is a professional climber. Last November, he free climbed Golden Gate on El Capitan in 20 hours and 26 minutes, just a few days after Emily Harrington鈥檚 historic one-day ascent of the route. He decided he wanted to come out publicly, and he reached out to us to help him do it.听

Here鈥檚 Jordan鈥檚 story, as told to Maren Larsen.

Every year, I give myself a birthday challenge鈥攕ome kind of arbitrary climbing goal鈥攖o celebrate and push myself. Each year I try to up the ante a little bit, and for this, my 27th birthday, the best challenge I could think of for myself was to come out publicly. So here it is: I鈥檓 gay.

Recently, my sexuality has felt like a distraction from what I want all my focus to be on: climbing. I鈥檝e been climbing for eight years, and for most of that time, my sexual orientation and identity didn鈥檛 affect me at all鈥攑artially because I never really gave those parts of me much room to breathe. But over the past two years, I鈥檝e begun telling close friends. And recently I realized that I鈥檝e been carrying this weight on my shoulders a little too long.

I moved around a lot when I was a kid, mostly in the southeast. My family and the people around me were very religious and conservative鈥攍ike, reading-Harry Potter-is-a-sin听religious. People made gay jokes all the time, used faggot听as an insult. It was a really fearful place for me, because from the time I was four, I knew I was different. When I was inadvertently outed to my parents late in high school, they reacted in the extreme. My dad sat me down and told me that I was giving into the lies of the devil and needed to return to God. They have apologized now, and we鈥檙e on good terms. But that experience definitely inhibited my progress toward accepting who I am.

My upbringing made it really hard for me to form long-lasting relationships. But when I moved to California after high school, I started living on my own and found the climbing community. I had this realization that this is my place, these are my people, and this is the thing I want to do for the rest of my life. And given all that, these friends that I have now are probably going to be my friends forever, and I should start treating them as such and opening up to them.听

Around the same time, I felt that I had been too selfish in my climbing. I had prioritized my own goals over the people that got me there. I wanted to refocus on partnerships because, at the end of the day, that鈥檚 the thing that makes this sport so meaningful to me.

That鈥檚 when I met , my climbing partner and personal hero. Mark is like a father figure, and it may seem strange to say, but my friendship with him was really the first serious relationship I鈥檇 ever had. He showed me true love and acceptance in a way that I never had before.听

That safety allowed me to pay attention to my sexuality and try to unpack it for the first time. It felt daunting and scary. That process started to take a lot of my energy and focus away from my climbing. In some ways, that was a good thing: I had been hiding this part of me from everyone, including myself, for my whole life. But as I started to open up with all of my friends, yet still try to hide this part of myself publicly, I听started to feel like I was being inauthentic. Seeing what鈥檚 going on in the outdoor industry and in the climbing community with people demanding more diversity and representation, I began to ask myself if I wanted to participate in that conversation.

The first person I came out to was Samuel Crossley, who directed Free As Can Be, a documentary about my partnership with Mark. Sam is an out gay filmmaker and photographer and very visible in the climbing world. He was so excited for me. He was like, Oh my gosh, we have to put this in the film. And I was like, No way, dude. I wasn鈥檛 ready yet. But from the very beginning, he was very encouraging about me sharing my story publicly.

And then earlier this year, I signed with Scarpa. They have an 听where their pro athletes mentor members of the community. I outed myself to my manager by asking that they send any gay applicants my way. I ended up being paired with Patrick Dunn, who runs , a queer climbing community and guiding听service in Bend, Oregon. On the application, they asked him which professional athletes he听looked up to and identified with. None, he said. I don鈥檛 relate to any of them.听

And I thought, man, that鈥檚 such a bummer. For me, sexuality didn鈥檛 play a part in who I thought of as a role model. But people in the climbing community have been speaking up lately about representation鈥攁sking ourselves, for instance, how we can expect a Black person to feel welcome听if they don鈥檛 see any Black climbers. That made me start to think about my impact, because as far as I know there aren鈥檛 any out gay men who are professional climbers.听

When I came out to Patrick, it seemed to have a big impact on him. It made me understand the value that action could have for the community as a whole. If me displaying a little bit of courage and coming out and being visible helps climbers like Patrick or those in the new generation see themselves in the sport, it鈥檚 worth it.听

Climbing can be a pretty macho sport. But I have had zero experiences with homophobia as I鈥檝e come out to other climbers, even those from the older generation. I think that鈥檚 partially because climbing has always been a place for outsiders and misfits and people who want to live an alternative lifestyle. But oftentimes it鈥檚 just that people don鈥檛 really give a shit. At the end of the day, most of us just care about climbing, first and foremost. If you鈥檙e a good climber and a good human being, people are going to respect you for that, regardless of your sexual identity.听

One of my biggest fears when I started to consider coming out was that people were going to assume that my primary career from now on would be as a gay activist, and that this would be seen as the majority of my identity. I want to show up for the LGBTQ+ community. But I鈥檓 also doing this to free myself so that I can focus all my energy where I want it to be, on my climbing. Maybe one day I鈥檒l be more comfortable playing an activist role, but for now the best I can do is focus on climbing and try to set an example for others to be themselves.

To be honest, I just want to move on with my life. To do so, it鈥檚 unfortunately still necessary to come out. I hope that one day, we will be past the point where people generally assume everybody around them is straight, and I hope that me coming out is a step in that direction. Because for me, the climbing community was not a barrier to coming out. That community is what made it possible. This is the takeaway I want not just those with a similar struggle, but anyone reading this to have: the outdoors and the outdoor community can be a great catalyst for recovery from trauma. Moving out west and becoming part of the climbing community gave me the tools and the confidence I need to be able to accept myself and come out publicly.听

Next week, I鈥檓 headed to Yosemite Valley. Spring in Yosemite is the most important part of the climbing season for me. I don鈥檛 want to get into specifics, but I have big plans. Now I鈥檓 out of the closet, and my business is taken care of. I can focus all my energy on what matters most to me right now: climbing big walls.听

The post Climber Jordan Cannon Shares His Coming-Out Story appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

In March 2015, then 19-year-old Ed Pratt left his home in Somerset, England, on a mission to become the first person to circle the globe on a unicycle. Three years and 21,000 miles later鈥攁fter crossing Europe, the Middle East, Asia, Australia, New Zealand, and the U.S.鈥攈e rolled back to his starting point and a cheering 500-person听crowd, successful in both his final dismount (he was worried about that) and a new record.听

https://www.youtube.com/embed/fJTwj0T4Ee8
Check out an听episode of Unicycling Across America.

