals.

Though I was a girl guide and did family trailercamper trips as a kid, I am newer to camping where you haul your own gear, purify your own water, eat primarily rehydrated food, and eliminate in a “thunderbox”. On every trip I learn more through observing others and asking questions to find what arrangements suit me best (eg, tent vs hammock for sleeping, what vegetarian foods I can take, etc.).

I’m on my own to make sure I can carry what I pack, I pick up after myself, and I keep myself clean, dry, sated, and injury-free. Although this seems like regular adult stuff, in nature with no other amenities than what I carry, I must plan ahead and be self-sufficient. As one of my friends said during the trip, “Doing this as a woman, as a group of women, is empowering.” (Another one said camping is having fun while being mildly uncomfortable.)

What is empowering is not just taking care of yourself but also working together as a group. These women harnessed 7 kayaks in a trailer safely for highway driving, navigated to a remote provincial park, kayaked to multiple camp sites, used fishing gear, arranged in pairs for food prep and clean up, found wood, set up big tarps in case of rain, and shared anything that was needed, from extra salt to insect repellant to tampons to skin bandages.

For nearly a week were on our own but also together: travelling, paddling, swimming, fishing, card playing, plein air watercolor painting, food and drink imbibing, mosquito repelling, storytelling, and looking out for each other.

I am grateful to have learned so much about the tricks and tools of kayak camping from these women. It’s given me a sense of accomplishment and pride in a hobby that’s fun but not always easy or convenient. I’ve chosen from here this quotation, attributed to Madonna (who may or may not also be a kayak camper), to sum up my thoughts:

“As women, we have to start appreciating our own worth and each other’s worth. Seek out strong women to befriend, to align yourself with, to learn from, to collaborate with, to be inspired by, to support, and enlightened by.” – Madonna

What do you do, on your own but also with others, that gives you a sense of personal autonomy as well as community?

7 kayaks hauled by a truck
7 women in kayaks
5 women sitting in front of a campfire at dusk
The view, of an overturned kayak near the water’s edge, from my tent at dawn
Drinking Champagne Alone
celebration · challenge · femalestrength · hiking

Drinking Champagne Alone

Mina

I’m just back from a glorious month of playing in the Canadian Rocky Mountains. Trail running. Mountain biking. Hiking. And just plain soaking up the titanic rock energy. While there, I spent time with a woman I’ve known for a long time and thought I knew most everything about. Only to discover a new side of her. I was surprised and inspired. She was more intrepid than I’d known and more comfortable in her own company than I’d understood.

The first glimpse of this new side of her came when she headed off to do a hike with a somewhat heart accelerating crux involving a chain bolted to a cliff face, with a sliver of a ledge to tip toe across. She had some idea of the challenge, from having been there in the winter with a friend. They turned back. This time she was alone. As she approached the crux, she coached herself to step onto the sliver ledge without so much as a pause. And that’s what she did. It turned out that the crux was not the end of the exciting bits. She joined up with three other hikers a short while later and they told her that the scree field they were descending was the site of the greatest number of helicopter rescues in the area. Oh.  

The summer I was 18, I worked at the fancy restaurant in London, Ontario.  Once a week, on Friday nights, an attractive woman came in alone and had dinner, including a glass of champagne and dessert. To my young eyes, she seemed to be about forty, and who knows, she could have been younger or older. What she was, was an icon of female power and independence. I couldn’t imagine a woman going to a restaurant alone. This was before mobile phones. So alone really meant alone. For fine dining? And champagne? And dessert? All those treats just for her own pleasure. How could she even enjoy her own company so much? Let alone have the courage to be seen alone in public on a weekend night? Such insouciance. Such confidence. I wanted to be like her.

When I strode back into the parking lot at the end of the hike, I felt like my version of that long ago woman in the restaurant. As you likely guessed, that was me setting out alone and me coaching myself through the crux. I didn’t think I could do it. I’d lain awake part of the night filled with fear. I had already given myself the grace to turn back. When I didn’t turn back, the elation started to build over the course of the next couple of hours. By the time I finished, I felt like I was champagne. I could not only make it through the crux, but I could also enjoy being in my own company. I felt insouciant. Confident. I felt like I was taking my own world by storm.  

View from Tent Ridge, Kananaskis, Alberta

I did several more hikes with crux-y bits and other challenges that confirmed this woman’s existence inside me. I’d always thought that I needed company for such adventures. To discover that I could enjoy them just as much alone was a revelation. Though I would do well to have a satellite device of some kind for company. That’s a logistical issue. Meanwhile, I’m still feeling the fizz of meeting this new part of myself, with unexpected capacity.

