Lynne, our most excellent office manager, sent me these thoughts the other day.

Lately I’ve been thinking a lot about the period right after my son was born and my first time away from him. I remember driving down my mountain road thinking that I couldn’t protect him like I did when he was inside of me. I think about this because I’m looking for a new car.

My son will soon receive his driver’s permit and it will be my car he will learn on and later drive the most. The vehicle needs to fit my 5′4″ frame and his 6′2+” growing body and have decent gas mileage, so size is important. I’ve studied on-line car ratings and consumer comments and visited dealerships. I thought a “pre-owned” car would give me some balance — not as much concern about keeping it in pristine condition.

But the newer cars have the curtain air bags, the vehicle stabilizers for skids, etc., etc. for safety. I’m becoming a little crazed in my search but want to make a decision because my current vehicle is becoming unreliable and because of my soon-to-be expert new driver. So thoughts about protecting him still dance in my head. Did I mention he had a head concussion playing football this past fall? Pass the bubblewrap!

I totally agree! Sometimes teenage sons seem programmed by nature to plunge headlong into every dangerous thing they can find. And moms are programmed to protect. We start when we hold them in our arms for the first time, doing all the right, careful things to keep them health and safe. How do we turn that off when they don’t need us anymore?

My son is a little older than Lynne’s and he’ll be leaving for college next fall. And no matter how logical, reasonable, and sane he sounds when he’s talking to me, I know when he’s out with buddies, it’s a whole different ballgame. And yet, can we hold them back from being what they are? Or learning those hard lessons? Or teaching us the lessons we need, too? Not a chance!

I have found myself on an exposed ledge no wider than 5 inches. The air around me is hot and sticky. Sandstone cliffs rise above my head giving way to blue skies. Thousands of feet below me, a vast, barren landscape of waterless, desert valleys drop away. I am gripping to the rock for dear life. I have no rope, and to my knowledge, there is no one around to hear me if I yell out for help. I am painfully aware that the next step I take could very well be my solo launch into oblivion. I am frozen with fear, tears are rolling down my cheeks, I am starting to break into a nervous sweat and I am at a desperate loss for what to do next. I feel as if I am about to die. Suddenly, I wake up. I am sweating in real life, but I am in my bed, not on a cliff looking into emptiness. I have had this dream so many times since I was a little girl. I often wondered if, in my waking life, I would find myself in this place.

I got fed up with wigging out any time I found myself on a curvy road with steep drop offs, a ladder cleaning the gutters on my house, or a trail that was even the least bit exposed. I grew tired of the fear. Not just the obvious one of falling but of the unknown and of change, I grew tired of making decisions out of fear. Everything in my body, spirit and mind was screaming at me to face these issues head on. I couldn’t ignore it any longer. With the encouragement from my friend, I decided to take a class at the climbing gym. Maybe within those walls, I would find the strength to push my inner limits.

This little step freaked me out. While reading all the “risks” involved that I can’t hold the gym responsible for, I nearly walked out in the middle of signing all my release forms. What’s a belay? A carabiner?, It sounded naughty, where does that go? Why are my toes curled under my feet and I’m walking like a cowboy in ballet shoes? Is it really necessary to say “climbing”? Isn’t it obvious what I am doing? I was by myself, I was intimidated by all the testosterone around me and nervous of making a fool of myself not to mention, flat out scared. I mustered everything in me, and stayed for the course.

Nerves and shaky legs aside, to my absolute dismay I had a blast. At the end of class, the woman I got partnered with and I decided to stay for another 4 hours and play. This was just the beginning. We became quick friends and started climbing regularly at the gym, and each time I got a little more comfortable in my own skin and mind. I also learned I could take my shoes off when not on the wall.

Slowly, I began to climb outside. Single pitch climbs that felt just like the gym, but with fresh air, eased me in to multi-pitch adventures. A little bit too long of a gaze downward, and I was convinced that this was it, this is where my dream becomes reality and I fall into nothingness. At a difficult move, crying hysterically was a better choice than actually dealing with the task at hand which was to get to the top as fast as possible. While wildly trying to find my next hold, I made promises to myself I would never do this again. What was I thinking? Surely there is a better way to conquer my neuroses than this. Perhaps a soft couch in a doctors office sipping a hot cup of tea? Eventually though, I would get to the top, a patient friend there to receive me, and all was right again. Fear mixed with elation. I could reflect and be proud of my accomplishment, embarrassed by my meltdown and remarkably, able to appreciate the stunning views around me. The peaceful silence or the swish of a bird flying by, were reminders of my love of the outdoors. I found a deep strength developing.