Along the way, Pratt fought fought crosswinds through Australian deserts, almost got hit by a car that was听spinning on ice in Kyrgyzstan, and performed karaoke to Meatloaf鈥檚 鈥淧aradise by the Dashboard Light鈥� at a Tibetan New Year party. He documented his听adventures and misadventures听in his entertaining YouTube series听听and is still dropping new episodes of his travels across the U.S. Pratt also raised close to $400,000 for , a UK-based charity that provides school supplies for underprivileged kids around the globe.

Before he set out, Pratt said he was confident he could ride up to 40 or 50 miles a day. The main challenge was finding a way to carry all his gear, and鈥攁s he quickly discovered鈥攔eplacing all the stuff that broke or wore down over time. He shared his 12 gear essentials with 国产吃瓜黑料.

Bike

鈥淯nicycles are all fixed gear, so the biggest variation is wheel size. The largest you can get is 36 inches, which is better for long rides because you鈥檙e not pedaling as much to go the same distance. I chose the 听unicycle,听because it鈥檚 one of the lightest and most durable on the market. Unicycles are pretty unstable things鈥擨 probably dropped it at least once or twice a week.鈥澨�

Tire

鈥淭here are only about three or four tires to choose from in this wheel size. I went with , a typical mountain-bike width, which was the best-of-both-worlds option between a road slick and a tire with a lot more grip. The Nightrider has tread but also works well on roads. I used five tires over the course of the trip鈥攅ach one lasted about 5,000 miles.鈥澨�

Frame Bags

鈥淵ou can鈥檛 just go out and buy unicycle panniers, so I turned to the man who once held the record for longest unicycle trip, , to make them. They鈥檙e not great, because they鈥檙e not waterproof and not particularly durable鈥擨 had to do a lot of maintenance on them听and even get them completely remade midtrip. But the front and back bag were the right size and shape. They didn鈥檛 rub my knees and made use of the limited space I had.鈥澨�

Frame Rack

鈥淭he challenge was figuring out how to actually attach the panniers to the unicycle. My granddad created an aluminum frame for attachment. He鈥檚 built everything from a grandfather clock to a scale model of a fire engine, so if anyone was going to create a custom unicycle luggage rack, it was him. He came up with a very good design鈥擨 could even break it apart if I needed to fly.鈥�

Sleeping Bag

鈥淚 went through three sleeping bags. The first was a , which was a three-season down bag. Down is light and warm, but it always eventually clumps up and then isn鈥檛 as effective in the cold. So I replaced it with another down bag from a Chinese brand, a , and then later got a 听in the U.S., which I still use.鈥澨�

Sleeping Pad

鈥淢y sleeping pad was a , my fourth of the trip. They鈥檙e really lightweight and comfortable, but the seams fatigue听after about six months, and you have to start patching them.鈥澨�

Tent

鈥淢y first tent, the , did alright. The poles were thin, and the pegs were like toothpicks, but it was nice having something so lightweight. Eventually, the fabric started to break, and a dog ripped into it in Turkey. Then it got blown over on top of a sand dune in China and was never the same. So after a year and a half, I bought an , which held me the rest of the trip. It鈥檚 a good tent with a reasonable amount of space.鈥澨�

Shoes

鈥淚 only used one type of shoe for the entire trip: 听mountain-bike shoes. I went through four pairs. They鈥檙e a bit heavy, and your feet get听a little warm, but they鈥檙e good at gripping the pedals, and听the high cuffs听give you that confidence that you won鈥檛 turn an ankle when you come off the bike.鈥澨�

Camera

鈥淚 started my journey with a , which was alright for photos and a little bit of video. I went through two and then broke another one in Kyrgyzstan. I was just using the stuff too hard. Dust would get in and break the lenses. I was also doing a lot of time-lapse videos, which puts a lot of strain on the motor of the camera.鈥澨�

Mapping App

鈥淚 used an app on my phone called , which creates open-source maps that are completely free and downloadable. I never used it to route from A to B, I鈥檇 just look at a map and figure out a route as I went so I could make choices when the road split.鈥澨�

Inflatable Globe

鈥淚 couldn鈥檛 carry many extras, because I wanted to stay as light as possible, but I did carry . It was good to bring out around kids听or just to show people where I came from and where I was going, which was useful in places where I couldn鈥檛 speak the language.鈥澨�

Stove

鈥淢y stove system lasted the whole trip! It鈥檚 a , and you can do anything with it鈥攁ttach gas bottles听or use diesel or petrol [gasoline]. I ran it on petrol听the whole trip, because it was the cheapest and most reliable to get ahold of. The stove was built to be lightweight and modular, so you can easily take it apart and clean it. I鈥檓 sure it鈥檒l last another ten听years.鈥�

The post In Case You Ever Want to Unicycle 21,000 Miles… appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Outdoor culture听can be hard to define, and we wouldn鈥檛 have it any other way: it鈥檚 as diverse as those who work, play, and fight for justice听outside. This year, 国产吃瓜黑料鈥檚 culture writers delved into countless subjects, including听fat bears, the Camber Outdoors equity fiasco, Pattie Gonia, and more. The common thread? People connecting deeply with the outdoors鈥攁nd each other鈥攊n both new and old ways.

Here are all of our favorite听stories from 2019:听personal essays, profiles, plus explorations of听the events and discussions that shaped the outdoor world.

鈥淧attie Gonia Is Shaking Up the 国产吃瓜黑料 World鈥�

Wyn Wiley, creator of the drag-queen Instagram star, explains that it all started when he grabbed some six-inch heels buried in his closet and decided to take a risk.听

鈥淟ife Lessons from a 97-Year-Old Lobsterman鈥�

Lobsterman John Olson听has been on the water for nine decades, and he鈥檚听still working. This听story听explores Maine鈥檚 iconic industry听through Olson鈥檚 eyes.

鈥淗ow Shelton Johnson Became a Yosemite Legend鈥�

The longtime ranger has spent decades sharing stories of 听and advocating for diversity in the national parks. But his journey听started on the edge of a cliff in Germany.

鈥淚t鈥檚 Fat Bear Week, Motherf*ckers鈥�

Revisit the best week of the year.

鈥淢eet the Volunteers Behind Our Favorite Fat Bears鈥�

Every year, Explore听calls on its A-team to capture the rotund glory of the brown bears in Alaska鈥檚 Katmai National Park.

鈥淎 New 国产吃瓜黑料 Guide for People with Disabilities鈥�

The founder of the organization Disabled Hikers听is making the outdoor industry more accessible, one trail guide at a time.