I don’t know yet what we will do together.  I am curious indeed.  

When Can I Be Awesome?
celebration · challenge · femalestrength · running

When Can I Be Awesome?

Mina2 Comments

A few weeks ago, I ran rim to rim in the Grand Canyon. The effort was a moment to remind myself of the strength of my spirit after a period of enormous loss, chaos and instability, including health setbacks. As I ran from the night into the dazzling first drops of sun gilding the tops of the cliffs, the dawning day called me back in to myself. 

My youngest brother, Noah, proposed the adventure. His goal was to run rim to rim to rim (R3)—across the canyon and back again. My goal was rim to rim. I would accompany him for the first half of his effort.

It had been more than a decade since my last ultra run. Yes, I know, technically, rim to rim is not ultra, because it is not longer than a marathon. That said, those 21 miles are challenging. I underprepared. By a lot. One month out, I broke my toe.  I wasn’t sure I could even join my brother for the first steps. A few days before we were set to leave, I was fretting about my lack of training, when the universe delivered me a lightning bolt of clarity. You know how to do this. In that moment, I felt a fizz of recognition, the running was the least of it. To be prepared was to believe in myself. I could give the rest over to the universe. I felt a sudden sense of being anchored. I know how to do this. I’ve done ultra runs before. The experience is inscribed in my cells. Yes, in the past I have always trained. A lot. And that wasn’t an option this time, so I will run with what I do have. My knowing.

Don’t get me wrong. I didn’t suddenly think that I had the whole thing in the bag, and it would all be a dawdle. Not at all. Rather, it was an acceptance that I might well turn around and that would be okay, combined with a confidence that I could do it, if all else aligned (weather, health & sleep, being the three primary things that needed to be in alignment).

We started running at 4 a.m. Descending 4500 feet. In the pitch dark. For more than 2 hours.

At one point, my headlamp caught a lone, bare tree, which looked like a staging of Samuel Beckett’s play, Waiting for Godot.  I thought about Didi and Gogo, near the end of the play, contemplating whether to hang themselves from the scrawny tree. A current of energy passed through me and a voice in my head said, I want to live. I want to stop waiting for something external to happen, to give me a reason. Life is happening now. This is it.

I relaxed into the pleasure of the run. We reached the bottom in the dark and began to make our way across. I’ve been down into the canyon twice before and come right back up. I had never traversed the canyon floor before. Never been hugged by the canyon walls, as I passed through the sometimes narrow, winding passage to the far rim. The light began to seep into the canyon, long before the first sunshine splashed over the highest rock faces. The North Rim loomed 5000 feet above. It didn’t seem possible that there was a trail leading up the sheer walls. And yet, there it was. Sometimes skinny and precipitous. Sometimes breathlessly steep. With views to astonish.

Tears prickled as I reached the top after 7 grueling hours. I was overcome with the full body pleasure of finishing. Despite all. I’m awesome. I thought. For a moment. Only to watch most runners who came after me turn around (as my brother did) and run back again to the South Rim.

I was so proud of my brother for achieving his desired goal. And, at the same time, all the runners out there covering twice as much distance as me that day made me question my own sense of accomplishment. I only did … I made a halfway effort. In our world of increasingly extreme efforts, in our world where people are routinely pushing their bodies to the very edge of their human limits, what counts? What is enough? What am I allowed to be proud of? Wait a minute, who is doing this allowing? Why can’t I allow myself to be awesome?

And then on the Thursday after the Grand Canyon, I read these words from David Whyte (from his book Consolations. Words I had read before, which took on new resonance: “…taking a new step always begins from the central foundational core of the body, a body we have neglected, beginning well means seating ourselves in the body again, catching up with ourselves and the person we have become since last we tried to begin …”  I felt my first steps down the South Kaibab trail again and the intensity of everything that moment contained. The flood of memories of other physical challenges, like this run, that I’ve done in the past. All the ways in which my life and how I see myself have changed since then. All the doubts I was carrying into the canyon about my own capacity. Would my Addison’s Disease be a factor? The run was an opportunity to catch up with myself and the person I have become since last I tried to begin. I discovered a woman who is doing better than she thought. The light of resilience is seeping into her cells. Soon, the only-seemingly-insurmountable cliffs ahead will be painted gold and the trail will show itself. Step by step.

femalestrength · fitness

The Power of Connection

Diane Harper1 Comment

I went out for dinner recently with two women who are dear to my heart but who didn’t know each other except as very casual acquaintances. I was privileged to watch it become a joyful celebration of girl power as the two spent a couple of hours talking about the martial art one loved and the other had loved but where she now was struggling to decide whether she ever wanted to take it up again.