This past September, I climbed Cathedral Peak in Yosemite. Not the most difficult climb, but a long, exposed, 7 pitches to the summit. A perfect granite slab that slims as it ascends towards its tiny summit.

A cold wind passes by the rock face, giving me the shivers. I am on a ledge, not moving. Several hundred feet below me, is a lake reflecting like a mirror the peaks all around me. Gray rock leads to hazy blue skies. I am waiting for the bottleneck of other climbers to clear so we can head up the chimney. I feel so peaceful as if I could hang there all day and watch the ghost like shadow of Half Dome in the distance. I feel blessed to have this bird’s nest view of the world around me. I realize that this is the place in my dream. The sandstone walls, dry valleys, and feelings of desperation have now been replaced by a simple smile and feeling of exhilaration. There is still fear but it doesn’t grip me or own me anymore.

I climb because it takes me to beautiful perches on mountainsides, it feeds my soul and I enjoy it. It encourages me to keep that commitment to myself that I made so long ago to embrace that which I am afraid of. It reminds me how precious life is, how beautiful the world can be, and that I can call up the courage I need to be fully engaged in life. From this small effort of taking a climbing class have come lessons bigger and more powerful than I had imagined. It is all this that keeps me coming back for more.

I’m not a mountain bike person. Not from lack of desire, just from lack of opportunity. The area around Chicago lends itself to long road rides, fast and furious sprints, miles of meditation watching goldfinches flash in the brush along the asphalt.

I reach my job every day by bike, too. This whole relationship I have with my bike is complicated and wonderful. It’s transportation physically and spiritually. I thought it would be all I needed.

Karina and I split our WA bicycle testing chores — she tests mountain and I test road/urban. But I call myself a cycling gear editor as well as webmaster (they let me pick my own job title, you know) and there’s more in this two-wheeled world than 700c tires. So, I finally gathered my courage and sneaked off this weekend (while my riding partner was at the Tour of Missouri) with my son’s battered mountain bike to one of the few mountain bike trail systems in the area.

I chose a wide trail because I’m a novice. I had to be on the lookout for horseback riders around every curve, but for the most part I had the trail to myself. That was a blessing because I totally embarrassed myself! Only the horses were snickering as I got half way up a totally vertical wall of rocky dirt and started going “whoa, whoa, whoa” as my front wheel lifted off the ground and I began heading back where I came from head first. Luckily, I managed to stop the momentum and I walked my bike up a bit.

After a second hill-walk, I realized I just didn’t have any technique at all. I had all the leg power I needed to climb but I couldn’t make the bike behave. I need to go to a women’s mountain bike camp! And I say “women’s” because they might not laugh at me as much as guys would. Maybe.

Walking aside, I was having a blast. Going down the hills was like, well, like nothing I’ve ever done before. Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride, with added rocks and washouts, comes to mind. Around the third downhill, I realized I was actually laughing out loud. Now, when have I ever done that on a road ride? The most I’ve achieved on my road bike is a benevolent smile, kind of like the Buddha. I even laughed when I bashed up one leg against the shark-toothed pedal. Wheeee!

So, I’m a convert. It’s totally recreational riding, with nary a thought about how much gas I’m saving or what effect I’m having on global warming. Pure fun for fun’s sake — so unlike practical me. I can’t wait to go out again! Don’t tell my road bike…..

By Kristin Danielson

“The doctors and my friends couldn’t believe the way I looked only a couple of days after giving birth” said my recreational soccer coach. “300 sit ups a day will do it for ya.” She lectured us youngsters as she lifted up her baggie t-shirt revealing her perfectly flat and muscular midsection. Not only was I intrigued by Mimi herself but I was also intrigued by sports, especially soccer at the time.

I wanted to be on the Columbine High School soccer team, so I practiced and practiced. I swung my feet around the ball side to side until my muscles became so fatigued that they started to shake. I juggled the soccer ball on my thighs until I could bounce the ball from one leg to the other without ever letting it touch the ground. I shot the ball endlessly into the goal trying to perfect my aim. When the day came to tryout for the squad I felt confident and ready.

We scrimmaged one another with ferocity and I put my fierce side forward. After the tryouts I felt good about the way that I had performed and hoped that the coaches felt the same way I did. Unfortunately they didn’t, I was not chosen to be on the team and I felt deflated. Now what? For the next 4 years of high school I tried to continue my interest in soccer by becoming part of a recreational team but it just didn’t feel the same.

By the time I showed up for my college orientation I already had it in my mind that I was going to be a part of something since I felt jipped in high school, but what? I felt like the cross country running team would remind me of my snobby high school athletics. I, of course, didn’t have the experience to be on the soccer team or any other mainstream sport for that matter. A friend mentioned that the women’s mountain bike team was a fun, and laid back group of ladies so I went to the first mountain bike meeting of the season.