鈥淗eather Anderson Found Healing on Her Historic PCT Hike鈥�

In her new memoir Thirst,听the celebrated thru-hiker听delves into the physical and mental struggles and the triumphs she experienced on the trail.

鈥淎 Muralist Paints the Camp Fire鈥檚听Wreckage鈥�

Shane Grammer鈥�s听images听brought hope to his friends and family in the wake of California鈥檚听most destructive fire. Now he鈥檚听returning to the region to reveal new work, including a major art installation.

鈥淗ow Instagram Became Divisive for Female Fly-Fishers鈥�

Some believe the platform has made the sport more accessible and lucrative for female anglers. But not everyone sees it that way.

鈥淲hat We Can Learn from the Camber Outdoors Fiasco鈥�

The organization鈥檚 equity pledge听ignored the work of Teresa Baker and many others already striving to make the outdoor industry more inclusive. So we asked a dozen leaders in industry equity听how to move forward.

鈥淲hat Happened at the SHIFT Festival?鈥�

A public condemnation of the 2019 SHIFT Festival鈥檚听attempts to promote diversity, equity, and inclusion revealed听broader issues in the outdoor industry.

鈥淲here Were the Women in Matchstick鈥檚 New Ski Film?鈥�

After making some headway on gender inclusion, the on-screen slopes went back to a bro fest with Return to Send鈥檈r. The internet was furious.

鈥淭he Instagram Account Calling Out Harassers in Climbing鈥�

New accounts sharing bad behavior, plus public stands from notable climbers, are bringing gross online interactions into the spotlight.

鈥淏eyonc茅 Films at Havasu Falls. The Internet Reacts.鈥�

The famous waterfalls appeared in about ten seconds鈥�听worth of Lady Bey鈥檚听new music video, and some people were angry about it.

鈥溾�楢ny One of Us鈥�听Is More than an Inspirational Film鈥�

Last spring, 国产吃瓜黑料 features editor Gloria Liu watched professional mountain biker Paul Basagoitia鈥�s听documentary听about the spinal-cord injury he sustained at Red Bull Rampage. Ahead of its HBO release听in October, she and her partner viewed it again after their own life-altering experience.

鈥湽怨虾诹蟬 of an Openly Gay Outdoorsman鈥�

The wilderness firefighter and author reflects on the risks and rewards听of being out in the wilderness, literally and figuratively.

鈥淢iscarriage on a Mountain鈥�

Sometimes听the path to parenthood听is an uncertain trek.

鈥淚nside the Mind of a Very Good Boy鈥�

What is a good boy anyway? How do you become one? These are the questions that keep me up at night.

The post Our Favorite Culture Stories of 2019 appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

Behind every successful mountain athlete is a team of supportive parents, friends, coaches, or听partners.听We see the end results as a lifetime of first ascents and descents, medals and awards, but rarely do we get a glimpse at their mentors, who helped blaze the trail.

For these听eight climbers and skiers, the most powerful and lasting lessons are rarely听about technical skills听but those less tangible things, like how to learn from failure,听find intrinsic motivation, and make decisions in the mountains. What it seems to boil down to isn鈥檛 a transfer of knowledge so听much as validation鈥攈aving someone in your corner, as professional rock climber Kai Lightner puts it, who unconditionally believes in you.

Here鈥檚 what these听successful outdoor athletes told听us about the mentors who shaped their lives.

Angel Collinson, 29, big-mountain skier

Lesson: Don鈥檛 be afraid to say no.听听

鈥淲丑别苍 first asked me to go film in Alaska, which was the big-dog trip, I was like, 鈥楢re you guys sure? I鈥檝e never film-skied before, I don鈥檛 know what I鈥檓 doing, you鈥檝e never met me.鈥櫶齀t was an intense situation as a rookie, but Sage Cattabriga-Alosa and Ian McIntosh, pro big-mountain听skiers, met me with such patience. Feeling like you鈥檙e a part of the team听and not a burden is the greatest gift you could ask for when you鈥檙e entering something new.鈥�

鈥淔irst and foremost, the biggest lesson they taught me was:听never be afraid to say no听and step away. When you鈥檝e been studying a line for weeks, and the film crew is ready, it鈥檚 hard not to have tunnel vision听and miss the signs. But if it doesn鈥檛 feel right鈥攚hether it鈥檚 in skiing or anything else in life鈥擨鈥檓 comfortable saying no, because I鈥檝e seen those guys do it. They鈥檒l be up there, and they鈥檒l be like, 鈥榊ou know, I don鈥檛 like the way this looks.听Can I get plucked?鈥欌��

鈥淚t鈥檚 really powerful when you see your mentors walking the walk.鈥�

Steve House, 49, alpinist, author, and cofounder of听

Lesson: Understand your decisions.

鈥淭he most impactful mentor I鈥檝e had was Ljubo, a guy I met during the year I spent abroad in Slovenia. He was in his late twenties, about ten听years older than I was, and the only person I met there who spoke English. I climbed with Ljubo maybe 100听days that year.鈥�

鈥淚 didn鈥檛 realize he was a mentor at the time. He was vastly more experienced than I was, but he didn鈥檛 talk down to me or treat me like a student. I knew I didn鈥檛 know that much, and that he knew more than I did, but he treated me as a partner听and would explain his decision-making, thought processes, and reasoning.鈥�

鈥淎lpinism is a continuous series of life-and-death decisions that begin with planning and end when you step off the mountain. We tend to focus on technical skills, but it鈥檚 errors in decision-making that typically kill people. The problem is, judgment is virtually impossible to teach, and I think the way you teach it is how Ljubo taught it,听by vocalizing his entire thought process. If you can鈥檛 explain why you came to a certain conclusion, then you don鈥檛 know enough. You鈥檙e just guessing, and you can鈥檛 be guessing in the mountains.鈥�

, 28, cross-country skier,听Olympic gold medalist

Lesson: Be your own judge.

鈥淚鈥檝e had so many mentors in different areas of life, including my parents, who taught me how to ski, but my high school coach, Kris Hanson, left the greatest听impression on me. She cared about my teammates and me听as complete people, not just machines to create results.鈥�

鈥淜ris recognized I was very type A听and someone who put a lot of pressure on myself. So听she would tell me, 鈥楢fter every race, before you look at the results, I want you to think of three things you did well听and three things you could improve on.鈥櫶鼴ecause no matter how well听a race went, you鈥檙e always going to have room for improvement. And no matter how poorly you think you did, you鈥檙e still going to have at least three things where you can say to yourself, 鈥榊ou know what?听I did this well.鈥櫶齋he taught me how to be the judge of my own performance鈥攏ot the results, not the newspapers, not my name on some piece of paper鈥攁nd at the end of the day, I have to be satisfied with the effort I put forth. I think that was key to me being here almost ten听years later, just loving what I鈥檓 doing.鈥�

Kitty Calhoun, 59, alpinist, guide, co-owner of听

Lesson: Keep plugging away.

