01 February 2017

Running the Great 8, Part 1: The Best Laid Plans

In 2015, I was given the immense gift of the Baxter Award, in honor of Matthew Baxter III, who died in a tragic rock climbing accident on El Capitan in 1998. When I was unable to complete my award as originally outlined, I turned my eyes toward New Zealand, a bucket list locale chock-full of potential adventures.

Eyes on the islands.

In my original proposal, I had stated that I wanted to set a new solo female FKT "not because I want accolades, but because I want to inspire other young women to connect with the natural world on their own terms."  It was in this vein that I scoured the internet for tales of FKTs in New Zealand. As stated previously, known FKTs are a funny thing - inspiring and informative, often quite aesthetic routes, but by no means, an exhaustive list of what is “good to do.” However, they do have the benefit of name recognition and elevating a cause from a whisper among a niche crowd to a newsworthy item.

I had high hopes of completing a deep wilderness route that would test my skills as a backpacker and demonstrate female outdoor competence in a profound way. As I identified two such routes which appeared to have no female FKTs, I got side-tracked by an intriguing feat completed by some Aussies the year prior: a speed record on the nine Great Walks.
The Great Walks
The Great Walks, as defined by the Department of Conservation (DOC), are “premier tracks that pass through diverse and spectacular scenery.” They are easily accessible, the most iconic, and the most developed of New Zealand’s trails (“tracks” in Kiwi vernacular).

 Each has well-maintained huts along its length. To my confusion, one of the Great “Walks” is actually a paddle, down the Whanganui River. They total 338 miles (545km) and are spread across New Zealand’s islands (including the lesser-known Stewart Island), encompassing a wide variety of ecosystems and different challenges.

The Aussies had originally attempted all nine Walks, including the paddle, but due to river fluctuations and fatigue among their party, they bailed on the river partway through, and went on to complete only the walking tracks. Still, they were the first to ever complete the feat, and the record for the eight walks (248mi/400km) stood at 9 days, 23 hours, and 20 minutes. Due to the time they lost faffing about on the Whanganui, time spent filming their journey (running back and forth on stretches to get a good shot, carrying heavy equipment), and time slowed by injury, their record was relatively soft.

Even as a squarely average ultrarunner, I knew I could probably beat their record if I could get all the logistical pieces to align. I could own the record outright, and I could also be the first woman, the first to do it solo, and the first to do it without a crew (“self-supported” in FKT lingo). So, I got to planning!
And how.
There were permits to secure with the DOC, car shuttling and lodging to arrange, high tides to plan around, ferry time tables to negotiate, stretches with no open gas stations late at night, and weather windows to consider. I crafted an elaborate spreadsheet to chronicle the plan. As someone who prides herself on logistical know-how and making order out of chaos, I had a ball figuring it all out. It also had the side benefit of taking my mind off my nervousness about the actual running. According to my timeline, if all went well, I would break the record by almost two days.

 The lynchpin of the entire ordeal would be the Milford Track, which is geographically isolated by water. The DOC runs ferries from the mainland to one end, Glade Wharf, in the mornings, and to the the other end, Sandfly Point, in the afternoon, but the window between the earliest and latest ferry is such a short window that only elite runners can really expect to run the entire track quickly enough. The crux is to find alternate transportation on one end so as to allow for an earlier start or later finish. However, options are extremely limited in this regard. There is only one concession contract allowed to run charter boats to the Milford Track. Fiordland Water Taxi is a family business and its owners Christine and Mark are the loveliest human beings imaginable.  Due to high overhead costs, chartering the boat is necessarily quite expensive.
Sick ride, dude.
After reaching out to Christine and Mark about rates and options for pairing up with other travelers, they connected me with one Ryan Thompson, a talented young adventure racer, who would be making his own attempt on all nine Great Walks…in SEVEN days. Wait, seriously?! Ryan, in the naturally gregarious manner I had come to know of Kiwis, immediately agreed to let me join his charter trip to Glade Wharf to minimize both of our costs. Though bummed to know that there was someone else attempting the Great Walks record, I knew his attempt would be much more legit than mine - mine could only hope to be another relatively soft mark that some athlete would crush sooner or later. It made me happy to know that a Kiwi would likely get to hold it…if Ryan’s ambitious plans could come together.
Ryan, stoked as always.
I figured my plans were all set; all I needed to do was convince the DOC to sell me a ferry ticket for the return trip, even though I did not have a hiking permit. This proved to be quite more difficult than expected. Though I had read a couple of different reports of people running the track and using the DOC ferries, no one I contacted at the DOC seemed to know anything about running it. They all repeated the same thing: “we don’t allow day use on our ferries. If you want to go to the Milford Track for day use, you’ll have to contract through the kayak or commercial boat concession.” 