The classroom was packed with shaved legs and bulging calf muscles. The guys sure didn’t look laid back to me but I didn’t let that deter me from showing up to tryouts with my Wal-Mart Mongoose bike. “Go!!” yelled the cycling coach and off I pedaled in my Adidas running shoes and cotton workout shorts as hard as I could. I am pretty sure that I finished last but I can’t recall because I had such a blast. I had made the B team!

From the help of a more experienced mountain bike chica I quickly learned that I needed some padded shorts “and you don’t wear underwear under your cycling shorts” Rachel whispered in my ear during the next meeting. Also, it turned out, that my Mongoose wasn’t as good as Robyn’s Litespeed mountain bike. I had a lot to learn and some fitness to gain.

My sophmore year on the college mountain bike team was a bit more viable. I had saved enough money from my summer job to buy a new Trek 6500 and I put in some time on the blue machine before racing began. With a better bike and some fitness my sophomore season was even more fun that my first.

I quickly became addicted to the sport and wanted to win. Just like high school, I put in the time, perfecting my skills and fitness in order to be competitive during the national race. A couple years following my beginner level tryouts, I succeeded in winning the cross country collegiate national championship. A professional cycling road team recruiter had been at the race looking for young ladies to add to their developmental team.

The following year I was on the professional T-Mobile road racing team as a developmental rider. Even though it was tough to be thrown into such an experience-required sport (with no experience on the road) I am very grateful for the opportunity.

Over the years I have raced at the national professional level for 3 years on the road, 2 years on the professional mountain bike circuit and married a man that I met on the Fort Lewis College cycling team.

Cycling has taken me around the world and has developed who I am as a person. I have watched and supported my husband go from a mid-pack pro mountain bike racer to one of the top American professional road racers competing in International races. In turn, he has been my biggest fan who is always pushing me to strive toward being the best that I can be on my bike. Cycling has given us the opportunity to immerse ourselves in another culture by renting an apartment in Spain as we both continue on with our personal cycling quests.

Not only has cycling pushed my athletic limits; it has pushed me to become a more adventurous person on every level. From my language level to my comfort level; these new experiences day in and day out have formed me into a person that is more wiling to give it a go and not care what people think.

Life has a direction for all of us and there was a reason that I was not chosen to be on my high school soccer team. I wouldn’t have found cycling. A sport, unlike mainstream sports, that you can participate in whenever and wherever, at any age and with no judgments. I have met numerous spectacular individuals through this shared passion who have impacted my life in so many ways. Mimi can keep on showing her perfectly toned abs because cycling has given me a perfectly toned life.

Have sports, travel or nature inspired you to do something incredible, changed your life forever, or touched you in an amazing way that you want to share? Submit your story to Womens Adventure Magazine and help inspire thousands of women who thrive in the wild!

With every new issue, we will be featuring a new reader’s story right here. If your story is chosen, you will receive a Women’s Adventure T-shirt. Click here to submit your story today!

Apparently by age twenty-five most women should be married, own a house with a white-picket fence, be well on their way to the pursuit a perfect career, and in general, have life well understood.  In truth those are quite high if not impossible expectations to hold above any single person.  Did you know that the human brain is not fully developed until age 25?  If we assume this theory to be correct, then somehow society is expecting people to make all encompassing and committing life decisions by an age that God or evolution never intended.  Interesting…

On a personal note, I find that the best way to combat this pressure is through expecations or by redefining the role expectations can play in our lives.  It has been my experience that the best moments are those same moments associated with zero expecations.  The job you never thought you would be offered, but because you knew the right person or walked in at the right time were offered.  The cute guy you never thought would ask you out until that one day you ran into him at a coffee shop because you simply needed your skinny chai and the moment was right.  Or how about finding yourself more motivated and more alive then you ever thought possible simply because you pushed your body to the physical limits and finished that marathon?  Funny the role expecations play.  And how in reverse, when we enter a situation with loads of expecations, the only truth we walk away with is disappointment. 

Life works this same way.  While society may have expecations for us, especially women of this independent, empowering generation, we are under no obligation to fulfill those expecations.  Live life to its fullest.  Adventursize.  Smell the roses.  Fall in love.  Cry when your heart is broken, and live with no expectations. 

Don Imus. Don Imus set a new bar for racism and stupidity this year with an asinine and offensive comment about the Rutgers players following the NCAA Women’s Basketball Championship in April. It was the racial and gender slur heard ‘round the world. And, thank God, no one—including Imus’s bosses—took it lightly.