鈥淚鈥檓 from South Carolina听and got into ice climbing when I went to the University of Vermont. An epic on [New Hampshire鈥檚]听Mount Washington got me interested in alpine climbing, but I didn鈥檛 know any alpinists. I didn鈥檛 have heroes, because I didn鈥檛 like reading about climbing鈥擨 just wanted to go climbing. So听I went out west.鈥�

鈥淚n Wyoming, I met Lyle Dean, and he became my first and biggest mentor. Since we were both interested in winter ascents, we jumped right in and tried a bunch of routes in the Tetons, Cascades, and Palisades. He was a few years younger than me听but a more experienced climber, so he took the harder leads, and I observed. I watched how he solved problems, and I think that鈥檚 been听my biggest takeaway from him. He鈥檚 methodical, well prepared, and takes his time to make sure he does things right. He鈥檚 also sharp, doesn鈥檛 give up easily, and has a minimalist approach to climbing.鈥�

鈥淚 saw how these traits worked and were effective, and I guess I subconsciously copied him. I鈥檓 not a gifted athlete, but I had a drive to learn听and kept plugging away at it. I鈥檝e definitely made mistakes, but fortunately, I鈥檓 still here. The more you can learn from others that have been there, done that, the better off you are. I feel pretty fortunate that he happened to be in the right place at the right time in my life.鈥�

Kai Lightner, 20, rock climber, 12-time national champion

Lesson: Know how to fail.

鈥淲丑别苍 I started climbing, it was a super weird sport for my community, especially growing up in a predominately black area in the South. So听when I went into听 for the first time, when I was six years old, my mom begged the man at the front desk to teach me, so I could burn some energy. That man was听, and he鈥檚 been my coach ever since.鈥�

鈥淪hane鈥檚 not only been an essential part of my climbing听but also my life. He taught me how to conduct myself in public settings and in competitions. He taught me how to fail, assess those failures, then turn them into learning experiences. He taught me how to turn hard work into results, knowing it鈥檚 not about the short-term听but the long-term goals. Coaches are life teachers, too.鈥�

鈥淎nd of course, my mom is superwoman, obviously. She would come from her nine-to-five job to pick me up, bring me to the gym, and belay me for another four hours, then take me home to feed me and help me with my homework. She鈥檚 my accountant, my chauffeur, my belayer, my therapist, my everything, honestly. My mother taught me resilience and perseverance听and how to put up a strong front, because she is the strongest person I know. I don鈥檛 know what I鈥檇 be if I didn鈥檛 have her in my corner.鈥�

Andres Marin, 36, climber, guide,听 recipient

Lesson: Be good, be kind, be happy.

鈥淏ack in the late nineties, Colombia was going through a crazy political situation鈥攑retty much a civil war鈥攁nd the outdoors wasn鈥檛 something we had the opportunity to enjoy. People didn鈥檛 really go to the mountains, because that鈥檚 where the war was taking place. When I moved to the United States in 2002, I was able to experience the full power of the outdoors. You can go to the mountains, the rivers, the woods whenever you want听and never really worry about something happening to you. So听I started climbing as much as I could. In my journeys, I鈥檝e had the opportunity to run across people who have created a huge impact on who I am now.鈥�

鈥� and I took a guide course together, and then she offered me a job afterward, helping with听climbing comps.听 was working for her as well, so I had the opportunity to climb with him in Indian Creek [in Utah]听and learn from one of the best off-width climbers in the world. When I started moving toward Ouray [in Colorado], where I wanted to live, I had the opportunity to climb with , one of the best ice climbers and soloists in the world.鈥�

鈥淭hese encounters were totally by chance, and I feel so lucky to have learned from some of the best people on the planet. I also realized they鈥檙e humans, just like myself, who focused on something until they became really good. What I have learned through them all is not so much the climbing skills听but the more personal side of things, like who we are as humans, our interactions听with other people and nature, and how to create a legacy for future generations. I learned a mantra from Conrad Anker: be good, be kind, be happy.鈥�

Conrad Anker, 56, alpinist, father, first to ascend听Meru鈥檚 Shark鈥檚 Fin

Lesson: Find validation.

鈥淭he first time I met [Terrance]听鈥楳ugs鈥� Stump was in the parking lot of the Gate Buttress, a climbing area near Salt Lake City, following my after-the-rainstorm solo circuit. I鈥檇 try to do all the 5.7鈥檚, 5.9鈥檚 looking for booty鈥攇ear other climbers left behind to bail. And Mugs was down in the parking lot. It was like, Whoa, there鈥檚 the man. He鈥檚 six foot tall, walking on water.听He was 14 years older than me听and the first person I had as a mentor.鈥�

鈥淲e started climbing together that summer, but he said, 鈥業鈥檓 not going to do the big mountains with you until you鈥檝e climbed Denali and El Cap.鈥櫶齀f you鈥檙e going to be a mountain climber, those are the two. You learn winter camping on Denali, and on El Cap, you get all the skills needed for technical big walls. He would push me to climb harder听and would be like, 鈥榃ell, we both know I can lead this.听Can you?鈥櫶齋o听I would cinch up my harness and go for it. He handed the sharp end over to me. That someone of his caliber gave me the stamp of approval was pretty key. It validated who I was as a young climber.鈥�

鈥淚 was 29 when Mugs died. When you鈥檙e that age and you lose someone, it places a听burden on you.听In my journal, there are听32 people that have gone before their time. A lot of falling, a lot of moving snow. I see the burden now with the youngsters when they鈥檙e going through it. I have a friend, Timothy Tate, who鈥檚 71, and he鈥檚 a mentor听for sure. He鈥檚 a philosopher, a thinker, an intellectual, so to say, and he鈥檚 helping me become who I am in reaching out to young people with loss and grief, which is something we鈥檙e not collectively talking much about.鈥�

Kit DesLauriers, 49, ski mountaineer, mother, first person to ski the Seven Summits

Lesson: Believe in yourself.