After the fourth or fifth try, I managed to get a hold of someone who knew of the situation I spoke of…and distinctly had it out for runners. “You know it’s dangerous, right? We can get all kinds of weather conditions, like snow, even now in summer. Have you run 53 kilometers before? You’ll never make the ferry on time. We just don’t want to have to rescue you - it’s very expensive and labor intensive to evacuate someone off the Milford.” As I calmly talked her through my adventure resume and all the precautions I would take to be safe, she began to relent. She agreed to sell me a ferry ticket, and then told me I would need to show up in-person at their visitor center the day before the run to pick up my “letter of approval” that I would need to carry. “All of the hut wardens and DOC employees along the trail will ask you for it. You can’t run without it.”

At this point, I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to tell her that I was trying to run not just the Milford, but all the Great Walks. I thought it might lessen my chances of getting a permit if she thought what I was attempting was literally impossible. However, at this point, I had to show my hand. “I’m not sure I can make it to the office by 4pm the day before because…I’m running the Kepler Track that day.” Though the Kepler is located near their visitor center, it is 37 miles long, and I knew it could easily take me 12 hours if I was keeping my pace easy to conserve energy for later tracks. 
Hard to pick up permits from up here.
She scoffed. “Can’t you do the Kepler another day?” “I’m trying to run all the Great Walks in succession,” I said, evenly. “Isn’t there any way you could leave the permit somewhere for me or email it to me ahead of time to print?” “No, we need to give it to you in person in case trail conditions are looking nasty and we want to revoke your letter.” Sigh. Finally, after much discussion, she agreed that they would leave it in a box for me outside the office, but if conditions changed for the worst, I shouldn’t expect to find my letter. “Call in if you can in the morning to chat with us.” “Okay, I’ll try,” I promised, knowing full well I would probably be high on a ridge on the Kepler Track long before the DOC offices opened.

With the Milford Track finally sorted, all other logistics fell into place with relative ease. I drove to the southern-most tip of the South Island, then caught the most terrifying boat ride of my entire life: three hours in an "express catamaran" across Foveaux Strait in a storm. I watched as we crested one ten foot wave coming at us diagonally, dipped into its trough, then crested another...on and on.  Rain pounded all around us. The crew members laughed at me as I sat with a white-knuckle grip on the seat in front of me.  
It looks so benign here.

Needless to say, I was delighted to put my land-lubber legs back on solid ground. Oban is but a tiny village, made up of just a couple of blocks. Alan of Alan's Base Camp came in his old pick-up truck and immediately drove us several miles out of town, which I wasn't expecting. When we arrived, it was clear that the torrential downpours were creating a rather unpleasant muck field where I was to camp, so Alan insisted I stay in one of his rudimentary cabins, all hand-built by Alan himself. He would still charge me as if I was camping.  "They're unheated, but you should be okay with your sleeping bag, yeah?  Take some time to settle in and come up to the house for a cup of tea."
Alan and his truck.

I unloaded my gear and peered outside into the curtains of rain. Grim. "Tomorrow, I run?" I thought. "I hope this lets up."

 I wandered over to Alan's house, where he had news radio on, and the woodfire stove burning. He quickly fretted over putting out snacks and tea. When I asked him about how many other visitors he had currently staying on the property, he laughed a little and said, "None currently. You're my first in a couple weeks." Oh. I asked him about whether he had other family on the premises. Also no. Just me and Alan, well-removed from any other people on an island in the middle of a torrential storm. What had I gotten myself into?

