By Margo McDonough

When my four kids were little, it was a good day when I could go to the bathroom without someone banging on the door. I solved all their problems, from skinned knees to bruised feelings. It was draining and exhausting but so very gratifying. There was no one better in the world than Mommy and they reminded me of that fact every day.

These days, the tables have turned. I’m the one knocking on closed bedroom doors, imposing time limits on texting and Wii, and insisting the kids take a break from their friends and spend time together as a family.

With the three younger ones, sports have been a way to stay connected. In winter, I sit in dank gyms at basketball games; in spring, at muddy soccer fields; and in summer, at sweltering baseball fields; cheering them on, and cheering them up if they lose.

But my oldest son, Ryan, lost interest in organized sports, and in his family, back in middle school. By the beginning of high school, the transformation was complete. He had morphed from a good-natured, mile-a-minute-talker who loved helping with the little kids into an angry young man who balked at sitting down for a family dinner. He wanted to argue about everything, from politics and international affairs to whether he should be allowed to stay in the house alone for a week. He even wanted to find some particle of a difference when I did agree with him.

Things got no better as the years went on. When the college brochures started clogging our mailbox, I realized that time was running out. We wouldn’t have many more chances to connect before Ryan left home; many more chances to mend this badly frayed relationship.

Casting about for an activity we could do together, I saw an ad for a half-marathon training team for a local charity. That was it — Ryan and I could help a good cause and in the process spend time together. I was so excited about the plan I had hatched that I rushed home to tell Ryan, somehow expecting he’d be just as excited.

“I dunno” was his response. But after telling him the half-marathon was in Phoenix, in January, Ryan’s eyes flickered. He hates East Coast winters as much as I do. He was in.

Our first workout wasn’t a resounding success – big, fat raindrops started falling before we had gone a mile and the lightening arrived soon after that. But we returned the next weekend. And the one after that. Throughout the fall and early winter, Ryan and I were regulars at the neighborhood park. Sometimes we only trained for an hour, as he had better places to go and better things to do. Most of the time, he would grunt one-syllable responses to my questions so after a while I’d shut up and we’d jog in silence.

But, still, he continued to show up every weekend.

And every now and again, there were cracks in the emotional wall that clung to Ryan just as tightly as his black T-shirts. He began to talk, about something in the news or a place he wanted to travel someday. And, at times, he even shared personal tidbits, about school or friends.

At home, Ryan continued to balk at joining in the dinnertime conversations and we had our usual battles over curfew. But neither of us brought these conflicts to our time together in the park.

In mid-January, we set off for Phoenix. Race day would eventually turn sunny and warm but at dawn, at the starting line, the air was crisp and the mood was tense. Runners stretched hamstrings and calves as they queued up in an endless line of corrals. Most wore top-of-the-line running shoes and fiercely determined looks. Ryan had on skateboard shoes. No surprise there; he insists they’re more comfortable than sneakers. What did surprise me with was his face, missing its scowl or bored gaze. Instead, he wore a smile. A genuine smile that lit up his eyes; those deep chocolate-brown eyes that used to look at me in adoration. At that moment, the guys up front would never catch me. I had already won this race.

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Each year, Bike Parks BC (www.bikeparksbc.com), gives away a special week of mountain biking at their spectacular British Columbia resorts. Two women were awarded trips this year, Wendy Morriseau of Nanaimo, BC, Canada, and Sue McBride of Palo Alto, CA, USA. We heard from Wendy just recently about her awesome trip.

I will not forget opening the e-mail from Bike Parks BC announcing “Congratulations Wendy, you have won the 2008 Ultimate Road Trip”, and the excitement leading up July 26th departure, reminded me being a kid at Christmas. I was about to experience the best week of mountain biking in 13 years of my riding experience, as the icing on my cake.

My riding-buddy Brenda and I were picked up at Kelowna International Airport, in the Okanagan of beautiful British Columbia. We met the crew (all guys, I might add) that we would be sharing the next seven days. Hmm, an interesting group, that’s for sure.

We had a seven-hour trip ahead of us to Panorama Mountain Village, located in the very eastern regions of BC, so to break up the long trek we stopped at the Enchanted Forest, near the Three Valley Gap and Revelstoke. We knew a fun time would be had for a bunch of 29 – 46 year-olds visiting this BC attraction of nursery rhyme themes and childhood memories.