I don’t do this sport. I have never even really wanted to do this sport. But I know just enough about it to follow along as they talked about all the issues that make the sport challenging for women:

Equipment that is hard to fit because of breasts and the difficulties of getting it adjusted because the people who make it are mostly men who don’t design for women’s bodies (though that is changing).

Equipment requirements put in place by men that make no sense for women (men absolutely need a cup for this sport, but a Jill is a hindrance and unnecessary).

The need many women have to be much more technical because they are fighting taller men with longer reach.

The different way many women process learning; they want more drills rather than just rushing in to bash their opponents and hope to learn something on the fly.

Representation matters! There were anecdotes about fan-girling over other women who do this sport, and the impact their presence on the field has made to women interested in giving it a try.

The feelings of inadequacy and discomfort with asking for help because you fear you are being a burden to others at practice.

The struggles to find time to practice because family responsibilities.

All the body issues: larger; shape has changed; returning after childbirth and years of raising that child; aging; injury.

It was joyful to listen to them talking through possible solutions. It was even more joyful to see them connect as they shared what aspects/positions/weapons forms they loved and why.

What was really striking was the universality of the issues. As these two near-strangers geeked out for hours, I could still join in with observations from the sports I do and the gender-based analysis work I used to do.

Diane, Mel and Bess, top. Below: Bess on the left and Mel on the right, doing the thing they both love.
Belgian shot-putter Jolien Boumkwo. Meet our newest sports hero: Jolien Boumkwo, Belgian shot-putter and substitute hurdler
competition · femalestrength · fitness · racing · team sports

Meet our newest sports hero: Jolien Boumkwo, Belgian shot-putter and substitute hurdler

catherine w6 Comments

Hey y’all– in case you’re in need of some happy, joyful, positive news today: look no further. Meet Jolien Boumkwo, Belgian shot-putter and all-around good egg. She literally embodied the spirit of teamwork on Saturday at the European Championships in Track and Field. How did she do this? By winning her shot-putting competition? Nope. She finished seventh, which is excellent. But no, it wasn’t that.

Boumkwo ran the hurdles race even though she is not a hurdler, but in fact a shot putter (completely different skillsets, I’m told). Why did she do it? Because: a) no one else on her team was available (due to injuries); and b) they needed someone in the race in order: b1) not to get disqualified from continued competition; and b2) get one point for their team in the hopes of not getting relegated from Division 1.

So Boumkwo did it. Here is the race. Watch it; you’ll be glad you did.

Shot putter Jolien Boumkwo, running carefully and powerfully over hurdles on her way to a team point for Belgium.

I love it that she’s tall enough basically to step over the hurdles and that she’s being careful not to get injured. It’s also nice (and appropriate) that she got high fives and handshakes from some of the other hurders after the race.

For contrast, here’s what Boumkwo doing what she’s trained to do.

Jolien Boumkwo, poetry and strength and precision in motion.

In her spare time, Boumkwo throws hammers, too. Note how far this one goes.

I came across the story in the New York Times, and of course the commenters had plenty to say. The comments were about equally divided between congratulations and thanks to her for demonstrating the spirit of teamwork, and shared anecdotes of cases where folks substituted in a not-their-sport competition and took one for the team. There were high jumpers who tried pole vaulting, hurdlers who tried relay races, swimmers who tried diving, and so on. They all said it gave them an appreciation for others’ talent and a feeling of team unity.

Or course there was one crabby person who said Boumkwo’s performance was embarrassing. Naturally, the rest of us piled on, replying that they were quite mistaken. Here’s what I added:

Her team needed someone in the race to get a point, and she volunteered (obviously with the approval of her coaches). It was heartening to see her, a champion athlete in her own right, put her ego aside to move safely and strongly through the race on behalf of her team. It wasn’t embarrassing– not to her, not to her competitors, not to her team, not to me, and not to other sports fans. It was joyful, smile-inducing, and inspiring in the best ways.

I assume you agree, FIFI readers?

Have I missed any other heroes this week? Let us know. Or tell us about your favorite moments of team participation.