 Luckily, I had nothing to worry about. Though Alan is a little hard of hearing and a bit of an odd duck at times, he's what I had come to find of most Kiwis: kind-hearted, giving, affable. I asked him one of my favorite questions to ask while traveling: "What foods/beverages must I try before I leave this place?" Alan said, "Blue cod. You typically only find blue cod on Stewart Island and the southern part of the southern island." When I told him I hadn't tried it yet and might not get the opportunity before heading north due to the busy nature of my running schedule, Alan said, "Well, we'll just have to fix that, won't we?" 
Inside Alan's cozy home.
After an afternoon of jabbering about world events, our life stories, and Alan's future plans for the property (a gypsy caravan!), we headed back down the hill to "town" in search of fish and chips. I bought Alan a beer and, despite my protests, he then bought me a beer and dinner...an amount in excess of what I would be paying him for my stay that night. Alan actually lost money on me because he was so dedicated to making sure I got the best of what New Zealand had to offer. He admitted later that his base camp was more of a project to keep him busy in retirement than to profit greatly, and I think he was just tickled to have some company.
My little cabin.
That night, I packed my running vest and laid out my clothes. I looked over my spreadsheet and mentally walked myself through the next week. Though I had been nervous most of the week, I found myself surprisingly calm that evening. There was nothing left to do but run. A video recording I took that night revealed, "The weather is complete shit. Complete shit. But it's supposed to get better." I went to bed at 9:30, a full hour and a half before darkness would hit this far southern latitude. The light shone in my heart, too.
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Check out Running the Great 8, Part 2: Runnin' Down a Dream.
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Sources:
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25 January 2017

The FKT Phenomenon

What's an FKT?

FKT is a moniker used in the running and hiking communities.  It stands for "Fastest Known Time" - of a given route or feat. In other words, "record."  FKTs frequently take place in remote settings and are distinguished from other types of records by their grassroots nature.  They are based somewhat on the honor system, though an unofficial FKT website asks for evidence supporting the time before allowing it to reign.  Examples of popular FKT routes include rim-to-rim-to-rim at the Grand Canyon, the John Muir Trail, the Appalachian Trail, and summiting Denali.
Race you to the other side of the ditch (and back).


The rise of the FKT

The phenomenon of FKTs has been growing in popularity over the last decade or so, correlating closely with a rise in participation in ultramarathons, ski mountaineering, and other crossover endurance sports, like long peakbagging ascents and alpine-style climbing. The outdoor gear industry has noted a steady decrease in backpacking pack sales with a correlating uptick in daypack sales:
This is all part of a trend towards "Done in a day" that reflects consumers' continued interest in outdoor adventures, but they prefer to be in their own bed or another comfortable spot (hotel or lodge) at night.
Another correlation is the creation and immense popularity of Strava. Strava is a breeding ground for FKT seekers. Strava is a mobile app that allows one to track workouts using GPS data. Now that anyone can track their speed on any given track on any given day and share that with the world in real time, running a unique route is essentially owning its FKT. 

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FKTs: beautiful athleticism or narcissistic hubris?

Why do people want to run fast? Why do they want to run faster than others? I suppose that is the fundamental question of sport; is it not? Why do we compete in essentially meaningless tests of strength, skill, and stamina? 

 Accolades? Prestige? Our grand ego? Records for records' sake seem silly, particularly in the world of FKTs. Nobody but you cares if you hold the world's fastest ascent of  "Varsity Hill" in your local park. Maybe your local buddies do - awesome; Strava on, bro! The community generally gives heed to only the most iconic and aesthetically pleasing routes. Even so, apart from Scott Jurek, and, to a lesser extent, Heather "Anish" Anderson, nobody in the greater public has ever heard a hoot about our little niche world, so doing it for the back pats and ego strokes would be a zero-sum game.

 Sponsorship? Ditto.

 A sense of achievement? To train and learn valuable lessons that transfer over to other parts of our lives? An FKT is a starting point for pushing one's physical and mental limits.  Without a goal to head toward, we might not push ourselves as far, might not reach the kind of transcendent experience that is the result of a truly hard experience. (I riffed on this in a previous post.) While organized races can provide a medium for hard efforts, there is something unique about FKTs that take you far from the pulse of civilization and require a high level of self-sufficiency. Even folks who are supported in their record attempts take on a slug of logistical planning and coordination that can heighten one's sense of accomplishment and empowerment, and boost one's anticipation happiness.  Plus, there's the added benefit that many FKT routes take willing participants to beautiful wildernesses where no organized event could dream of taking place, whether due to remoteness, local regulations, or risk liability.
So much anticipation happiness.

