Category: Guest Post

fitness · Guest Post

Deadlifts versus Bandeaus, Round Two

Sam BLeave a comment

By Winnie

I read Sam’s post, the one about fitting into a bandeau. I launched into what was turning into a rather long comment, checked in with Sam, and she advised me to write more as a post. So here’s where my comment started:

Yes! Yes! Yes! I rushed over to your age 74 post – I am 74. All of these pointers towards being less judgmental are SO important. At my age, my fitness level is  close to what it was when I was 20, better than  when I was 30. But one of my very closest friends has an auto-immune condition that began when she was about 4. By the time we met – high school – she was frozen into a sitting position. No loss of control, just joints that arthritis had taken over & shut down. Fitness, as most of us can see it, is simply not an option. We’ve been friends for over 60 years now & watching how she is received in public settings is endlessly disturbing.


Going on from the already too long comment:
She and I might pose for the guy who likes to compare women at age 74 – those who are body builders & look the part next to those who are slumped in wheelchairs. Well, not really. I don’t look at all like a body builder. But I can ride my bike pretty much anywhere; she needs help turning over in bed. I find a comparison intended to push fitness to be especially distressing.

Remember, her illness had frozen her in a sitting position. Her family is tall; she’s not. But she went through college, went on to get a masters, went on to complete the course work for a PhD; health kept her from being able to write a dissertation while working full time. She was a bilingual speech therapist in a large, complicated public school system. Most of her working life was spent doing the intake work for kids with special needs (another category we have a very hard time defining and naming).


So, I hope we can all keep reminding ourselves – and Sam can keep reminding us in so many great ways – that categorizing people by appearance, short of looking for a cheerful girl with curly red hair to play Annie,  is very unlikely to be fair or meaningful. No, scratch even that little exception. I am thinking of P.G. Wodehouse’s Uncle Fred, who claimed he could play the part of a parrot “on broad, artistic lines.” So Annie can have brown hair. Or be played by a boy.


PS I realized I had only talked about fitness on my couple of posts here, but feminism is the other key component. I had begun to put together a little list of experiences that helped to cement feminism in my mind (not that it needed any cement). So here’s one of the funny ones. It’s all about appearances, as it turned out.


I was at the gym at an abs & core class. Another member in the class was a fiercely competitive guy. “Hey, let’s go run up to Coit Tower at lunchtime!” was an offer he often put out. That’s a very steep, not short hill in San Francsico. So when the teacher said, “Go find the weights that are right for you. We’ll be doing rowing in plank position today,” I went over and picked a pair of 20 pound weights. Competitive guy came over and very kindly (he thought) told me I had the wrong weights. He brought me a couple of 5s & a couple of 10s. I just thanked him & held onto my 20s. When the time came, & he saw me happily using the 20s, I got some serious side-eye. And some serious satisfaction. He was working hard with 10s. He was about 10 years younger than I was. And a guy. A very athletic guy.

A picture of my friend from behind (didn’t get permission to show any faces – this was a high school reunion).

And  picture, nothing to do with the post. Bruce and me standing at the summit of Mt. Ventoux, France, after a long climb (much more challenging than those 20 pound weights)!

Bio: I am a lifelong Californian. My mother and father were not born here but moved to the state as small children. I have two grown daughters and five wonderful grandchildren. I spent my working life working at, and eventually running, the family insurance business. My father had introduced many employee benefits – sabbatical starting in 1970, optional four-day work week in 1972, elimination of all official work time rules in 1974. Adults like to be treated as adults, and people tended to stay a long time, so it was a very pleasant working environment with key elements of trust and respect. I also served on a couple of independent school boards, one a strong academic school serving grades 6-12, one a school designed to start helping city kids who had suffered the ongoing effects of racism & poverty to find opportunities they might not as easily discover without support. I live at a Lifetime Care Community where I serve on the finance committee and chair the sustainability committee. I also plan to join the newly formed fitness committee. And for fun, I have ridden my bicycle across North America. Twice.

challenge · cycling · fitness · Guest Post · illness

The Origins of My Surprising Fitness Journey

whsbike49a42cfbfd2 Comments

 In 1998, we were traveling in Australia. That was a lifelong dream of mine. As far back as 4th grade I read books about animals. I began dreaming about parts of the world where they were widespread and different. Now, at last, with Bruce (my husband), daughters, and friends, we were there. This day we were in Queensland. We had seen the Barrier Reef, the giant clams, the enormous cod and all sorts of colorful creatures. Then, off to dinner and a good night’s sleep.

I woke up to find one of our friends sitting next to me, chin on hand, staring thoughtfully. He’s a doctor. My husband & I shared a room with a good friend whose mobility is severely limited (we’ve been good friends since high school). She told me I’d had a grand mal seizure. She had recognized it and, from her experience as a special-ed speech therapist, had been able to talk Bruce through it. The others had called a local doctor. He arrived, checked a few things then asked, “Do you know where you are?” I looked around. The whole thing had, to me, a pretty Alice in Wonderland feeling. Dream-like. I hadn’t thought to question anything. But now, I realized I had no idea where I was. A trip planned for 30 years, and it was gone?