鈥淢y mom wanted to be a sports-news broadcaster when she was young, and that was just not acceptable at the time. So听when I was growing up, she would say to me, 鈥楧on鈥檛 ever let anybody tell you there鈥檚 something you can鈥檛 do, especially because you鈥檙e a woman.鈥櫶齌hat set the bar for me.鈥�

鈥淚n 2004, I won the Freeskiing World Championship. The next season, I was riding a chairlift at Jackson [in Wyoming] with somebody I had just met, and he asked me if I was going to compete again. I said, 鈥業 don鈥檛 know.听What for? You don鈥檛 make any money, and I already proved to myself that I could do it.鈥櫶鼳nd he said, 鈥榊ou鈥檝e got to. I鈥檝e never seen another woman ski like you. I鈥檇 like to sponsor you.鈥櫶鼿e literally wrote me a check听and said to spend it on skiing. I said to him, 鈥榃hat do you want me to do in exchange?鈥櫶鼳nd he said, 鈥楯ust pay it forward. For instance, if a girls鈥� after-school program wants you to come speak to them, I hope you would.鈥櫶鼿e taught me how to give back, and his financial support enabled me to continue to pursue skiing. But听more importantly, what that really meant was he believed in me.鈥�

鈥淎s a kid, I asked my dad, 鈥楬ow come you鈥檙e not giving me a dollar for every A听I get in school?鈥櫶鼳nd he said, 鈥楤ecause you should want to do well for yourself.鈥櫶鼿e was who I called听after solo climbing and skiing the Grand [Teton] or winning the world championships. When I鈥檇 call to tell him the news, he would respond,听鈥楥ourse you did,听Kit. You鈥檙e the only one who wasn鈥檛 sure.鈥欌��

鈥淲e often hold ourselves back, but through the kindness and compassion of others, anything is possible.鈥�

The post Outdoor Athletes on the Mentors Who Changed Their Lives appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

The morning of May 21 was cold and clear in central Colorado鈥檚 Maroon Bells鈥揝nowmass Wilderness, just east of Aspen. Around 9 a.m., ex-Navy SEAL Josh Jespersen summited the jagged, exposed 14,130-foot Capitol Peak. Having set out on a splitboard six hours earlier, Jespersen was tired, hungry, and ready to ride down. But he paused for a moment and smiled. 鈥滻 was exhausted. But I was so pumped,鈥澨齢e says.
听
While summiting any one of听Colorado鈥檚 peaks听that top out at over 14,000 feet听in winter is an听accomplishment in and of itself, Jespersen鈥檚 tag of Capitol was more momentous: it was the culmination of an 138-day effort to skin听up and snowboard听down all 54听in the state.*听And to do it faster than anyone in history. In doing so, the unimposing 30-year-old contract security worker snagged the fastest known time record from big-mountain skier Chris Davenport. When Davenport completed the same journey in 2007, in 362 days,听he commemorated the accomplishment with a and .听Jespersen took a photo, , boarded down, drove to Denver, and hopped on a plane to the Philippines for work less than 12 hours later.听
听
鈥漑The route down Capitol] was so, so steep, but it was awesome,鈥� he says. 鈥淥nce we got back to the car, I just ate whatever candy I had, and headed back to Denver. I wish I had some whiskey.鈥�
听
Jespersen鈥攚ho after high school joined the Navy, eventually becoming听a Navy SEAL鈥攎oved to Colorado in 2011 to make snow at听Eldora听mountain, 20 miles west of Boulder. It was during that winter that he discovered听splitboarding. 鈥淚 went full into it鈥擨 just loved it,鈥� he says.听Six years later, he prepared for the record attempt with the singular focus that one could expect from a former SEAL (his six years with the Navy included tours in Afghanistan and Iraq). Here he tells us how he pulled the feat off, his听scariest moments, and the conversation he had with Dav after breaking the听record.

Doing Something Notable

Jespersen does contract security work overseas during the summer, which pays him enough to support his habit of skiing full time in the winter, something he has done for the past three years.听鈥淩ather than just skiing for fun this year,鈥� he says, 鈥淚 thought I should give myself a goal to achieve. I wanted to do something noteable.鈥�

Jespersen had only skied three 14ers before this year. 鈥淲丑别苍 I told all my friends out here in Colorado, they just laughed at me,鈥� he says. 鈥淎nd most of my family lives on the east coast, so when I told them about my project over the holidays, they were like, 鈥極h, cool鈥︹�� They had no idea what it really meant.鈥�

Becoming a Lonely Storm Chaser听

While Jespersen鈥檚 main goal was, of course, to skin and ski all the 14ers in one season, he had an another mission: to hit each peak in prime conditions. 鈥淚t isn鈥檛 possible to hit powder or corn on all of them, but I tried my best,鈥� Jespersen says. “If I wasn鈥檛 skiing, I was scouring the weather, looking at reports.”

When he first moved to Colorado, Jespersen made snow at Eldora for two years and became a self-proclaimed 鈥渟now geek.鈥� He checks Colorado鈥檚 avalanche website鈥攚hich he calls 鈥渁mazing鈥濃�攕everal times a day, and is .

鈥淚 would check the weather and see, 鈥極K, it鈥檚 snowing on this mountain today,鈥� I鈥檓 going to go ski it tomorrow or the next day. There was a lot of driving all over the state.鈥� His sporadic schedule meant that most of his summits were done solo. 鈥淚 have tons of good ski buddies, but not everyone was interested in dropping everything to go out for super long days,鈥� says Jespersen. 鈥淚 skied 27 of the peaks solo, and there were eight to 10 times that people came with me but didn鈥檛 summit. So I summited and skied about 35 of them by myself.鈥�

No Average Day

While Jespersen says that most summits took about six to eight hours car-to-car, there really was no typical day. Some summits, like El Diente, required knife-edge ridge scrambling, others necessitated a full day, like Crestone and Crestone Needle, which Jespersen linked together over 17 hours.

鈥淣o matter the conditions, I always made sure that I felt like I had a good grasp on things,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 didn鈥檛 push my luck that much, and if there was any doubt or worry in the back of my head, I turned around.鈥�

Training on the Indian Ocean

How does one train to skin up and ski down 54听of the country鈥檚 largest mountains when you spend the whole summer working on a merchant vessel off the horn of Africa? For Jespersen,听training consisted of lunges, squats, and step ups for hours at a time in, as he say, 鈥渁 boiling metal box.鈥�

鈥淩ob Shaul at came up with a blaster of a training program for me,鈥� says Jespersen. 鈥淎ll said it was about three months, and my knees felt like they were breaking halfway though. But it was exactly what I needed to get into shape for this.鈥�

During one training run on the ship鈥檚 treadmill, he was sweating so much that his shoes started foaming. 鈥淚t was miserable,鈥� he says, 鈥渂ut all winter long there was never any point where my legs got tired. A lot of people who skied with me would be fine on the way up, but not the down. My legs were solid the whole time.鈥�

Ice Cream, Candy, and Tang

Jespersen, who鈥檚 six feet tall听and typically weighs 180, says he ate anything and everything he could. 鈥淚 would get off the mountain, go to Whole Foods or McDonalds, and do a calorie-to-penny comparison. I was looking for the highest ratio,鈥� he says.