So, why not just go out for a long, beautiful adventure and push yourself hard while doing it?  Why do the same arbitrary route someone else has done?  I think there is something else caught up in an FKT: wonder. Grassroots records like these spark the same sort of evocative curiosity a child feels when they look at a particularly inviting tree to climb.
I wonder if I could do that.
Just the mere thought of those words gives me a small tingle in my brain. That's the feel of the mind expanding its understanding of the world and one's place in it. That's the spark of novelty working on the amygdala, leading to future learning and fulfillment. That's a dare that plays on our egos in equal measure to our hopes and joys.
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A word on going fast

As mentioned in my previous post, trail runners are sometimes accused of taking wilderness for granted by speeding through it with nary a glance at the scenery. I understand the sentiment. 

However, to assume that my motivations for going into wilderness and my experience of wilderness will or should be the same as yours is misguided.  Maybe I want to run hard today.  I don't want to do it on pavement.  I'd love for it to be in a beautiful place. I'd love to breathe clean air while I do it. Don't be offended if I don't decide to stop at every viewpoint or take time to contemplate the profundity of life or delight in the texture of every rock. Maybe that's not what I'm after today. You might think it a "shame" that I'm going so quickly, where as I think it's just dandy that I get to be outdoors today.  Some days I go slow, some days I go fast.  Some days I muse on life; other days, I think only about what I'm going to eat for dinner.  Every day, though, I appreciate those trails exist. 

I know, too, that it's unsettling to feel like you worked hard to get to a remote mountain pass, step-after-painstaking-step, only to have some neon-short-shorts-wearing goofball come exuberantly bounding through. There's something about being way out there that makes you feel like maybe you're the only person in the universe, that you conquered bravely what others won't, that you are entitled to the rewards of "outstanding opportunities of solitude" (Wilderness Act, 1964). I get that, too. I hope folks can appreciate that it takes no small effort to run through the mountains, either, and that our lightweight gear is not a judgment or taunt, but rather a different mode of adventuring.  We earned this, too (and we'll give you your opportunity for solitude back after we finish slurping down this disgusting vanilla Gu, thankyouverymuch).

There are a lot of great conversations happening these days about the limitations of traditional western views of wilderness and how to enjoy the great outdoors. Let this post be but a small addition to the rich dialogue regarding staying relevant in the 21st century.
Beware those goofballs in neon short-shorts.
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My own relationship to FKTs

Last year, I entered into the wild world of FKTs for myself as a type of PR campaign for female empowerment in the outdoors. I was lucky enough to receive a Matthew Baxter III Award, which is granted each year to NatureBridge employees who apply for journeys encompassing adventure, personal growth, connection, and giving back. In my proposal, I said:
I want to become the first solo woman to do the [route] not because I want accolades, but because I want to inspire other young women to connect with the natural world on their own terms...Women are the fastest-growing segment of outdoor enthusiasts, but solo female travelers are still few and far between and outdoor participation has actually declined among adolescent girls over the last eight years.
I wanted to go after a big FKT because so few women are doing them - not because there are soft records in abundance for the taking (though there are), but because I wanted to highlight that these sort of remote wilderness adventures are for us, too. There is no reason there should be so many missing records for solo women or female FKTs that pale in magnitudes of order to men's.
Matt Baxter

Wanted: Fastest Known Women

So, where are all those women?  