Fortunately, the memory of everything through the previous evening came back. And the doctor  said we could continue to travel (phew) but I’d need a cat scan if it happened again. He thought I’d had “a one-off fit.” So we finished the trip, but when I got back home, I went straight to my doctor, who sent me to a neurologist, who got an MRI, which showed the tumor. Surgery followed, then lots of MRIs & follow-up care. And, since my tumor was very low grade, a projected life expectancy of 10-15 years. In the brain cancer world, that is great. But for the 46-year-old hearing it, not so great.

Once I had grown somewhat accustomed to my new reality, it occurred to me that I’d better give up procrastination. I suppose we all think of that as a pretty good new year’s resolution, but this time, I meant it, and I followed up. And one of my top priorities had been to get back in shape. I had been running the family business and raising daughters, and there just wasn’t a ton of time out there. My daughters were, by now, away at college, so that excuse was no good any more. So I got a stationary bike – the old kind with nothing but a seat, handlebars and pedals. And I put in a half hour every day, and it began to make quite a difference.

After a few months, Bruce kept telling me how boring that was, and that I really needed to get out on a real bike. Eventually, I caved in, and got a hybrid bike and began to take cautious rides along local paths. I got up to 5 miles! Ten miles! He got me out to ride to a local reservoir, a ride that included some traffic and a final climb of 100 feet or so. I thought, 1) I might die from the effort, and 2) I must have climbed something roughly equivalent to Mount Everest.

And one more change, and then another: I joined a women’s bike club; I cured tendinitis caused by lugging the heavy hybrid bike onto the commute train by buying the road bike the shop guys recommended; I was so impressed by the lightness & easy riding – once I had overcome my fear of such a delicate vehicle – that I signed up for the following year’s AIDS ride from San Francisco to Los Angeles.

And so many things followed. More AIDS rides (there’s quite a story there, since when I finished the first one, I said to myself, well, I’ll never have to do that again!); lots of touring and leading local endurance training rides, some running, some strength training, some yoga, and lots and lots of tap dance. That was already a regular thing – my older daughter was in STOMP! for a couple of years & we went to tap festivals together.

Somewhere in the fitness journey, I stumbled across this blog, and loved it! I can go on with my stories, but first I want to thank all of you who write here for the inspiration and support you have given. And to apologize for the somewhat haphazard pace of my comments. I have comments in my head for almost every post I read, and only seem to get a few of them out to you. So thanks so much for all you have done to help this journey!

Quick Bio: I am a lifelong Californian. I have a husband, two daughters, and five grandchildren. I spent 40+ years in the family business, taking over when my father retired. I have served on a couple of school boards and worked with several non-profits and several individuals who needed help. My lucky life makes me very eager to pay it forward. My current fitness makes me very eager to see the world from a bike saddle.


Me at about age 10 with what I think was my second bike. 3 speeds, and we often had to wear dresses.
Me holding my bike overhead at the half way point on the AIDS ride from SF to LA.
The third is a picture of me and Bruce having ridden up Waimea Canyon on Kauai.
body image · fitness · Guest Post · illness · weight lifting · yoga

Before and After: A personal reflection on exercising with chronic illness

Tracy I1 Comment

by Christine Junge

Image description: Outside shot of a woman (Christine) with dark medium long hair and wearing a short-sleeved shirt, holding a young boy while he climbs on a rope climber in a playground, with dappled light, a fence, and a tree in the background. She is looking up at the boy and the boy is looking up at the next rung of the rope. Photo credit: Viceth Vong.

“Why aren’t you doing another triathlon this year?” an acquaintance asked.

I gulped. “I’m having some, uh, health issues,” I said. I was keeping things vague out of necessity—I had no damn idea what was happening, only that I had a constant (and I mean 100% of the time) headache that reached an unbearable level by the time I left work for the day. I went to sleep pretty much as soon as I got home—not only because being in pain is exhausting, but because sleep was the only time I didn’t feel awful. My life goals had gone from: publish a book, rock my career in publishing, and finish a tri even though I can barely swim, to: get through the day.

In the year after the pain started, I had test after test. They all came back negative, which was a good thing on the one hand (who wants to have a brain tumor or Lyme disease), and utterly frustrating on the other. After each of my appointments at Boston’s various prestige medical clinics, I wanted to scream, Why can’t you just tell me what was wrong with me?

Eventually, through a process of elimination, they diagnosed me with occipital neuralgia (nerve pain in the upper neck) and idiopathic chronic migraines (idiopathic just means that they have no flipping idea why it’s happening.) I tried treatment after treatment (Botox injections, handfuls of pills, various psychologic therapies) but the headaches wouldn’t budge. I was in bed for the vast majority of most days. The body I toned through hours of training atrophied.

Eventually I went to the Cleveland Clinic for a three-week “headache camp,” as a friend called it. There they tweaked my medications but more importantly, they taught me more than I could’ve imagined about headaches and how to maneuver your lifestyle to live with—and hopefully eventually prevent—them.