But one month into his attempt, after bagging nine 14ers, he had lost 15 pounds. 鈥淚 was eating 3,000 calories per day at that point, and bumped it up to 4,000, but was still losing weight.鈥� Jespersen emailed Shaul, who recommended that he up his dairy intake. Jespersen鈥檚 interpretation: ice cream. 鈥淚 ate so much,鈥� he says with a laugh. 鈥淚 would normally get vanilla and put chocolate, honey, and peanut butter on it.鈥�

On the mountain, Jespersen says he avoided 鈥渢hat fancy endurance fuel stuff.鈥� Instead, he relied on the fruity drink mix Tang, blocks of cheese, and Mounds bars. 鈥淭hey鈥檙e the best to take out in the mountains鈥攖hey don鈥檛 freeze,鈥� says Jespersen of the coconut-chocolate candy. 鈥淢y aunt works for Hershey's and sent me 100 of them.鈥�

Calm, Cool, Collected

Did Jespersen have any doubt that he could pull this off? 鈥淣o, not really,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 wasn鈥檛 really broadcasting my attempt鈥擨 just made a point to get out every day. There wasn鈥檛 any point when I thought I wasn鈥檛 going to make it.鈥�

Despite witnessing a slide at 13,500 feet on the side of South Maroon and getting caught in such a bad storm on Tabeguache Peak that he has to re-break trail on the way out, when I ask him about what element of his journey has stuck with him the most, his answer is simple: the awe of Colorado. 鈥淚鈥檝e been skiing here for a while, but I鈥檝e never been able to see how beautiful the state truly is until this winter,鈥� he says. 鈥淚 could ski every day all winter and not come close to hitting all the lines I wanted.鈥�

Chris Davenport, a New Friend

Jespersen says that a few days after he submitted Capitol, he emailed Chris Davenport to let him know. 鈥淗e鈥檚 been super cool,鈥� Jespersen says. 鈥淚 sent him a long thank you email for paving the way and providing trip reports that people like me can look at.鈥澨�

鈥淚 honestly thought it would be some random dudes on skinny gear and tights who would beat the record, not a split-boarder,鈥� says Davenport. 鈥淗e played it very low-key, which I respect in this day and age. Good on him.鈥�

Bridging the Gap Between Military and Mountains

Jespersen鈥檚 main objective of his record attempt was to raise awareness for his non-profit, , which he says tries to 鈥渢ake back the true meaning of Memorial Day鈥� by taking veterans on an expedition that honors fallen soldiers every year.

Military members and mountaineers might appear to have a lot in common鈥攕tubborn determination, a knack for ignoring pain, the ability to thrive in extreme conditions, a passion for exercise鈥攈owever, Jespersen says that mountaineering, in general, is not a part of the military culture. 鈥淭here are only a few of us who enjoy climbing and that type of stuff. Most veterans do not recognize outdoor recreation as something that they can dive into,鈥� he says. 鈥淭he mountains are such a great听place for vets to go when they come back from overseas. I want听more guys听to know that mountaineering is a wonderful outlet.鈥澨�

*Note:听the exact听number of听14ers听in the state of Colorado is听contentious. Most recognize between 52 and 57 peaks. , or the difference in height between a peak and its closest saddle. In terms of setting speed records on Colorado's听14ers, the number depends on the听time of year and activity. For example, summer hikers听often recognize 57 peaks, while winter hikers attempt to tackle听59. Winter skiers, however, consider the total to be 54, a precedent set by Chris Davenport and, before him, Lou Dawson,听.

The post The Navy SEAL Who Snagged One of Skiing鈥檚 Most Legendary Records appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

After nearly 70 years of publishing, Skiing magazine printed its final issue this winter鈥攗ltimately consumed by its milquetoast longtime sister title, the bigger and marginally more profitable SKI magazine.

If you鈥檙e confused about the difference between and magazines and why a series of publishing houses would have bothered carrying both titles for the past 20-plus years, you鈥檙e not alone. I was the editor of Skiing magazine for six years, in the early 2000s, and even I was never clear on the reasoning. But for most of its long history, Skiing offered a unique and, at times, vital take on the sport.

Like many vertical titles, Skiing started out as a glorified regional newsletter for skiing purists interested less in the pomp and luxuries of the early days of the sport than in just getting out and ripping around in wool pants and leather boots. The magazine was big on instruction (the sport was young), gear, and new places to ski, of which there were legion in the years after World War II, as 10th Mountain Division troops returned from Europe and pioneered the West and hundreds of local hills sprang back to life in the Northeast.

In the winters that followed, SKI (still a separately owned rival at that time) focused on already stodgy ski racing and stuffy resorts, while Skiing focused on everyday skiers. The positioning nicely set up Skiing as a mouthpiece for what came next: the sport鈥檚 first truly American movement (as opposed to European-influenced racing), the Hot Dog era of the late 1960s and early 1970s.

As hair got longer in the Age of Aquarius, skis got shorter and the sport got fun. My all-time favorite Skiing cover was a shot of a soaring hippie in skin-tight stretch pants splayed out against a cobalt sky in a joyous backscratcher. We made a T-shirt out of it. The pages were filled with images of beautiful women in braids snaking down mogul fields or basking in the sun in bikini tops. The ads featured western-looking dudes wearing nonironic mustaches, leaning against Chevrolet Impalas with their skis or enjoying peppermint schnapps from bota bags. General advertisers wanted to be affiliated with the sensual, vibrant, rebellious, athletic-for-athleticism鈥檚-sake movement as seen through the pages of Skiing. The sport, and the magazine, boomed. I still see one of Skiing鈥檚 ad reps from that golden era鈥攈e retired to Baja off the ad revenues he made, but he summers in Colorado. He and his mustache drive around Baja in a golf cart packed with ice-cold beers.

My favorite Skiing story from the early 1970s was written by Bob Jamieson. Neither flowery nor tension-riddled, the narrative simply Me & Truck听simply听documented Jamieson's听extended road trip as a penniless ski bum wandering from resort to resort, sleeping in his truck, discovering new places to ski, and meeting kindred spirits. That story, and the magazine, captured what it was to be a skier in that moment in time. That鈥檚 not easy to do.