Our team arrived at Panorama late in the evening and settled in for the night, but up bright and early to have breakfast and head out riding the next day. Panorama’s trail system is set up for beginners to advanced riders with breathtaking views where they say you can see 1000 Peaks from the top of the park. The mountain is geared for the whole family with resort activities that include waterslides, swimming pools, hot tubs, hiking along with biking.

We got to ride Marin Quake XLTs, courtesy of Shaums March of MMR Bike Camps and Marin Bikes and we had Opio packs, which we got to keep as souvenirs of our prize week.

From our first few laps down the mountain, we soon discovered that we all loved to ride the same technical trails with jumps and drops included. I’m sure we impressed the boy and I know my riding skills improved that day. Yours would too, with world reigning down-hill masters champ, Shaums March riding behind, coaching you on how and what you should be doing all the way down the trail. I know, from my Ultimate Road Trip experience, I became a more skilled rider. We finished the day with beers and grins all around.

We moved on to tame Kicking Horse Mountain Resort up the highway near Golden, BC. Kicking Horse is a mountain in progress, geared for more for the intermediate to advanced rider, but with the hard work of the trail crew, it won’t be long until all levels of rider enjoy it. We had a very warm welcome from the Copper Horse Lodge, it’s still a small emerging destination but shares a big resort heart with all its guest.

We arrived to find the gondola had been hit by lighting the night before and was out of action, but being VIP visitors, permission to shuttle to the top 7,700 feet was easily granted. Wow, we had Kicking Horse Mountain to ourselves with a guide thrown in to show us the best way down. Who could ask for more?

The riding it Kicking Horse was sweet from steep to flow and alpine to forest. I rode ramps and steeps I know I would not have attempted before this trip. I was stoked with the level of riding that I had achieved in two days and we still had four days of riding to go. This bike park’s my favorite place to ride on the tour, so far.

The gondola was fixed and running the next day. After a visit with Boo, the resident grizzly bear, and a lost flip-flop off the chair (it was recovered by one of our guides) we geared up for another day at Kicking Horse.

Our first run down, Shaums coached us with a lot of sessioning on the dirt jumps; definitely not one of my comfortable skills. By the time that said and done, all Brenda and I wanted to do was ride. We stopped for a short lunch and proceeded to ride for the rest of the afternoon. The guys had quit after three laps but the girls had the flow going and we rode until the lift stopped, completing six full laps! This all followed with a tour of the hot tub with our fun group, leading to a big night of pints and shooters….enough said.

It was a slow, lazy morning and after breakfast we had the privilege of being shuttled to the top of Mount 7. This is where the “Mt 7 Psychosis” race is held. So with some sore heads we decided to take the easier route down and then joined up with the Psychosis racecourse. This is must-do return visit for next summer.

Our next Ultimate Road Trip mountain destination was Silver Star Mountain Resort, above Vernon back in BC’s semi-arid Okanagan, arriving late in the afternoon. A brief meeting with the resort manager and presentation of Silver Star Mountain season sasses (this means we can come back later this season) we were off to enjoy a great dinner. All this riding and touring meant we were tired and ready to check in for the night at The Snowbird. Each room has its own king-size beds, kitchen, and a hot tub on the deck!
We were very keen to ride here and put all our new technical skills to the test. We rode hard and fast all day, with grins from ear to ear as we raced to catch the last chair at 4.30pm. An afternoon recap including a few drinks with my new friends, followed by two hours of intense paintball with a group of guys full of testosterone was a great way to wrap our day. Girls or no girls - I know we challenged the men.

The next day (# 6 of riding) the girls were up and ready to ride, and we hit Silver Star’s trails. The boys (we called them the girls as we were always waiting for them) were taking too much time so Brenda and I hit the lifts to do a couple of warm up laps. We finally hooked up with the crew and blasted through the day. What a thrill to be riding with the best in the sport and being a woman of 46 who has now ridden all the Bike Parks in BC, this has been an amazing adventure for me. We finished off the evening with a beautiful meal.

Saturday was our final day with a relaxing breakfast with the crew and a review of our awesome week, we are then off to the airport with goodbyes to all of my new friends.

I encourage all women bikers to go ride in the Bike Parks of BC, young or old. Mountain biking is my passion and to be a winner of the 2008 Ultimate Road Trip was a once in a lifetime experience that I will never forget. I’m still grinning!

Wendy Morisseau
Nanaimo, BC
Canada

by Deidre O.

“Is that the summit,” I asked my Aunt Flossie for maybe the fifth time so far on our quest to summit Mount Yale. My aunt just laughed, and I stared at her in bewilderment. We had been hiking for maybe only two hours and had not even come close to tree line yet; after a quick break we kept trucking.