One of their prescriptions was to get back to exercising. I had all but stopped as the pain consumed me. There were a few scientifically backed reasons for this recommendation: exercise has been shown to reduce the severity of pain in people with many chronic pain conditions; it also greatly helps with the anxiety and depression that often hits people with chronic illnesses of all stripes (and that certainly hit me).

For me, it also allowed me to get back in touch with that former triathaloning self. I started with walking—an exercise I still love. I added yoga and light weight training. Slowly but surely, I started to feel better physically and emotionally. Now, I walk for an hour a few times a week, do pilates at least once a week, and I’m currently attempting to reintroduce weight training after that fell out of my routine. On days I exercise, I feel less achey—and also like my body is my friend again, not something that revolted against me. I feel, too, that I am strong—I hadn’t realized how upsetting it was to my sense of self to think of myself as weak. Now, I am not just someone with a disabling condition, I am someone who can keep up with her son on the playground, who can squat down and lift his four-year-old body, who doesn’t have to fear the idea of trudging around a theme park all day. 

I have greater exercise ambitions, too: I plan to conquer a ten-mile hike in the next few months, and an even longer one by the end of the year, with the eventual goal of walking 100 miles or so on Europe’s El Camino Santiago. I have no thoughts of trying for another triathlon, but thanks in part to regular, light exercise, I’m doing much more than just getting through the day now. 

If you have a story about exercising during or after illness, we’d love to hear it!

Christine Junge is a writer living in San Jose, CA. She’s currently working on a novel, and blogs about parenting with a chronic illness/disability at ThanksForNothingBody.substack.com


disability · fitness · Guest Post · inclusiveness · mobility · strength training

Becoming a gym person (guest post)

Sam B

by Leela MadhavaRau

I have never seen myself as a “gym person.” Long before I developed the chronic disability trifecta of rheumatoid arthritis, fibromyalgia and degenerative disc disease, this was not a place where I felt at home. I have long been uncomfortable with my body – size and type – and being in a gym seemed to be a form of public exposure.  

This, it must be admitted, is hypocrisy of the highest order. For most of my career – over 30 years – I have ensured that the universities where I worked held sessions for those who might feel uncomfortable in a communal gym environment. I have run numerous workshops on respecting and honouring all body shapes, sizes and weights. All that time, and I have never admitted this in such a public forum, I have hated how I looked. 

At the same time, I was doing numerous rounds of physical therapy, which often seemed indistinguishable from what people might be doing in the gym. I remember working on various pieces of equipment and making this comment. The physio said, “It is exactly what you would do if you were paying for Pilates classes.” 

In my first decades, I walked everywhere, and at a rapid pace. My only previous gym membership was to use an indoor track for walking in the winter. In May 2021, I became a dog parent for the first time, to rescue husky Atlas. He gets me walking about 13,000 steps on a weekday (I work from home) and up to 20,000 on the weekends. This has been helpful for my health generally but has also led to several injuries requiring more physical therapy. After the last one – a partially torn rotator cuff caused by slipping on the ice on one of those Atlas walks – I began to wonder whether I should be doing something to strengthen my body. 

However, searching for a trainer and gym seemed a scary proposition. Fortunately, before I got far in my search, I saw a Facebook notice from a colleague in another part of my life.  

This seemed perfect timing – someone who met all my exacting criteria had space. Without giving myself time to doubt, I made contact. When I asked my rheumatologist if I could try strength and conditioning classes instead of the physical therapy he was recommending for yet another joint issue, he looked somewhat surprised but said as long as I was sure to do stretching beforehand and be careful to stop if there was pain. 

So, in September I made my first entrance into a gym as a client, entering into this new setting with some trepidation in spite of my trust in trainer Laura. It was not dissimilar to walking into any new culture – ignorant of the purpose of the many machines and sure I wasn’t going to be able to make use of them.  

However, very quickly, I was immersed in my new environment, learning the language thrown around casually – Romanian Deadlifts, Dead Bugs, Superman, Plank, Bird Dog, Leg Press, Leg Extension. Bands, Around the World, Kettlebell Farmer’s Carry and so on. It must be said that many of these challenge my mind-body coordination but I have managed to complete all – increasing numbers and weights each class. 

I find most classes hard work and it would be easy to give up, but I try to make it a point to never stop unless it is clear that I am moving into the area of disease pain rather than exercise pain. This is the type of distinction for which there must be absolute trust with the trainer. Laura will listen to what is happening with my body and suggest variations on the exercise, or a different one. I appreciate that she doesn’t let me off completely but takes the risk to my health seriously. 

There are obvious similarities with physical therapy – including working toward achieving the same goal of strengthening body parts and enhancing quality of life. However, I find upper body, core and leg training far more holistic than physical therapy on individual body parts. I get through both in a similar manner -much as I cope with painful medical procedures – muttering in my head, “It will soon be over and things will be better.” 

And I do feel better. For the first time, I care less about how my body looks and more about gaining strength and capacity that will be of assistance as diseases progress.  

So, what make a gym comfortable for me, a 60-year-old British South Asian Canadian woman living with disabilities? 