 Are women just out on trail less overall? Sure, the data for ultramarathons, trail running, climbing, and mountaineering all support that. However, it seems like the amount of women participating in FKT attempts is not quite proportionate to the number of women participating in endurance sports. Renowned ultrarunner and recent Nolans 14 FKT setter Meghan Hicks gave her two-cents on the subject:
What [Anna Frost and Missy Gosney] did [on Nolans 14] was what no woman had managed to do before. Some women had tried, but not a lot in comparison to the number of men that had tried. I don’t know… I’d have to research to see if the number of women represents the number of women who do alpine sports or endurance sports. I have a hankering that the percentage is even less, the women who have tried Nolan’s that do big mountain sports. Seeing two women just ‘woman handle’ Nolan’s last year was definitely inspiring.
Prominent ultrarunner Gina Lucrezi took her own gander at why women have so many fewer FKTs on the books, including fear of the dark and confidence issues, two issues that seem condescending on first glance, but are rooted in a bigger cultural question about how we raise young women (and which I've considered in previous posts). Lucrezi also notes that women are still "catching up" in sports since Title IX - we're growing, but haven't quite descended upon the FKT scene...yet.

 Perhaps women are just less attracted to FKTs than men. I find it hard to believe, based on a long history of competing in sport with other women, but studies do show that women are, on the whole, less drawn to competition than men. Perhaps men are more drawn to making a name for themselves, while women are more content to have an adventure without needing to compete with others for some arbitrary record.

 Ultimately, if women don't really care about FKTs, that's totally fine - no reason for me to shove it down their throat. However, if there are barriers to women dreaming and executing their wildest FKT dreams in pursuit of the sublime, let us celebrate the inspiring accomplishments of those that have come before us, dare to inspire in our own FKT attempts, and pave the way for others to do the same.
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You can find the chronicle of my Matthew Baxter III Award FKT journey in New Zealand here.
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Sources:

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13 September 2016

TBT: Rim to Rim to Rim, Yosemite Valley

A time-honored tradition in the ultrarunning scene is to complete a rim-to-rim-to-rim run of the Grand Canyon: 48 miles, 10,000 foot elevation gain (and equal descent).

 The National Park Service unequivocally states in all of its Grand Canyon literature:
Over 250 people are rescued from the canyon each year. The difference between a great adventure in Grand Canyon and a trip to the hospital (or worse) is up to YOU. DO NOT attempt to hike from the rim to the river and back in one day. [sic]
Yosemite ranks only slightly behind the Grand Canyon in number of rescues per year, though Yosemite has a much higher diversity of incidents. The Grand Canyon incidents revolve almost entirely around one problem: going down the ditch, surpassing one's limits to return back up the ditch. I have long said that Yosemite avoids having even greater numbers of rescues because the majority of visitors start at the bottom of the ditch rather than the top. 
Classic.
However, one can, if so desired, drive to the top of Yosemite's south rim, at Glacier Point, and return to Yosemite Valley via a couple of different trail options. Many people take this option, but it is almost exclusively one-way, with convenient bus shuttles to help with the logistics.
I so desire.

In spring 2015, while trying to get some serious vert training in, I decided to make a go of my local rim-to-rim-to-rim: Glacier Point to the top of Yosemite Falls to Glacier Point, via the 4-Mile Trail and Upper Yosemite Falls Trail, 20 miles, 5,000 feet of ascent (and equal descent).

 Though it was a depressing fourth consecutive year of low-snow, drought conditions in California, I couldn't help but enjoy the lovely early season running in the Sierra highcountry. There are few years in Yosemite's history when I would have been able to drive to Glacier Point on April 4, so I took advantage and found myself up there with scant few people early that morning.

 The morning graced me with cool weather and a Yosemite Falls rainbow, and I enjoyed a breezy, low-key effort down the 4-Mile Trail switchbacks. Along the way, I encountered several hiking parties headed the opposite direction, getting an early start on their floor-to-rim-to-floor hikes. Many of them were surprised to see me, and one remarked, "You already ran to to the top?!" I reassured him I hadn't: "I'm not crazy enough to do that." (And by "that," I meant, "get up that early." He didn't need to know my particular type of crazy...)
Never a bad day in Yosemite.
I hit the valley floor feeling only a touch of wobbly legs from the descent, crossed Swinging Bridge, and popped over to the Upper Yosemite Falls Trail after a quick swing into the Camp 4 restroom. As a Yosemite local for many years, I had done these trails literally dozens of times, but I enjoyed this new spin of an adventure. I also enjoyed the camaraderie of hikers on trail - the usual assortment of, "You're running this?!", "Wow, you go!", and "Can't you go faster? Har har."  