Pretty soon, when I first saw the snow, I shrieked and my aunt took pictures of me in shorts standing in the snow. I was in Denver on vacation from Philadelphia and summiting Mount Yale would also be my very first real hike.

Hour four brought us to above treeline. Aunt Flossie waited patiently while we stood amongst Old Men on the Mountain and I snapped dozens of pictures. We soon arrived at The Switchbacks. The Switchbacks were not too hard but one misstep and a beginner like me would fall down a few feet of rock. But still we went on with many frequent electrolyte - fueled pit stops.

Finally we scaled or bouldered across twenty yards and before I knew it I even knew what was happening I was hungrily scarfing down my lunch and taking pictures of everything and anything. When I looked down and saw the rolling hills I only a few short hours ago believed to be the real summit I laughed at myself; they were sooo far down.

We had a few other hikers take our pictures and my trusty, lime green digital beeped three times and flashed a LOW BATTERY; I almost died!

Then we started our descent. I fell at least four times on my way down the switchbacks. One particular time I glided a few feet and exclaimed, ” My hands are all exfoliated now!”

In a camp I had learned to visualize. When I told my aunt I was visualizing she told me that visualizing where your foot would go would help me get down; I seemed to fall a LOT. I laughed and told her I was visualizing an ice cold Dr. Pepper and a bag of Sun Chips.

When it was all over and my visualization had become reality I realized that material things (no matter how cold that Dr. Pepper was) could not compare to rolling down the snow on the side of a mountain 13,000 feet up, or feeling the exhilaration of peering over the boulders on the edge of the summit (I thought the summit was a flat plateau - I WISH), or even sleeping in a tent besides people I love, knowing that the best therapy would be looking at the vast nature around me and realizing my materialistic problems are diminutive in comparison.

Congratulations, Deirdre!

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by Samantha L. Niesche, age 18.

Sweat streaming down your face, mosquitoes swarming all around your head. There’s not a whole lot you can do to shoo them away, you’re too preoccupied with balancing the 75 pound hunk of metal on your shoulders as you make your way down the swampy trail. Portaging is not the most fun thing in the world, and it’s the difficult times like those that make you wonder why you’re doing this in the first place. But once you’ve reached the end of the portage and flipped the canoe back down in the water, you feel like you can do anything. And you remember again why you’re doing this. You do it for the sense of accomplishment, the sense freedom you receive on the wide open waters; you do it for Canadian Wilderness…or that’s at least why I did it.

This past year, I spent about half my summer at the Northern Lakes Girl Scout Canoe Base (Ely, MN). Now, I could probably bet there were two words in that last sentence that either made you laugh mockingly or perhaps cringe; Girl Scout. That’s what I did when I initially heard about it. I had always thought girl scouts did nothing but sell their little cookies and fundraise. I was proven wrong.

At the base, I spent my time as a guide in training learning the hard skills and soft skills of a canoe guide. Much of the time I stood astounded by the young women who guided and who weren’t much older than me; most college age. And I wondered if I would or if I could ever be an actual guide myself and take a group of 13 year old girls into the wilderness for 10 or so days at a time.

Also, the young girls from all over the country and around the world who came to go on a canoe trip and take part in something most of them knew next to nothing about. All of them had different experiences. Most of them had really no idea what a canoe was or how to use a paddle. But what amazed me was that they didn’t let their lack of knowledge become their lack of courage to travel hundreds or thousands of miles outside of their comfort zones to have a whole new experience. When these girls would first show up most of them shy and unsure of what they got themselves into, and doubting themselves and their abilities to survive in the wilderness for a week. By the end, it was as though that had completely transformed into more mature, confident girls who learned more about themselves in that one week than they would have over an entire year.

I myself didn’t have a whole lot of outdoor experience previous to this. I would never have thought I’d have fallen so in love with canoeing and the wilderness. Not only did I love that, but the pride I took in knowing I was a part of something this summer that helped empower young girls and taught them to never doubt themselves. My experience at the canoe base was amazing. And even if I don’t go back, I can still apply the things I learned there to other aspects of my life.

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By Stephanie Smith

It’s two o’clock in the morning and I lie awake in my tent. The silence of the mountains at night allows me to hear my beating heart. Anticipation, excitement and fear are building with every beat. The guides will be waking us in an hour and I can’t seem to get out of my head. I always thought of the mountains as a place where I could go to get away, to escape the eight to five, for mental shutdown and to enjoy all the peace and quiet it has to offer. But this trip is different. It’s Father’s Day and it’s only been three short months since my dad passed away. In an hour I will start climbing for the summit of Mt. Moran in the Teton Range. But all I can think about is what a coincidence it is that I find myself here, in this place, on this day.