This gym is small, located in a local strip mall. In large gyms I have visited, or been on the periphery of, the feeling of entering an alien culture has always been reinforced. The spaces are often cavernous, with sound echoing (Tinnitus is a side-effect of my diseases so this is always disconcerting), people moving from machine to machine, none of which I know the purpose of or how they are used. In addition, the majority of those present seem in great shape already. I rarely see the very fit but larger physique individuals I know exist. There is also often a notable lack of clothing which enhances the feelings of inadequacy for someone already concerned about their body. As I mentioned, it is a small gym. In my timeslot, there are never more than three individuals working with different trainers – we are all at very different fitness levels. Still, there is no air of competition, something I perceive in other gyms I have been in.  

The trainer’s description of herself is not hyperbole and speaks to what makes me so comfortable to enter the space, as well as sometimes fail in the space: 

Laura has been a beginner in the gym. She’s been the only woman in a gym. She’s had aggressive coaches and trainers who made assumptions (over-estimating and under-estimating) about what she could or could not do. She’s felt unwelcome and uncomfortable, and she’s been made to feel unwelcome and uncomfortable. 

And she doesn’t want any of that for you. 

Training with Laura means training with a trauma-informed coach in a supportive environment where she meets you where you are in your health and fitness journey. It means being encouraged to try new things and do more while being listened to about what you/your body can do that day. It means learning that you’re stronger than you know while being motivated by a compassionate and knowledgeable coach/trainer. 

So, this January I don’t need any resolution (not that I make them) to keep me going to the gym. At least to this gym to work with this trainer!  

Leela MadhavaRau is the owner of LMR Human Rights and Equity Consulting. She has spent her working life in the field of equity and inclusion, working at universities in both Canada and the United States. Her academic background is in Social Anthropology, with a specific focus on the transmission of culture across time and space. Her degrees are from McGill and the University of Cambridge. She has lived a life between cultures and countries, one of the few multiracial children born in 1960’s London (UK). Leela immigrated with her family to Canada in the 1970’s when “Where are you from” was one of the most common questions. Her career has been one of working to create dialogue; wanting all of us to be able to maintain curiosity and be independent thinkers. This responsibility has been inculcated in her four children, now ages 24 through 31. She adopted her Siberian Husky, Atlas, in May 2021 and her life hasn’t been the same since!

curling · fitness · Guest Post

Curling Rocks (Guest Post)

Sam B1 Comment

by Karen (Kéké) Houle

Here are some things to really, really love about curling:

  1. It’s ridiculously fun. I laugh until I almost pee, at least 4 times a game. A game is under 2 hours, so that’s a belly laugh / half hour. While sporting! Pretty good, hey?
  2. For a sport, it’s not very expensive. When I was a kid, our extremely modest-single income family of 5 meant we could only do some sports, and only up until a certain $$. For instance, I was actually a very promising figure skater. But my parents pulled me out of it when I got to the level where, to go further, I needed competitive skates and private lessons and (!) a twirly dress. And then, myself, as a graduate student + single, sole-support parent of twins, who did not own a car, all sports were out of our reach, financially. The only sports my kids were able to do were the ones through their school. Thank goodness! As an adult, I learned how to play golf and hockey (there was no hockey when I was a girl. See note about figure skating). But lordy! The fees for a round, and the fees for joining a league, let alone all the equipment, are very prohibitive. And that is for someone whose body is not growing a full new size every year (well, trying not to). I cannot imagine how parents of modest income are able to put their kids into most sports, and to continue to support them if they are talented. Curling, on the other hand, is pretty darned affordable. You really don’t need much equipment, and in fact, most clubs have brooms and shoes you can borrow for a game here and there. 
  3. When I’m playing a game, and I look around me, I see every single body shape, size, age. Very big women and very small men. Anything goes! (I often think of the work of Sam Brennan on this point). There are teams made up of a 16 year old, a 35 year old, a 66 year old and a 92 year old. I think when I first played, in Cochrane, I was in high school. My women’s “Wednesday Night Team” was exactly like that! There are smart adaptations that keep you in the game, even if your knees or hips are blown out. 
  4. You can play very competitively when you are very pregnant. (Um…Pregnancy can really get in the way of life. Not with curling…) What other sports are like this? 
  5. I am a very, very mediocre curler. And proud of that. That is also something I love about the game. You can be crappy, mediocre or Monsieur Brad Gushue or Madame Ice-in-her-Veins Rachel Homan, and still make a shot or miss a shot. Curling just has a pretty sweet spot of skill-luck built into it. That is super great for keeping people in the game (I remember trying to play soccer. Once. I am a very very not-good soccer player… the ball almost never came to me. I was cold and lonely and miserable. When it did, I flubbed it. Rather than everyone laughing in a friendly way, and me going back to play the next week, I had that awful awful shame-y feeling that so many kids and then adults have had, in sport. CRAP! Come curl! You can undo that shittiness, friends!)
  6. So: Last night, I had the most hilariously over-the-top Scotties-Level-Game of my life. I made a QUADRUBLE-RAISE take-out, and stuck the button. I then made a TRIPLE-RAISE take-out, and stuck the button. Then I made a double take-out and stayed in the house. Um, for those of you who curl, you know how wild that is. Basically unheard of. Maybe ONE of those shots wins your team the pennant. Not 3 of them! It would be like hitting 4 walk-off home runs with bases loaded, in a single game! Like hitting 16, 3-pointers in a single game (take that, Klay Thompson!). Like scoring 10 goals in a soccer match (hello Mr. Messi! hello Ms. Sinclair!!) Like making 5 very far-running touchdowns (okay, you caught me, I know nothing about football except that that popular singer now dates a football guy. Okay you caught me, I know nothing about Taylor Swift, either). The point is not to brag. (Though I feel like I am within my rights to brag, lol). The point is that there is something about this game, this sport, that is completely unlike others. You can’t just be a mediocre gymnast or an average figure-skater and then, one night, because you are wearing the right sox, you do 4 triple lutz-es. You can’t. You just cannot. But with curling you can. It’s a lovely magical mystery that made everyone laugh their heads off last night, me included. (Yes, I’m going to buy a lottery ticket today)
  7. I met my wunderbar life-partner Rob, there. We played 2 or 3 games against one another the first season we both joined independently…that was almost 16 years ago. We got to know each other casually but meaningfully, socially, without being in a drinky-bar or under the pressure that comes with on-line dating. Curling is so dorky, like an old timey square dance, or a Friday night Euchre club — you really do “mix” with everyone. Rob is almost 20 years younger than me, and can’t spell his way out of a paper bag. I’m almost 20 years older than him and wildly over-educated. Those facts alone would have told our “dating algorithms” that we were not “matchable.” You know what? We are very well matched. Sometimes you really need to be in old-timey scrambler social situations to meet new people, people in totally different lines of work, in totally different income brackets, etc… There is a lovely etiquette to the game, regardless of the level of competition (shake hands and introduce yourselves beforehand, and say: “Good Curling!”… and then after, the 8 of you sit around a round table and chat for a bit. Or just listen to convos about something other than what you spend most of your time thinking and talking about. This is so very not a “shop-talk” space.  (A side bar: I think I’m quasi-responsible for getting at least 4 other couples, coupled, on account of urging to curl!) People: as we all know from experience and from stats:  loneliness is prevalent and it is a killer disease. Curling clubs (even if you are not curling!) are places you can go that are warm, busy, friendly and are not trying to sell you something you don’t need. I wish Eleanor Rigby had had a curling club nearby….
  8. I admit: it is still a very white and cis-g game, and pretty straight straight, but not totally. What I can see, though, is that it is a social space & a deeply open social game that can and will become more diverse, very easily and very happily, for all! In fact, the Guelph Curling Club just renovated and installed all-gender single-stall accessible washrooms on the main floor. I clapped!! I was NOT expecting that, there. And you know what? The curling people are such a multitude that an accepting, inclusive attitude is the norm.

Seriously. It’s so good.

May be an image of 1 person, playing hockey and text
Background image: a curling rink with the blue and red rings.

Overlaid: a man and a woman with cartoon characters of curling attire.

Bio : Former professor of Philosophy at the U of G, currently full-time social-environmental activist (artofsoil.ca). And curler. 

competition · cycling · fitness · Guest Post · running · swimming · triathalon

Does comparison have to be the thief of joy? (Guest post)

Sam B

by Cheryl MacLachlan

“Comparison is the thief of joy.” You might have heard it before, but does it have to be the case? 💡

As I load up on my final carbs and tuck in for bed before taking on the challenge of the IRONMAN World Championship in Nice, France tomorrow, I can’t help but reflect. 🍝💭

It takes bravery to show up to any race, let alone a World Championship. I’m humbled by the women I’ve met here—the one who podiumed at Kona last year, the one who qualified in her first race, the one who’s on her 18th IRONMAN. I’m surrounded by some of the most dedicated and accomplished athletes in the world! 🤩

With that—not to mention some of the bikes and shoes and bodies on these women—it’s easy to slip into comparison, wondering if I really belong here. But instead, I’ve been working on using comparison as a source of inspiration, seeing those amazing women I’ll share the course with as examples of what’s possible. 🥹

With that, I’ve had practice. I’m so grateful for the impressive female athletes in my life who I call my friends. Their success doesn’t diminish mine, and mine doesn’t diminish theirs. I’ve met some women who can’t train with others who are about the same or “better” than them and my heart breaks for them. There’s a lot of power in celebrating each other and in finding a wolfpack! 💃🏽

On that note, it’s not that I’m not competitive. I want to do my best, and I love a good PR or ranking well just as much as anyone. I really believe that, if we let it, competition brings out the best in us. Isn’t that the whole point? But at the end of the day, only one person gets to win (or one per age group, I suppose). Since the vast majority of the time, we won’t get to be that person, it’s worth considering some alternative ways of relating to competition. I think this would help more of us to step up to that oh-so-intimidating start line. 💪🏼

A student asked me recently, “Are you going to win?” No way, kiddo. But that’s not why I came. I came to see what I can get out of myself, and something tells me tomorrow will provide no shortage of opportunities to find out. 🫶🏼

#ironman#ironmanwc

@teamtrespinas @trespinas

fitness · Guest Post · hiking

Hidden Trails in the Highlands of Iceland for 12 Days (Guest Post)

Sam B



By Sarah Rayner

My friend Linda, who I met while on a hike in Banff Alberta, talked to me about doing a hike in Iceland.  I always had Iceland on my list of flight stop overs, but never hiking.  With thanks to my friend Linda and Amarok Adventures – Adventure trips in the Arctic & Antarctic regions, I had an amazing time and learned a lot about myself during the 12-day hike.