I’m a huge college women’s basketball fan. In 1993 Sheryl Swoopes led Texas Tech (my alma mater) to its first and only national championship by scoring a record 47 points in the final game. 47 points. Who does that? Seriously, male, female, black, white? Who scores 47 points in a college championship game in the NCAA Division I? Feats like that transcend demographic qualifiers and stereotypes. Still I’m guessing there were folks out there who said, “Yeah, but it was the women’s tournament. I’d like to see her do that in the men’s game.” Proving you just can’t win with some people. After all, Billie Jean King beat Bobby Riggs more than 35 years ago to silence some of those sexist voices, but they find their way out into the world, don’t they?

I cheered for Rutgers through the entire tournament this year. They were my pick to win. I continued rooting for them long after their loss to Tennessee as they stood up to Imus in a face-to-face meeting. The women at Rutgers showed intelligence, sophistication, and dignity. Clear winners. I personally would have called him an old, white curmudgeon, who’d be blown off the court by any one of the Rutgers players. But I haven’t been coached by C. Vivian Stringer, so I don’t have the poise her players possess. I’d just say whatever came into my head at the time.

I’m often asked why we don’t feature more women of color in our pages. The short answer: we can’t afford to do our own photo shoots with our own models, so we have to rely on stock photography. In terms of diversity, the outdoor sports images available to us through stock buys are rare. Other outdoor magazines will tell you it’s because the primary sports participants in hiking, biking, backpacking, and trail running are white men. Their covers mirror their audience. Women’s fitness magazines feature stick-thin white women in bikinis. Their audience is diverse—and they have the money to reflect that in their images—but most of the time they choose not to. I’ll point out in their defense, though, that their cover models don’t really look much like any real women I know anyway.The Outdoor Industry Association encourages diversity and has made it an initiative. Everyone benefits from exercising in the outdoors and connecting with elements in nature. Reflecting minority participation in the media is a critical part of growing that segment. That said, I can’t hang my hat on an excuse that the images I need that support diversity aren’t readily available. I can lead the way, or I can shut up about it. Here at Women’s Adventure, we will always choose to lead.

If you’d like to submit your thoughts and experiences with the topics of racism and sexism in sports, please register here on our blog and make a comment. Let’s hear from you!

You may not know this, but not all of our magazine staff live near WA’s Global Headquarters in Boulder, CO. Several of us work remotely from far-flung locations and have never met each other. Phones are okay, email is nice, but nothing beats a face-to-face chat to really communicate and build relationships.

So, we had our first ever “annual planning session/staff retreat” together in Boulder last month. Everyone rearranged schedules, found child-care or pup care, and came by planes, trains, and automobiles to rendezvous at the foot of the Flatirons in Colorado. Our founder, Michelle, and our office manager, Lynne, swarmed like ants to get ready for our arrival. Armed with the many excellent suggestions sent in by you, dear readers, we plotted out the new year for Women’s Adventure. Of course, we were aided by lots of chocolate, good food, music floating across the meadow from nearby Chautauqua, hikes up to the Flatirons, and gorgeous weather.

After all the serious business was finished, the last item on the agenda was our wish lists. Without any limitations, we told what our wildest dreams were for ourselves in relation to Women’s Adventure. There were all the usual wishes for bigger budgets and more help, but what came through loud and clear was the degree of dedication every woman felt for our publication. We believe Women’s Adventure is unique and worthy of that dedication, beyond long hours and small budgets.

I left our retreat enriched by the strength of women when they work toward a common goal, by their strength in being able to communicate and reach understanding, by their wit, humor and practicality. I think you will be just as enriched by the upcoming year of Women’s Adventure.

By Denise Janson

My heart pounds as my kite rises slowly from my husband’s grasp. The energy of the wind channels through me as I hook into my waist harness. In moments, the wind propels me over the surface of the water as my board carves a smooth wake across the waves. When the moment is right, I steer my kite further skyward, allowing the wind to lift me sometimes 10 to 20 feet off the water. For a few seconds, I glide weightlessly.

Moments like this remind me how much kiteboarding rejuvenates me. As a mother, I am thankful to have the blessing of my daughter of four years. After four joyous years, our precious Sadie still screams with excitement when we head to the beach. We fly kites, we splash and roll in the waves, and when she is ready, Sadie and her Daddy send me off.

During the past six years, kitesurfing has enveloped our lives with adventure. Puget Sound of the Pacific Northwest is my backyard. I kite here throughout the year amidst the backdrops of snow covered mountains. Just hours away from our Seattle home await the wind meccas of the Pacific Coast and Columbia Gorge. Some of my most memorable vacations are the frequent camping trips we take to the Gorge in the summer. My husband, Ethan, enjoys kiting as much as I do. Now that we have started a family, we often take turns on the water. Our daughter loves the attention we give her on the beach, assuring us of many joyous years to come. As I sail away, I look back at shore and laugh. Sadie is flying a small kite of her own and running into the water!