Sweating Like a Whore
femalestrength · feminism · gender policing · sexism

Sweating Like a Whore

Mina1 Comment

I once called my mother a whore. We were playing double solitaire. A game that, between the two of us at, was a full contact sport. Slapping our cards down with no mind as to whether the other person’s hand might be in the way. In this particular game, we were neck-a-neck, cards piling up in the center at the speed of light, then we were both going to the same stack with the same card and my mum’s hand was quicksilver, hitting the mark before me. You whore. I shouted loud enough for the house to hear. She laughed with gleeful satisfaction. I wasn’t even grounded. That’s how complicit we were in our intensity. Even calling her a whore was allowed. I don’t know why, but that was one of the insults au-courant between my best friend and I. We felt very dangerous and risqué when we used the word.

Now, I hate the word. I hate all its implications. Of women demeaned. Of the judgment reserved for women and never their client-suitors. So, when a Soul Cycle instructor used the word the other day in class, my whole body snapped to angry attention. Here’s the context. Into the third song of the 45-minute workout he asked, Are you all sweating like a whore in church? ‘Cause if you’re not, you should be working harder.

First, it took me a minute to figure out what the expression even meant. The word whore had sidelined my reasoning capacity. Then, as my mind picked back through the expression, it dawned on me. Oh. She’s sweating, because her work is deemed a sin according to the doctrine of the religious institution, whose pews she’s seated in. Sweating because she has too much to repent. Judgment Day is coming for her. Sweating because she’s a woman who leverages her sexuality. Sweating because the lord on high will be displeased by her presence. Maybe he will smite her.  

Why (oh why) would someone use that expression in a room full of strong, modern women? A young gay man, no less. He could have substituted himself into the expression, the implications are the same. And he would, at least, have been making a joke on himself (still not a nice joke, though humor is more excusable when we make ourselves the butt of the humor). Instead, he regurgitated what was, no doubt, an expression he heard in his childhood. Perpetuating values infused with religiosity and thus with patriarchal misogyny. I’m going to hazard a guess that the largest proportion of the women spinning that day did not look to the church as their arbiter of moral values. I doubt that even the instructor looks to the church as his moral beacon. Yet, there he was quipping in support of organized religion’s apparent mandate to control women and their bodies.

Sweating bottles (I chose this image because it is beautiful, IMHO, and I wasn’t keen on putting an image of a sweating whore), by Greg Rosenke on Unsplash

I contemplated speaking to him afterward. Trying to make light, yet still make clear what I’d found disturbing. I reasoned that he probably was not even aware of what he was saying, even that he might appreciate me pointing out the dissonance. Then I worried that he’d dismiss me as a cranky older woman. Then I worried that I was a cranky older woman, too easily triggered because my current life circumstance is high stress. And the result is that I have zero tolerance for any demeaning treatment of women.

What did I do? Nothing.

Except canvas various of my friends about their responses. Everyone, except me, had heard the expression before. While they all agreed it was offensive, when considered closely, they were split on whether I should have said something or not. Some agreed with my do nothing approach and others thought it was important to call such things out.

And, in case you think that calling women whores is a relic of church jokes, this happened to me and a woman friend the other day. We were out for a brisk morning walk together in a mixed-use bike-walk lane. Or so we thought. Until a cyclist zipping by said, Slut!

At first, as with the whore joke, we were both perplexed. We verified with each other that we’d heard correctly. Never mind that I was confused by the singular, when there were two of us. Was only one of us a slut? If so, which one? We deduced the angry cyclist thought we were infringing on the bike lane, after studying the available lanes more closely and noticing there was indeed a walking lane further over. I wonder if the insult applies only to women walking in bike lanes, or if it’s any woman doing an activity in an unsanctioned location. Push ups on a tennis court. Cycling in a walking lane. Is any unsanctioned activity by definition slutty? Does slut retain any sexual connotation? Or is the unsanctioned activity viewed as an indicator of loose morals? A gateway to turpitude.

What I’m sure of is that the cyclist wasn’t having a good morning.

There’s no true equivalence for whore and slut to describe a man. They are words with ugly intent. Normally I like to reclaim words and expressions and transmute them into a feminine power expression. I haven’t figured out how to do that yet with these words.

Any ideas? 