 I reached the top a little more slowly than expected, but I had to remind myself that the best vertical training is slow and consistent. "Time on your legs, no matter how slow" has proven to be one of the most effective training techniques I've found for prepping for ultramarathons.  I tried to remember that as I trudged up the final sun-exposed switchbacks to the top.
Trudge-a-rific.  Halfway there.
Upon reaching the top, I treated myself to a Snickers bar and some seaweed snacks, and chatted with a roving PSAR volunteer (Preventative Search And Rescue). PSAR volunteers are a hearty group of hikers who gift their time to help educate the public about safety issues out on trail and respond to incidents as need be. This gentleman had driven two hours from the Sierra foothills several days this week to volunteer. His enthusiasm for Yosemite and meeting new people was infectious, and I left with a spring in my step.
Also known as Cho'lok.
The descent down Yosemite Falls was typical of every other time I had tried to run down Yosemite Falls - like running down a wavy sheet of slanted construction paper with finely-ground coffee and broken bowling ball chunks coating the top. In other words, hard to run.
Slippery beast.
As I descended, I started dreaming of the ice cream sandwich I would buy at the Yosemite Lodge gift shop. My legs turned to jelly, and I was grateful that my running flow was punctuated by bits of walking behind large groups of pokey hikers. I reminded myself that once I reached the valley floor, I was 3/4 of the way there.

 Once I reached the valley floor, I dunked my head and shirt in the Camp 4 sink to cool down. I knew I was taking more time resting than I really should have, and once I got myself going, I resolved to keep an even effort for the rest of the run. I was pretty tired and knew the Yosemite Lodge would be wicked busy, so I decided to skip the ice cream sandwich in favor of finishing sooner rather than later.

 Bad choice.

 About halfway up the 4-Mile Trail switchbacks, I started to bonk.  I reached into my pack for an energy bar, then drank a little water from my hose...only to find out that I was out of water. In the bustle of Camp 4 and my decision-making about the Lodge, I had not only skipped an opportunity to get some easy calories, but I had forgotten to refill my water bladder. I knew I had to eat something, as I had eaten nothing on the entire descent down Yosemite Falls in order to focus on my footing and keep my hands free for potential slips. I started to feel nauseous and hiking quickly became desperately hard. I knew I would have to get some calories in, but with my mouth parched, gutting down an energy bar would be unpalatable, if not ineffective. 

 I sat down on a rock at a switchback in the trail and rued the fact that I knew this trail like the back of my hand. I couldn't fool myself into thinking I was almost there. I wasn't. 

 A couple hikers passed me, headed down. I mustered some positivity, smiled, and said, "hello." Despite my predicament, I couldn't bring myself to ask if they had any extra water. Part of this was pride - I wanted to finish this thing on my own. Another part of this was protecting the public opinion of distance runners. Ultrarunners sometimes receive flak from other users.  They are derided for traveling "too fast" through beautiful landscapes.  They are cast off as wilderness users who act like they own the place, not giving other users the space they need.  Any predicaments that occur while running are "deserved" since nobody should be doing that to their bodies, anyhow. A look at one rim-to-rim-to-rim Grand Canyon hiking website spells out the disdain:
Want some running advice? Unstable rocks and trail conditions can roll/break your ankles and send you flying over the edge to your death. Runners also spend their day looking down at the trail instead of looking up and enjoying the magnificent Grand Canyon. Oh – and runners do not have the right of way on the trail – mules do, then hikers. Seriously, what is the point of being in the GC if you don’t even see it?
I couldn't be that ultrarunner who was underprepared and needed saving from a nearby hiker. I would be polite, and damn it, I would finish this thing on my own.
Things got dark back on the south side of the valley.
After they passed, I had a flashback to an article I had read wherein the brain reacts to holding sport drink in one's mouth, even if you spit it out:
It's the brain that's influenced by mouth rinsing: fMRI studies have shown that certain regions of the brain light up when you have carbohydrate in the mouth, whether it's sweet or tasteless.
In essence, one's brain is temporarily tricked into putting out more effort, more easily. 