It was on August 1, 2005, that we received the news. My dad, who thought he had a bad case of the flu, was diagnosed with Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. They had found a mass in his chest. There are no words to describe all the emotions we went through that day and the ones that followed. We, as a family, had always been so fortunate. How could this be happening? My dad, my hero, my role model was about to face the toughest battle of his life. After 20 years in the Air Force, flying jets in the Vietnam War, you would have thought he made it through the worst. We know better now. I was devastated and my entire family was shaken to the core. So many questions…How? Why? It didn’t matter, he would fight it, we would fight with him, and he would kick cancer’s ass.

Through all my 33 years, my dad was always my cheerleader. Sometimes reluctantly, but he always came around. He respected my adventurous and independent spirit, because he is the one that showed me the way. If it was something that took me out of my comfort zone, I was down with it. And in 2004, it would be no different. I decided to sign up for a benefit climb through a program called Summit for Someone. It’s a series of climbs that support Big City Mountaineers. The program provides urban teenage youth with positive mentoring through challenging, safe outdoor experiences designed to build their self-esteem. Even with no mountaineering experience, I immediately signed up. Our group was successful on our summit of Mt. Hood in 2005. It was one of the most rewarding experiences of my life, so I didn’t hesitate to register for the 2006 climb series. This time I chose something more challenging, Mt. Moran in Wyoming. The prospect of another outdoor adventure was an opportunity not to be missed.

The outdoors has always been a passion for me and my family. My parents were world travelers. They had just recently visited Portugal and New Zealand, among many other exotic places. They shared a love for skiing and fresh off a week long trip down the Colorado, had just found a new passion for the river. In May of 2005, my dad and I took a father, daughter trip to Idaho. We went on a two day whitewater rafting excursion down the Lochsa River. We had the time of our lives. But little did we know there was a mass in his chest and it was growing rapidly. I know now that this trip wasn’t a coincidence. It was just a month later that I saw him again in Jackson Hole. It was June of 2005. Our family had gathered for my cousin’s wedding, and it was Father’s Day weekend. It was the last time I would see him, the man with the boisterous laugh, as the healthy, happy man that I love and respect.

Exactly a year later, I found myself in the same place, Jackson Hole, on the same weekend, Fathers Day. But this time my pops wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. He had lost his battle with Lymphoma (thankfully in the comfort of his own home surrounded by all of us, his loving family) on March 9, 2006. I never felt as alone as the day I walked off that plane in Jackson Hole. It was too fresh, too familiar and it was then that I began to wonder if I could do this at all. I eventually, with much hesitation, made my way to the Climbers Ranch in the Teton National Park. This is where I would stay for the next two nights before our summit attempt. I found myself overwhelmed with emotions sitting outside my cabin. I spent much of my time reflecting and writing. Sitting there, surrounded by those majestic mountains, I finally let my guard down. I realized that my dad was sitting right next to me. He was enjoying the view. It became clearer how present my father was the next day when I met one of the other climbers. His name was Matt, and within this fellow outdoor enthusiast, I found a person to confide in. The thoughts of my dad flowed out of me like a raging river, and amazingly Matt took it all in. He was seemingly unafraid and non-judgmental of my outward emotion. It was comforting how at ease he was with the conversation. Over the last few months I had discovered how awkward it was for many to speak of death. I welcomed the conversation with open arms. I wonder if he will ever know how much I appreciated that day…that talk. During that exchange, I had told him about my dad’s Buffalo Bills ball cap that I had brought with me. It was the symbol I needed to carry with me so I knew my dad was there, and it would make the journey to the summit.

On summit day, Father’s Day, we headed out at 3am, with my dad’s Buffalo Bills hat safely stored in my pack. That day we were blessed with clear skies and sunshine. I think we can all appreciate a day like that when the mountains are involved. To me, that was my dad telling me that even with the possibility of stormy skies, a bright day still existed. It was a long 6 grueling hours to the summit, but with every step I leaned on my dad. I was energized by the thought of him. He helped me take those steps. He helped me climb that mountain. And when we reached the summit, it was Matt that reminded me; let’s get that picture with the Buffalo Bills hat. I will always be thankful to him for that moment.