The hike was in the highlands which entails sheep tracks, mountain ridge trails, lots of river crossings, both solo and in pairs. It delivered a new trail family, amazing meals, spectacular views at every turn, stories of trolls and elves, sleeping in Mountain Huts, very steep mountains to hike up and of course down, and of course Iceland wind and rain. To top it off we were able to visit two amazing natural hot springs (which we all enjoyed).


I had a pack of 27lbs which I carried daily as I hiked.  We hiked a total of 160 km in the 10 days and had 2 additional travel days.
I truly love adding exercise to my vacations and hiking is a great way to see the world’s hidden trails.  We didn’t see any people for 7 of the 10 days.  We were all unplugged from our devices and had a great time singing, playing games and laughing until we cried.
What I learned from this hiking adventure is that I love meeting new like-minded people who I now call friends and that I can still do hard SHIT and love every minute.  It’s great to challenge myself physically and mentally and win.

Sarah in Iceland

Bio: I’m a 52 year old mother who was very active as a young adult and since my girls were teens I have returned to sports and being very active while on vacations. I love being challenged both physically and mentally and meeting like minded people. The friends I have made a long the way have been life changing. 

birthday · cycling · fitness · Guest Post

Lessons from my 60th Challenge

lona556f4de12e01 Comment

A few weeks ago I posted about my upcoming cycling challenge to commemorate my 60th year. In June 2024 I began a 1600km bike ride from Lands End to John O’Groats (LEJOG) in the UK. I’m happy to report that I successfully completed the adventure without illness, injury or punctures! We rode an average of 115km per day for each of the 14 days on the trip. There were no rest days. There were MANY hills with significant elevation gains. It was an amazing adventure and I’m still a bit surprised I made it.

Group photo of the beginning of our trip from Lands End

Preparation – I began getting ready for this trip about a year out. The company who supported our group was Peak Tours (https://www.peak-tours.com/)and they were excellent about sending information to help us prepare. I tried to find videos and first hand accounts from people who had done the ride recently. I put together a training plan, independent at first and later on with HumanGo (https://humango.ai/). Training in earnest began in January with most of the kms being ridden inside on a bike attached to my smart trainer linked to Zwift (https://www.zwift.com/). When the weather improved I tried to ride very consistently and added in as much elevation as I could. By the time we started on the ride I had put in about 3500km since January. I also made sure I had the right kit and equipment for the ride. This meant purchasing a bar bag in addition to my seat post bag. This ensured I had extra clothing, food, tools, sunscreen, chamois cream whenever I needed them. In hindsight I could have started training earlier and done more elevation. The ride was really tough and additional fitness would have allowed me to enjoy it a bit more.

Photo of the tour van with our guide Julie on the top of Dartmoor.  With a wild pony who wanted treats!

Imposter Syndrome – No matter how old or accomplished we are I personally suffer from Imposter Syndrome. When I arrived at our hotel for the first dinner pre-ride I felt the nerves kick in. The group of 23 riders only included 4 women. I’ve ridden with men before and they are mostly stronger and faster. I started the first day very anxious and was worried about being the last rider in for the day. This prediction was not unfounded and on most of the days my partner Emma and I were among the last to roll in. We soon realized that it didn’t really matter as everyone rode at their own pace and little groups began to support each other. Being the first to a rest stop or lunch didn’t come with any prizes! We never rode with the “fast boys” but sometimes they slowed their pace and rode with us for a segment. Once I let go of the competitive streak in me the ride became more enjoyable, however I was still quite happy to occasionally climb a bit better than a few of the boys.

Photo of myself and Emma (two cyclists) on Day 5 of the trip

Support – This was the biggest factor that allowed me to complete this ride. I had been telling many people about LEJOG and why I was doing it for months before the ride began. This meant that I would have to report back to them post-ride. I didn’t want to say “I couldn’t do it” or “it was too hard”. So even when times were tough I just kept going. This was not something Emma had personally envisioned doing, but being a good sport she also threw herself into the training and prep. We also had family/friends meet us along the route for dinners which provided welcomed encouragement. Writing the earlier blog post also ensured accountability. The riding group was amazing and super engaged. Everyone struggled and wobbled at times, even the “fast boys”. As the days wore on the old injuries appeared and fatigue began to wear people down. Sometimes the riders became stronger as more kms were ridden and endurance improved. This was particularly the case of all of the female riders. The support crew (Simon, Julie and Dave) from Peak Tours were amazing. Always there with a word of encouragement, a cup of tea and a smile.