 Though I didn't have any sport drink, I did have some ginger chews, so I put them in my mouth and tried to suck on them as long as possible as I soldiered on up the hill. Whether it was the placebo effect or true brain trickery, it worked.

 As I pushed the last couple of miles, a woman hiking down the trail looked familiar. I realized I had seen her a few hours earlier on her way up and my way down. She exclaimed, "You're running this again?!" I chose not to correct her since, for all intents and purposes, I had basically run two Four-Mile Trails. Instead I gave her an impish smile and a shrug.
Looking back on the route.
I made sure to get an ice cream sandwich on the drive home.
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I hope more people will be inspired to try this route on for themselves. Perhaps there is an FKT waiting to happen?
Check out my post on my mixed feelings about the FKT phenomenon.
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Hutchinson, Alex. "When and Why to Swish-n-Spit Your Sports Drink: New Research Shows the Longer the Drink Stays in Your Mouth, the Bigger the Boost." 
     Runner's World. Rodale Inc., 17 July 2013. Web. 11 Sept. 2016.
     <http://www.runnersworld.com/sweat-science/when-and-why-to-swish-n-spit-your-sports-drink>
LaPena, Frank R., and Craig D. Bates. Legends of the Yosemite Miwok. Yosemite National Park, CA: Yosemite Natural History Association, 1981. Print. 
N., Jean. The Adventure Of A Life Time: Hiking Rim to Rim To Rim (R2R2R) In The Grand Canyon, 2013. Web. 11 Sept. 2016. <http://www.r2r2r.org/>
National Park Service. "Day Hiking." Grand Canyon National Park. U.S. Department of the Interior, 2016. Web. 11 Sept. 2016. 
     <https://www.nps.gov/grca/planyourvisit/day-hiking.htm>
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11 September 2016

Burly is the New Girly

Michelle Carter received a lot of press recently for her stunning gold medal victory in the shot put at the Olympics in Rio de Janeiro. I love that Carter is highlighting that beauty can be found in all body types, regardless of size.  I commend her on her quest to impact young women, as well as her athletic prowess.
Quinn Rooney/Getty Images
However, there is one sticking point in her messaging.
"And it’s something I think a lot of girls and women shy away from because it’s not looked at as something a woman would want to do or a woman should do.” She believes that things are improving, though. “I think now, it’s like, ‘You know what? We’re girls and we can throw heavy balls and be in the dirt and we look good while we’re doing it.’ I think it’s bringing more attention to the sport and girls are realizing, Hey, I can do this and it’s O.K. to do this as a girl..."
Carter said she is often asked by parents and coaches to talk to younger female throwers. "The parents say, 'Can you talk to my daughter and say that it’s O.K.? That she can have muscles?' They’ll say, 'I show her pictures of you so they can know she’s good at what she does but still looks like a girl. She wears dresses.' It releases people to be whoever they want to be in the sport.”  
Yes, awesome, show girls that throwing a shot put can be a totally valid way of recreating and competing. But why do you have to "look good doing it?"  Carter rightfully puts emphasis on expanding the scope of female experience, but wrongfully continues to tell a narrative in which women must look a certain way to assert their femininity.

 I have nothing against Carter or any woman wanting to doll herself up, wear nice clothing, use make-up, etc. However, I want it to be okay for a young girl to throw the shot put and wear whatever the hell she wants. Or wear camouflage board shorts and host a tea party. Or wear a non-pink Star Wars shirt and play with pirate Legos. Whatever. 
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Backpacker Magazine

A while back, Backpacker Magazine offered up a hiking trip with their "Gear Chick" through a social media campaign highlighting one reader's comments:
She knows how to set up a tent, boil water, and bandage a blister. Plus, she is very easy on the eyes.
That may very well be true. It's okay for her to be beautiful and awesome at backpacking. It's okay for this guy to be attracted to her for both reasons. However, I feel frustrated that Backpacker Magazine felt the need to publicly sexualize their most-prominent female author/editor. To their credit, they have done plenty to honor her merits as an outdoorswoman over the long course of her career. Why couldn't they leave it at that? Can't that be enough? Must every burly woman be weighed against a standard of traditional beauty? They don't seem to feel the need to give airtime to the physical beauty of her male counterparts.
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 We have such a narrow definition of what it means to be feminine. Like homo sapiens of all genders, women have harbored a special connection to the natural world for thousands of years. I would argue that to be human is to be outdoorsy. I certainly know people who would not classify themselves as such, but I really think it’s been taught out of them.  We are undeniably drawn to beautiful, natural things: the beach, the sound of moving water, the sight of the brilliant night sky (for those of us privileged enough to have access to it any more).  There are tons of studies that show that being near nature is good for us (here's a good synthesis from National Geographic).