But skiing trends come and go, and the Hot Dog movement faded like your grandfather鈥檚 padded sweater. Powder skiing was the next craze, captured almost spiritually by Powder magazine in its early years. Blissfully, that subset never died. The extreme skiing of the 1980s followed, but the films of Greg Stump captured that movement better than any one print title. Then snowboarding came along, and the New York Times went so far as to say the sport of skiing was dead. (Yeah, and the Gray Lady also predicted Hillary would trounce the Mango-in-Chief.) For a time, Freeskier magazine rode a youthful wave of park and pipe skiers borne out of the demise of mogul skiing, but freeskiing is now a niche of a niche sport. Skiing participation has flatlined for 20 years. Snowboarding, sadly, is in decline. Backcountry skiing has the energy now, but its high cost of entry鈥攄ying in an avalanche鈥攚ill meter participation as the larger sport awaits the next revolution.

Over the decades, Skiing鈥檚 relevance rose and fell with the trends and the times, but what ultimately killed it was its own success. As the sport of skiing lost its appeal to general advertisers in the late 1980s and skiing participation fell in the early 1990s, the gravy days ended, but the corporations that owned SKI and Skiing couldn鈥檛 let go. In their attempt to regain those car and booze ad buyers, they did what most mainstream magazines do: artificially inflated their circulations. Sign up for a coin-operated ski race or buy a ski pass to Vail, and you wouldn鈥檛 get charged for Skiing magazine again. Paid subscribers left, the general ads never came back, and now Facebook鈥檚 easily quantifiable ROI (return on investment) is taking a mortal swipe at what remains of the sort of brand building that magazines of all types were built on. It didn鈥檛 help that Bonnier Corporation, the multinational prior owner of Skiing before current owner AIM Media, stopped printing Skiing for a season in some reckless experiment in so-called desktop publishing.

But Skiing鈥檚 deathblow was even dumber than that. When independent agencies survey consumers to determine who is reading what magazine, the title SKI shows up before the title Skiing. Confused, readers pick the first one. Skiing鈥檚 numbers suffered tremendously. Subsequently, the ad sales team tasked with selling it treated the title as an afterthought. And now it鈥檚 gone. Killed by a gerund.

I, for one, will miss it. Whether it鈥檚 the Atlantic Monthly or 国产吃瓜黑料, the New Yorker or the oft-overlooked vertical Skiing, magazines, by the very nature of their slower production schedules, produce richer narratives than newspapers and websites. Skiing owns its share of great reads from the past 70 years, but from my short tenure there, I think back to Kevin Fedarko鈥檚, to profile two indefatigable optimists running a ski rental shop in the prettiest war zone on earth. That story won a Henry R. Luce Award from Time Inc. (Skiing鈥檚 owner at the time) and inclusion in the Best American Travel Writing compilation. We also sent an Idaho woman, writer Tracy Ross, ; hired a female war photographer to accompany writer Rob Story鈥攄ressed in a gorilla suit鈥攖o stage a 鈥済uerilla鈥� attack on the private ski area called the Yellowstone Club; profiled a (seriously); and debated important stories like which is more vital to the sport of skiing, nachos or wings? And we did all this while admitting that climate change was an existential threat to our raison d鈥櫭猼re. A tradition, I should say, that was carried on by subsequent Skiing editors Sam Bass and Kim Beekman.

But perhaps my fondest story was written by Jon Billman. It was about two brothers I鈥檇 met many years before in Montana. They were skiers, of course, but for work they were long-haul truckers prone to stopping their rigs on mountain passes and next to resorts whenever a storm whipped up enough powder for a few stolen turns. 鈥�,鈥� we titled the story. It wasn鈥檛 a flowery or tense narrative鈥攊t simply captured what it meant to be a skier in that time and place.

The magazine had a voice, but more important, it gave a voice to skiers. And that鈥檚 all anyone ever asked of Skiing.

Marc Peruzzi is a contributing editor to 国产吃瓜黑料 and the editorial director of Mountain magazine.

The post Opinion: ‘Skiing’ Was the Magazine the Sport Deserved appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

When camping alone, I have a ritual that spans two or three nights. On the first evening, I stay up late with a novel, then half-sleep until sunrise, turning my ear toward every snapping twig. If one sleepless night doesn鈥檛 exhaust me, a second is sure to do the trick. By my third solo night in the forest, I could sleep through a horror film marathon.

I鈥檝e hiked and camped alone for 15 years, and my love of solitude balances out the stress of waiting for the dawn. A few seasons back, I began to talk with other adventurous ladies about my fear of sleeping outdoors by myself, and to my surprise, I heard similar stories from some of the toughest women I know.

Writer Kirsten Koza told me (between mountain biking Mongolia and leading trips to Transylvania) that she experiences a 鈥渘ighttime head trip while alone in a tent,鈥� circling through memories of grisly newspaper headlines and horror movies until she鈥檚 paralyzed with fear. Shey Kiester, a rock climber, adventurer, and undisputed badass, says fear of the dark infuses every camping trip she takes, a limitation she challenges so she won鈥檛 miss out on the places she loves. 鈥淚鈥檓 a strong, independent woman, but I know that there鈥檚 a certain point in my fear where I鈥檓 so scared that I can鈥檛 talk myself out of it and there鈥檚 no reasoning with my brain,鈥� she says.

It鈥檚 difficult to unwind the tangle of fear we share about sleeping alone in the wilderness: a snapping twig could be a curious bear, a stranger, or an early warning that a tree is going to squish your tent. I鈥檝e talked to both men and women about sleeping in the woods, and we have plenty of overlap in the things that keep us jumpy. Bears and trees aren鈥檛 picky about who they maul. But听like the other women I spoke with, my fears circle around people and contain an unmistakable sexual tinge.

If worrying about sexual assault and violence is what separates nervous female campers from the guys, it鈥檚 not without reason. Growing up female means endless warnings about going out alone, and many women experience more sexual harassment as they begin to explore their outdoor interests, catching catcalls as they run, walk, or bike by themselves. The combination of those warnings and guys鈥� creepy behavior sends a clear message: our society views solo women as sexually vulnerable and that going it alone is tempting fate.

You can鈥檛 get much more alone than in the wilderness. Backpacking solo flouts all the usual precautions that women are told to adopt in order to protect themselves, like going out in numbers, staying close to home, and always keeping a cellphone within reach. When I share stories about hiking and camping by myself, I watch eyebrows go up and hear well-intentioned advice that I find a friend to keep me safe.

When people say a woman choosing to venture alone in the wilderness is reckless, it鈥檚 very possibly due to a lack of understanding about the realities of sexual assault. Women are most likely to be assaulted in their own homes or in a private space, according to Jennifer Wesely, who studies violence against women at the University of North Florida. Fear of strangers seems like a misconception, too, considering that more than three-quarters of women who are sexually assaulted know their attackers.