So it was atop of Mt. Moran, 12,605 feet high, with my dad’s ball cap on my head that I began to heal. The outdoors had brought me and my dad together when he was alive, and I realized it brings us together in his death. I am not a fool; I know that the healing process may never end. There are many more mountains to climb. But, on that day, I know my dad was with me. I know now that the wilderness is a place to truly keep in touch with the man that taught me to be the person I am today. In the solace of the mountains, I will meet my dad again.

There was a quote that my dad and I shared, “What lies behind us and what lies before us are small matters compared to what lies within us” – by Ralph Waldo Emerson. It was on that mountain, on that climb, that I found what lies within me. It is the foundation that my father laid for me. It’s a foundation of love, strength, determination, and hope. I plan to take it on my next climb and on my life’s journey. Thanks to my pops and to the mountains, I now embrace that journey with all my heart. I love you Dad and I look forward to seeing you on the mountain.

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 Women’s 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!

After years of travel in Central America, I finally stumbled upon the Pacific Northwest Coast of Nicaragua - the fishing community of Padre Ramos and the vibrant city of Leon. This good fortune has already changed the course of my life forever, and you just can’t say that every day of your life, so I had to write and tell you more about my new-found home and adventures.

In Nicaragua, I fell in love with the warmth of the people, the beauty of the protected nature reserves, and the splendor of the shoreline as it calmly embraces the belching and sputtering chain of volcanoes. The city of Leon is overflowing with museums, artists, poets, architecture, and history. I mean, who doesn’t crave authentic, cultural experiences? But after venturing to Chiapas, Baja, Honduras, Belize, Guatemala, and Costa Rica, I have learned to search for places that provide comforts, including safety and hospitality, yet stretch my perspectives in a challenging way. Welcome to Nicaragua!

Come with me, while I describe the reasons I have fallen in love.

Let’s begin with the Estero Padre Ramos Nature Reserve. It’s the largest contiguous mangrove estuary left in Central America, and it is full of life. The locals call it “la cuna” or “the cradle” because of its importance in providing habitat for baby fish, shrimp, sharks, sea turtles, birds, and crocodiles. More than 175 bird species including white ibis, roseate spoonbills, tricolored heron, magnificent frigatebirds, and orange-chinned parakeets, as well as three species of endangered sea turtles - hawksbill, leatherback, and olive ridley - rely on the estuary and the Pacific Ocean for their survival. I think my survival has also become deeply intertwined with this body of water, as I come to rely upon its fish for my food and its tranquility for my mind.

By sea kayak, the Estero has become my sanctuary and my social conduit into the community. The fisherman in their dugout canoes and pangas can not help but approach a single white female in a closed-deck Necky kayak.

When I need to restock on groceries or the energy of the city, there is no better way to spend the day but in an open-air market in Chinandega or Leon. Blocks and blocks of outdoors booths and tables display every sort of smell, color, and sensation you could ever imagine. In one section, there are giant sacks of spices – row upon row of pinks, oranges, purples, and reds for cooking and dying fabrics. In another area, fresh fish, pieces of pork, beef, chicken, lizards, and snakes. People are shouting out prices and pounds, slicing through flesh, wrapping it up, and throwing it towards the new owner. Hammocks, baskets, and leather shoes. Pinatas of Strawberry Shortcake, Winnie the Pooh, clowns, and donkeys. Men are working on industrial machines, creating and repairing shoes. They are playing cards, waiting for customers, and urinating on the walls. Clothes, toothbrushes, soap, Jesus totems, stuffed rabbits, jewelry, mattresses, towels. The Latin music is blaring in competition with the radio, which is screaming testimonials for the next political candidate. Peppers, tomatoes, scallions. Stuffed dolls, shaving cream, maxi pads. It is sensory candy, and I gobble it all up.

Tomorrow, I will return to the tranquil life of Padre Ramos and my kayak on the sea. The small homes and inhabitants will welcome me in their unassuming way. Slats of wood haphazard with scraps of metal, rope, and cardboard will present a home reception fit for royalty, due to the kindness and generosity of the people. Hammocks slung for beds with leaky roofs and sandy floors will burst with the most beautiful children armed with hugs and giggles. Barefoot and dirty, riding bikes, carrying wood, selling water, running free. Somehow they look older than the children in the US, but they also look exceedingly happy.

I am reminded that Nicaragua is the second poorest country in the Western Hemisphere, and just under 10% of the population live on less than $1/day. That’s 82% of the population living below the poverty line. But I am constantly impressed by the resilience and generosity of the Nicaraguan people. I am humbled by the faces of the children whose smiles turn my heart into the softest muscle. I know that spending my money here will hugely and directly benefit the local people and communities.