I’m so glad I decided to embark on this epic adventure. I learned I can do very hard things. Even in my own mind I don’t feel like an endurance athlete….but riding LEJOG is the proof otherwise. Women remain under represented within all aspects of cycling. It saddens me that more women aren’t riding as they may be intimidated by the gear, the safety elements or just that niggling thought that says “I couldn’t do it”. Women are perfectly capable of building their endurance and riding whatever distance motivates them. I’m now looking for other cycling adventures that can be physically challenge, provide a wonderful way to see new places, and meet like-minded individuals.

Lona lives with her partner Emma and their 2 dogs in North Vancouver, British Columbia.  Originally trained as a social worker she transitioned to nursing, graduating when she was 40 years old from UBC. She worked in health care for 20 years in a variety of roles and areas including palliative, surgical services, and urban health.  She now works as the executive director for Resident Doctors of BC, the union supporting resident physicians.  She lives by the motto that life is short and therefore it is good to challenge yourself. 

competition · cycling · family · fitness · Guest Post · racing · running · triathalon

I cannot NOT do this (Guest post)

Sam B3 Comments


By Janet Tufts

I was a proud “Dickie Chick.” One of a threesome of sisters, with a dad named Dick, who participated relay-style in the 70.3 Ironman in Muskoka in 2017. One sister swam the 1.9k, the other sister biked the 90k, and I ran the 21.1k. (That’s me on the right.) 

The Dickie Chicks. Janet is on the right.


I remember flying past runners who were doing the full slog, calling out “just doing the relay” so they wouldn’t feel bad. As beaten up as they looked, I was strangely envious of their extra sweat, grime and grit. Fleetingly.

Running prevailed and I started to get serious about it. I raced for personal bests and prizes and bought a Garmin. About a year ago, I noticed my runs were turning into countdowns: 9k to go, 6k, 5k, 4k, 3k, 2k, done.I was also getting unnecessarily anxious before races, even before speed workouts. (Ridiculous!)

A few months ago, my oldest son announced a goal to do the Muskoka 70.3 Ironman to mark his 40th birthday.

And there it was—that fleeting feeling from seven years ago. Me? An Ironman? The feeling started to linger. It started to grow.

I did some research, talked to a few experts. Before long, I’d gone way past doing the 70.3 in cottage country at age 64. I was fantasizing about being at the 2025 Ironman 70.3 World Championships in Spain on November 8, 2025, at age 65. 

I kept things to myself. I was afraid that if the words came out of my mouth, I’d be committed.

Uncertainty swept in. I hadn’t swum lengths in four decades, not to mention my childhood trauma over cold water.

In a bold moment, I called a personal coach—Ryan Power, as good as they come. I was surprised he was keen to take on a 65-year-old female novice. You know what he said? He said that he’s currently working with seven athletes right now and two are over age 75.

Well then.

He said that an equivalent to qualifying for the world tri championships is qualifying for the Boston marathon, which I’ve done twice. 

Well then.

It’s in the cards, I said to myself. I was ready to let it out of the bag. Now I’m committed.

What has gotten into me? I prefer simplicity. What can be more complicated than a triathlon watch, or a fuel plan to sustain 8 hours of work?

I don’t really like spending money. In the last 20 days, I have spent at least $2.5k, and according to Austrian triathlete, Clément, I can expect to spend another $3k to get myself geared up for competition, and then $2.9k in every year to follow. (Not including things like Spain.)

A bike covered in tri gear.


Worst of all, I can’t figure out the leg action to clip out of the pedals on my new road bike. 

“You’ll want to clip out with your right leg,” said the bike specialist, “so you can lean away from the traffic.”

But my right leg wasn’t working. Forget the traffic, I thought, I’m using my left.

Last week was my first official week of training. Don’t tell Ryan, but after day one, I had a stiff back. After day three, I had a bruised elbow from banging the lane ropes. And on day five, I added a scraped knee to the old bod from tipping over on my bike. (I’d clipped out—yay—but forgot to use the brakes.)

It’s week two. I can hardly wait to get going again.

Will I make it to Spain? I have no idea. But I like picturing myself crossing the finish line. If that gives me joy and motivation and a good reason to hop out of bed every morning, then why not try. Anyway, I’m 64; I can do whatever I want.

Is that the point of this endeavour? That I’ve reached the age where I can do whatever I want? Let’s think about this.

I cannot get too excited and talk about my new hobby too much or people will think I’m bragging. No one likes a braggart. Humility is the much-preferred trait, especially in the family I married into.

I cannot let myself get too exhausted. Yawning through social gatherings is equally as unattractive as bragging. And I need energy to continue baking bread, concocting hummus, and creating grandkids’ birthday cakes (another source of joy).


I cannot let my new hobby negatively impact my 42-year marriage. I cannot consume our travel budget around races; I cannot get too obsessed because that’s hard to live with; I cannot cram the drying rack with any more workout clothes; I cannot let this interfere with happy family traditions; and I certainly cannot expect a cozy night on the couch livestreaming tri championships. It’s not golf, after all.