Being outdoorsy shouldn’t just be accepted alongside feminism; it should be celebrated as part and parcel of it. 

 My entire life I've wondered: can my life be validated as a female experience, too?  I am not a man trapped in a woman's body.  I am proud to be a woman, feel drawn to female culture in many ways, relate to women in ways that only women can.  Part of opening up the outdoors for women is accepting the vast swath of female experience and preference.  If we continue to keep women confined to acting a certain way - pretty and stylish and demure and domestic, then we are limiting ourselves.  (There was a fantastic Modern Love article on this very topic recently.)
Outdoors enthusiast. Woman. Human.
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 I outlined some of these thoughts in an earlier blog post on the power of narrative. Perhaps that picture is too simplistic.  What is also pervasive is men being invited into outdoor culture, while women must work hardscrabble to get there, questioning whether they are allowed to join the club, defying stereotypes ("tomboy"), thinly veiled put-downs ("you throw like a girl"), and social condemning in matters of the heart ("when you act like one of the guys, they don't think of you like that").  

 Those are all true to my personal experience and are only scratching the surface of a long list of barriers I have faced in wanting to be an athlete and an outdoorswoman.  If I wasn't so bull-headed, nor so overwhelmingly passionate about moving my body and spending time in nature, I would have turned away from those pursuits long ago due to social pressure.  We need to make room for women to just be exactly who they are.  

(And YES!, men suffer from the same social barriers, too. I could riff all night [and if you know me, you know I have] about the societal shackles we place on men, too, but I'm not going to right now. I will let men speak for themselves on this - a resource with lots of great blogs on this topic can be found at The Good Men Project.)

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References
Echegaray, Luis Miguel. "Michelle Carter Wins USA's First Ever Women's Shot Put Gold." The Guardian. Guardian News and Media, 12 Aug. 2016. Web. 
     09 Sept. 2016.<https://www.theguardian.com/sport/2016/aug/12/michelle-carter-shot-put-gold-medal-olympics-rio-2016>.
The Good Men Project. Goodmenproject.com, 2016. Web. 09 Sept. 2016.  <https://goodmenproject.com/>.
"Help A Hiker Win A Trip with Our Gear Chick - Backpacker." Backpacker Magazine. Cruz Bay Publishing, Inc., 2010. Web. 09 Sept. 2016. 
     <http://www.backpacker.com/news-and-events/news/trail-news/help-a-hiker-win-a-trip-with-our-gear-chick/>.
"Meet the Gear Testers: Kristin Hostetter - Backpacker." Backpacker Magazine. Cruz Bay Publishing, Inc., 2012. Web. 09 Sept. 2016. 
     <http://www.backpacker.com/news-and-events/monthly-issue/meet-the-gear-testers-kristin-hostetter/>.
Pilon, Mary. "You Throw, Girl: An Olympic Shot-Putter’s Feminist Mission." The New Yorker. N.p., 11 Aug. 2016. Web. 09 Sept. 2016. 
     <http://www.newyorker.com/news/sporting-scene/you-throw-girl-an-olympic-shot-putters-feminist-mission>.
Skinner, Delacey. "Modern Love: All Twisted Up by Gender Bending." The New York Times. The New York Times, 22 Apr. 2016. Web. 09 Sept. 2016. 
     <http://www.nytimes.com/2016/04/24/fashion/transgender-modern-love-relationships.html>.
Williams, Florence. "This Is Your Brain on Nature." National Geographic. N.p., Jan. 2016. Web. 09 Sept. 2016. 
     <http://ngm.nationalgeographic.com/2016/01/call-to-wild-text>.
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