Meanwhile, the woods turn out to be remarkably safe. The National Park Service 83 rapes (one in 3,527,951 visitors) on its public lands in 2014, compared with reported rapes (one in 3,794 people) in the rest of the country. In the same year, there were 16 murders on Park Service land and murders nationwide. Those numbers tell a very different story than my fears suggest. Like a person who fears airplanes and sharks over highways and heart disease, my nervous nights in the woods just don鈥檛 reflect the world鈥檚 real dangers. Knowing that makes me determined to take on the things that scare me.

A few years ago, I was backpacking alone on the Appalachian Trail in Georgia when a couple stopped me at a shelter and asked if I was by myself. 鈥淵ou better be carrying a gun,鈥� the woman said, then popped open her pack to show me a hefty-looking pistol. I don鈥檛 carry a gun in the woods or anywhere else, but I (and the women I know) have found other ways through our fears. Shey uses her headlamp to keep her mind focused on the scene in front of her, attempting to switch off her imagination. Kirsten noted that she sleeps best when she spikes her hot chocolate with a bit of rum, and, like me, she appreciates the insulating, isolating feeling of a storm, when rain seems to shut out the world.

If I can鈥檛 be wrapped up in howling wind, I鈥檇 just as soon sleep outside of the tent, where I can look around and match the rustling noises I hear to chipmunks or falling leaves. I picture the ludicrous, would-be attacker who would need to pack dehydrated meals and moisture-wicking clothing, then head into the forest to stalk unwashed hikers. And if all else fails, I just watch the stars tick by overhead on their way toward dawn. I do my best to enjoy the view, and the peace, and the quiet. It鈥檚 why I鈥檓 there in the first place, after all. And it鈥檚 why I won鈥檛 stop sleeping in the woods by myself, even when my nights are sleepless.

The post Sleeping Alone in the Woods While Female appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.

There is more to what makes me feel like a good skier than how fast I can ski. Part of it is how fast I look.听

I have been racing for eight years, competing internationally for the last three, and I am a new member of the U.S. Cross Country Development Ski Team. Although being a cross country skier has been one of the best experiences of my life, the sport has always had body image issues.听Even in middle school, I was aware that nordic skiers are supposed to be lean and light. I always thought I was too strong for a skier, and that it made me too heavy to be fast.

I had been concerned about the way nordic skiers talk about our bodies听for the past couple of years,听and I'd started asking girls at training and race trips around the world for their听perspectives听on the issue. This听prompted me to create听a short video in October called 鈥�,鈥� in which female skiers of all levels from around the world talk about how they have felt its pressure. I believe the issues raised by my fellow nordic skiers听in听the video also apply听to all kinds of endurance athletes.

The primary thing a skier battles out on the course is his or her own gravity. It doesn鈥檛 matter how big your muscles are compared to your competitors鈥� as long as they are big enough to move your own body from point A to point B the fastest. All of this boils down to skiers being hyper-aware of what is known as the power-to-weight ratio, which is exactly what it sounds like: how much power one can produce relative to his or her body weight.听

https://youtube.com/watch?v=dAhCeUMJtbA

This concept has become more than just a matter of physics to many athletes. As Annika Taylor, a member of the British national ski team, explained in my video, 鈥渟kiers feel they need to fit a certain mold to be fast or to be desirable in the ski community.鈥� Coaches and athletes consistently talk about how the leaner kids have an advantage with power-to-weight ratio.听And although it's never happened to me, I have heard stories from others who have either experienced听offhand comments or were directly told to lose weight to be a better skier. Sometimes it even comes from coaches or听parents.听

We overemphasize the power-to-weight issue while neglecting to talk about the body image problems it creates.听

Nordic skiers tend to be self disciplined and hardworking, which can actually be a disadvantage alongside the risk of the eating disorders. Someone who is tough enough to commit to 500-1,000 hours of training a year and can constantly push their physical limits听is often the same person who can starve himself or herself听to be thinner. Eating disorders such as anorexia and bulimia have varying levels of severity, and it鈥檚 important to realize that many athletes can suffer from an eating disorder that may not be physically severe or diagnosed as clinical, but can still have problematic symptoms and effects. There are physical risks such as osteoporosis, kidney failure, and heart failure. There are symptoms like muscle loss, dehydration, fainting, fatigue, hair loss, and overall weakness. There are also the mental effects鈥攕elf loathing and loss of identity that can lead to anxiety and depression.听

Instead of talking about these serious issues, though, body image is more often given a joking treatment in the nordic skiing community. Many assume that skinny people aren鈥檛 sensitive to comments about size or weight, so听I frequently hear skiers sarcastically call each other 鈥渉uge,鈥� 鈥測olked,鈥� or 鈥渏acked.鈥� My least favorite by far is when someone sarcastically says to the skinniest kid on the team, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e so fat!鈥� I used to feel that if body image jokes weren't听aimed at people who are actually fat, then they鈥檙e okay. But I've realized it amplifies many athletes鈥� perceptions that some people are skinny while others aren鈥檛. And the problem is that many believe a good skier must be skinny.听

I have struggled with my body image in the past, and again, no one ever called me fat. It was more that no one ever called me skinny, which made we wonder: Was I fat, or not as good an athlete? When I heard remarks like, 鈥淪he鈥檚 light, so she will be a great distance skier,鈥� or 鈥淗e鈥檚 small, so he will be great on the hills,鈥� 听I thought, 鈥淒oes this mean I鈥檓 not good at distance skiing or hills?鈥澨�

The irony of this issue becomes clear when powerful skiers don鈥檛 feel lean or light enough, while smaller skiers don鈥檛 feel big or powerful enough. So I don鈥檛 believe we鈥檙e doing enough if we just avoid calling anyone 鈥渇at鈥� or 鈥渂ig鈥� directly to their face.

One day my strength coach told me, 鈥淵ou鈥檙e a power athlete. That鈥檚 your strength. That鈥檚 what makes you fast.鈥� It was an amazing moment to realize that my body type, exactly as it was, made me fast in my own way. For many skiers, loving their body is not easy, but realizing that different body types have different strengths is a start, and this is something many professional skiers in my video tried to highlight. As Jessie Diggins, a member of the U.S. Ski Team, said, 鈥淵ou see all kinds of body types on the World Cup succeeding, and winning.鈥澨齀t鈥檚 time to create a community where skiers can appreciate that there is a vast variety of bodies with a variety of strengths, and any of them can be fast.

The post What We Mean When We Talk About Athletes鈥� Bodies appeared first on 国产吃瓜黑料 Online.