And so, I can only offer you this invitation on behalf of the people in my new community. Welcome to Nicaragua!

Author: Jennifer Shulzitski is an avid traveler, adventurer, sea kayaking guide and instructor in California and Nicaragua. She has launched a sea kayaking tour company with the local community in Padre Ramos to explore the Estero on Day Tours, Camping Expeditions, and all-inclusive Pacific Coast Excursions into Leon, Padre Ramos, and the neighboring Juan Venado Nature Reserve. For more information about travel in Nicaragua or sea kayaking on the Estero, you can contact Jennifer via email (Ibis.Exchange@yahoo.com), cell phone (011-505-621-2778) or visit her website, www.PointReyesOutdoors.com/Nicaragua.html.

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 Women’s 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!

By Valerie Hess

Mine is not the kind of story that involves hanging from cliffs or riding out flash floods in box canyons. Mine is a story of overcoming a fear of being outside.

As a little girl on my grandparents’ farm, I was discouraged from exploring by being told that snakes were in the corn field. In fairness to my grandmother, a small child lost in a large cornfield is a frightening thing. When I was 5, we moved to a house that had a small wooded ravine behind it. In the 15 years that I lived there, I never once explored it because of a vague fear, not discouraged by my parents, of what lived down in there. This was a suburban area so in reality, racoons and deer were the kinds of things I might have encountered.

As an adult, I moved to an area in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. As I entered my forties, I needed to learn to exercise and for a variety of reasons, walking was the best choice for me. But it meant overcoming my fear of walking in a “mountain park” area (translation: there are bears and mountain lions but also a fair number of people using that area). Over a year’s time, I would make myself walk in the mornings, going further into the area surrounding my house, sometimes feeling very vulnerable, until I have gotten to the point where I am no longer afraid of walking alone on a trail. Being aware that there are animals around is only common sense for the most adventurous of us.

While this may not seem like a great challenge, overcoming my interior landscape of fear of the unknown was as great a feat of courage as scaling any high, remote mountain peak. And by overcoming my deep fears, I’ve become more comfortable with the idea of engaging challenging outdoor areas. In fact, this past summer I rafted the Grand Canyon and I made myself swim a rapid, jump over a high waterfall that terrified me, and scale some walls as part of hikes.

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 Women’s 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!

By Tory Klementsen

The year 2003 loomed bright with anticipation. I had just lost over 100 pounds to meet my weight loss goal. I had changed from a sedentary couch potato into an active woman who infused fitness into her life in a big way. Everything looked like it couldn’t be better when I got the news. I had had a bad case of kidney stones and was sent for a CT scan in December. When I came in for the reading I was feeling fine, but the doctor was grim when he told me there was something on my pancreas that bore further investigation.

It was a pancreatic tumor. Three surgeries to remove the tumor and repair a blockage later I was lying in bed. My new active lifestyle, I feared, was going to become a memory. I got winded walking 25 feet. My only respite during the almost month-long stay was my brother-in-law’s laptop computer. A friend emailed me and said “We should do the Danskin.”

So there I was, ironically underweight for the first time in my life, I couldn’t walk 25 feet, I had just had a surgery referred to as “The Grandaddy of all Surgeries” (a Pancreatic Duodectomy aka a Whipple Procedure). I looked and felt horrible. As I lie there I thought, “When I get out of here I want to do something amazing that I never ever dreamed I would do. I think I’ll do a triathlon.”

Nevermind that I hadn’t been on a bike in years, hadn’t swam since middle school, and had that “can only walk 25 feet” thing going on. I was determined. I got out of the hospital and on my 5th day home I made my husband take me to the gym where I walked 10 minutes on the lowest speed, and then sat down on a bench and cried. I had lost so much fitness during my hospital stay, but I was determined I would not regain my weight or lose my new lust for life.

I continued to slowly rebuild my fitness and the following summer, I completed two sprint triathlons. I have gone on to complete two more, and have run in five marathons.

I have heard people say that some giant health scare was the “best thing that ever happened to them” and I always thought that was odd. Not now. I truly understand. While what I refer to as “Whipplefest 2003″ was one of the worst periods of my life, the gift of renewed lust for health, fitness, and life was the greatest gift ever. The best thing I have ever done for myself was to lose weight, but the gift of understanding how precious good health is can’t be conveyed with mere words. It is simply amazing.

I am now the woman I always wanted to be, but never thought I could be.

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!

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!

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!