Have sports, travel or nature inspired you to do something incredible, changed your life forever, or touched you in an amazing way that you want to share? Submit your story to Womens Adventure Magazine and help inspire thousands of women who thrive in the wild!

With every new issue, we will be featuring a new reader’s story right here. If your story is chosen, you will receive a Women’s Adventure T-shirt. Click here to submit your story today!

Traveling. The simple sound of the word evokes a series of emotions. From new experiences with possible new friends, to outdoor adventures, to quality margaritas on the beach, the common denominator is that traveling is an experience many of us crave. Yes, as adventurous women we cannot help but seek out the next possible escape.

This past weekend I had the unique experience of visiting an old college friend in a surrounding new to me. Seattle was my destination. Recently I had created a tick list of areas within the United States which I had yet to visit. Seattle was first, simply due to convenience. In general, the city is amazingly beautiful. Walking the streets of Fremont, I could feel the culture in every small coffee shop and every local eatery. Non-pretentious late twenty-somethings to early thirties hipsters who climbed on the weekends and lived the memory of Kurt Cobain through their celebration of good music. Yes, I liked Seattle and perhaps someday I will live among these people.

I share this story not because my experience is so unique and interesting, but simply because it is a good reminder of an all too common comfort zone to which we fall prey. Up until this weekend I assumed that Boulder, Colorado was the most amazing city in the world. After a few years of embracing the local culture, I soon came to accept everything offered by Boulder as the norm. Don’t get me wrong because I most certainly deem myself a Boulderite in many ways. I hold fitness in high regard, consider a strong cup of java from Vic’s a necessity in getting through the morning and am transient like so many of the other locals. However, a spontaneous weekend trip to the Northwest reminded me that my world was quite small. It is truly bizarre yet understandable how limited we can become in our surroundings. The truth is there is a great big world out there filled with many amazing people, experiences and opportunities. I suppose ignorance is bliss if we never choose to leave our bubble. But, if we somehow decide to open our eyes to the possibilities which surround us, we begin to see the world as something much larger and more real. Anything becomes possible.

Sometimes I find myself so caught up in the motions of life that I forget to be present. The mere thought of determining what gives meaning to my life is a constant source of confusion. Is happiness found in the validation granted by an unforgiving society? Is it in that perfect job we might never have or in that perfect relationship which doesn’t really exist? My guess is that even though we all assume to have the best intentions, we still fall prey to this idealist game. In my personal effort to gain some clarity, I have found a sense of peace in the soft lyrics of Jeff Tweedy, from Wilco: “Distance has a way of making love understandable.” He was right for a number of reasons.

My first experience with distance has taken place in light of my tendency to be a compulsive runner. I have always loved running. Few things grant me that same sense of freedom, exhilaration and physical exhaustion. Following a vicious car accident which left me with a broken femur, running and I had to part ways. Our split lasted 13 months and my heart was broken everyday. This last week I was given permission by the doctor to start running again. Before my broken femur, I ran everyday, at least five miles and never felt like it was enough. My body hurt, the joy I once felt from running was gone and I was at a serious risk of ruining that relationship forever. Now, I can only run two miles, at a slower pace and certainly not everyday. Despite these apparent drawbacks what I have gained is a new appreciation for running. Now it is a relationship I choose to have and I choose to care for.

My second experience with distance is a little more complex and perhaps a little more heartfelt because it deals with people, emotions and vulnerability. Have you ever noticed that the easiest people to push away are the ones closest to you? They are the ones who know us so well that they can both love and hate us all at once. This role can be filled by family, close friends or significant others, yet the experience looks and feels the same. There was once a time in my life when I assumed that the only way to feel loved and accepted was to please others. I somehow thought that if I could only be that nice person who was so easy to compromise then perhaps I would really feel love. What I have learned, for better or worse, is that the only thing I was compromising was myself. Slowly I have started to distance myself from those people who once seemed so critical to have in my life. And a funny thing has happened…the people I now surround myself with are not perfect, they are not people pleasers, but they are very good and real. When they argue with me it is because they care and when they hug me tightly it is because they are proud of something I said or did that is a reflection of the real me.

Without distance in my life, I would feel a void. Without distance, I would be popular, busy and chaotic. As I welcome distance as a friend, as an element which can add meaning and fulfillment, I am also welcoming happiness to my life. Perhaps you can do the same.