A Z-shaped road, viewing from above. by Josh Withers on Unsplash. A-Z: gym classes I would want to take
athletes · femalestrength · fitness · kids and exercise

A-Z: gym classes I would want to take

catherine w4 Comments

Before I launch into an entire alphabet of physical activities, let me say what inspired this post: 1) Sam’s post on Three Things on a Thursday: Watch, Read and Listen. I watched and then I read, and then 2) I got completely caught up in what I read. It was a blog post by Greta Christina on How I learned to stop worrying and love gym class. I encourage you to read it (along with the watching and listening, as Sam advises). However, if you are way too busy this week, here’s the tl:dr version:

Gym class becomes fun physical activity when you get to choose what you do.

Yes, dancing with an umbrella should be a gym class option. Thanks, Verne Ho for Unsplash.

I found myself thinking, what would my gym class favorites be if absolutely anything was an option? How to pick? Well, why not let the alphabet be my guide. So, without further ado, here we go– here’s my A–Z list of activities offered in my version of the Platonic form of gym class.

A: Archery. It’s not just for camp anymore. I just saw that there’s an archery center near my house; it may be on the list of potential birthday party outings I’m planning with my friend Steph.

B: badminton! For me, definitely not-basketball! I like to think I’m living proof that one doesn’t need to be able to do a lay-up in order to have a happy or successfuly life.

C: Capoeira! Wouldn’t it be fun to learn something that’s both dance and combat at the same time. If you’re at all in doubt, check out this video of women moving in powerful and graceful ways, capoeira-ing.

D: Deadlifting– I’d definitely work out with free weights more.

E: equestrian sports– I rode as a child, and it was so much fun. I wish more kids could spend time around horses.

F: fencing– I took a few lessons in college. It would be great to pick up an epee again.

G: gymnastics– I liked the vault and did minor tumbling. Maybe more rolling around on mats would be fun now. G is also for golf. I never played golf, although I’m a huge fan of minigolf, which I play on beach vacations with my niece and nephews.

H: hiking, which I like in theory but am no a huge fan of in practice. Climbing down steep rocky things is not my favorite. So I could give that a miss.

I: ice skating– it looks so graceful, and I took lessons in grad school. But then I broke my wrist. Maybe that can be cut from the list.

J: jiu jitsu– I took a few lessons and found it intense and challenging. I wish I had tried it sooner than in my 50s. Maybe next life…

K: Kayaking– yes, I love it. Wouldn’t it be fun to kayak with a whole gym class? Another option: knife throwing– wow. wish they had PE classes with this, although if they don’t I can easily understand why nor.

L: luge? No, too scary.What about lumberjack competitions? Hmmm. If you’re on the fence about this, how about watch Martha King:

M: mountain biking, mogul skiing. and yes, miniature golf!

N: Nordic (cross-country) skiing– yay! I’d also like to be better at nine-ball– a billiards game.

O: open water swimming– yes! Obstacle course running (not to be confused with parkour)? Definitely not.

She definitely looks like she's having fun, but this seems too messy for me. It's a woman laughing, lying back in a sea of mud.
She definitely looks like she’s having fun during the obstacle course , but it’s too messy for me.

P: pickleball– something I’d like to try. Plus: ping pong! parkour! Can you do both at one time? There’s only one way to find out.

Q: Quadrathlon, which I never heard of, but sounds good. It’s swimming, kayaking, cycling and running. Well, three out of four ain’t bad.

R: Racketball– I love racket sports! No to running for me– I had to in gym class and also in the two triathlons I did. Just not my thing.

S: Squash– love it! Snowshoeing, swimming, snd scuba diving! Lots of S-things to do.

It’s not on my list, but sumo wrestling is increasing in popularity among school-age young women and girls.

“Female Sumo Wrestling” (CBS This Morning 2019) from Randy Schmidt on Vimeo.

T: tennis! I started playing at age seven. And then there’s trampolining! If you’re not familiar with it, here’s some video from the 2021 European women’s trampoline championships.

U: ultimate frisbee– no. ditto for ultra marathoning. But hey– there are underwater ream sports– soccer, rugby. hockey who knew? I can’t resist another video here. It’s Australian women’s underwater rugby.

V: volleyball– I was so not good at this in gym class! But, loved the vault.

W: weightlifting– I definitely want to do more of this. And yes to water-everything!

X: a little license with spelling gets us xc mountain biking and skiing. I enjoy both of them.

Y: yachting? Never tried it, but I watched a yacht race once. Does yo-yo count as a sport?

Z: yes, there’s a Z-sport. It’s Zorb football/soccer. It looks hilarious and impossible, which is the perfect activity for gym class. Am I right?

So, readers, what would your perfect gym class activities be, if you could either go back in time and choose, or take a gym class for you-as-you-are-right-now? I’d love to hear from you.