The cannots add up, and they’re hard; I think about them all the time. But I cannot not do this or I’d be short-changing myself on something my gut is telling me to go for. Who cares if I get a little excited, exhausted and obsessed? It’s nothing that a new drying rack can’t fix. Or a glass of wine in Spain.

Lots of athletic wear on a clothes drying rack.

Janet Tufts’ bio

With over 30 years of local, national and international experience in the non-profit and public sectors, Janet is currently enjoying semi-retirement, balancing a part-time role as Executive Director of Operation Walk Canada with her love of reading, writing, baking and moving. Previously, Janet served as the Executive Director of both Big Brothers Big Sisters of London and Area and the Canadian Medical Hall of Fame.  


From 2016 to 2018, Janet spent two years in Malaysia as a member of a multi-cultural team that led the government’s implementation of their blueprint for public school transformation. Janet holds a Master’s in Business Administration, Bachelor of Education, Bachelor of Arts, and a Professional Certificate in Communications and Public Relations. She has served as a director on numerous boards, and is currently a board member of St. Joseph’s Health Care London. Janet embraces any opportunity to be part of a humanitarian mission and to date, has been to Southern Sudan, Peru and Ecuador. 

The Unbearable Lightness of Brie Larson
fitness · Guest Post

The Unbearable Lightness of Brie Larson

Sam B3 Comments


By Alison Conway

Recently I watched the series, Lessons in Chemistry, and I’m wondering: am I the only viewer struck by the extreme thinness of the character played by Brie Larson? For those who haven’t watched the show, Larson plays Elizabeth Zott, an aspiring chemist whose career is derailed by the misogyny of the 1960s science community. She becomes the host of a wildly successful cooking show and the mother of a daughter, Madeleine. I won’t say more to avoid spoilers.

Maybe it’s because Elizabeth is often baking a pie, or cooking a lasagna or a glazed ham but I couldn’t stop thinking, while I watched each episode: what does she do with all the food she makes? Because she can’t possibly eat more than a tiny, tiny portion of it if she wants to stay that thin, unless she happens to have the metabolism of a hummingbird. To be clear, I am not judging the actor, Brie Larson, here, but an industry that punishes women who fail to maintain its beauty standard. In this case, Hollywood wants to tell a story about food, drawing on the star power of a woman whose body suggests the
opposite of eating.

Brie Larson has the look of what the heroine, Rachel, of Melissa Broder’s recent novel, Milk
Fed, calls the “professionally skinny, the skinny-for-pay, the ultra-ultra skinny.” In Broder’s novel, Rachel lives on the edge of anorexia and she rates her own suffering “at about a seven-point-five.” She makes her comments about the “ultra-ultra skinny” when her job takes her to a party for a Hollywood cast, whose suffering she guesses to be at “a nine or ten.” The novel traces Rachel’s journey from disordered eating to a recovery that include getting away as far away as possible from Los Angeles and its cult of thinness.

In episode four of Lessons in Chemistry, the narrative jumps forward seven years and we see a plump little girl enjoying a delicious-looking lunch, clearly made by Elizabeth Zott. “How interesting,” I thought. “How does the super-thin mother relate to this chubby child?” But, of course, it turns out that this girl is not the daughter of Elizabeth. Her daughter is gamine, a little wisp of a child. Mad is surrounded by fabulous food, but we never see her eating it. In the last episode of the series, we learn that, like her brilliant father, she sometimes forgets to eat when she’s excited about an idea.


Myself, I can’t think if I’m hungry. In fact, my own brush with anorexia as a teenager ended
when I decided I’d rather be smart than thin—that dieting took too much time and energy
away from getting straight As, which I needed if I wanted to become an academic. But like
most women I know, I’ve never forgotten the moment when my body changed and food
took on a menacing aspect. I’ve been lucky since then, taking pleasure in food and my body, which has chugged along happily for decades, sometimes fit and sometimes less so.
Running after fifty has given me strong legs and a hearty appetite, both of which I enjoy
immensely.


But running, like Hollywood, has its own community of the “ultra-ultra skinny.” Professional marathoners have careers that depend on their lightness—an extra pound is just that much more weight to carry over a punishing distance. Where does the quest for the perfect racing body intersect with cultural fixations on women’s weight? Of late there has been a backlash against coaches pressuring girls and young women in track and cross-country to lose weight—food restrictions that put their health at risk, resulting in amenorrhea (loss of periods), which in turn can lead to stress fractures and other long-term health complications. And yet, as every doping scandal teaches us, the temptation to win at any cost is high—and for women, there’s a larger culture ready to applaud every food refusal as a sign of discipline.


As we approach the holiday season, then, I wish, for all the elite marathoners I so much
admire, joy in the holiday meals they consume after their long runs. And for all the women who have felt less-than when confronted by yet another size-zero celebrity on their TV screen, I have a modest proposal: keep a piece of pie close at hand while watching Lessons in Chemistry, and have a bite every time Elizabeth Zott and her daughter don’t take one.

Alison Conway lives and runs in Kelowna, British Columbia, on the traditional and unceded territory of the Syilx Okanagan people..

Pie. Photo by Anna Tukhfatullina Food Photographer/Stylist on Unsplash.