The Ugly Middle Between Ice Cream and Biscotti

Here’s a story set in a tiny rubber dingy in the middle of Blackstone Bay:

I was on a work trip in the Nellie Juan-College Fiord Wilderness Study Area. People were coming and going at various intervals. And as is so often the case, the conversation turned to food. It was mine and a few other’s last day, and we were excitedly planning our trip to the ice cream shop when we got back to civilization. It was someone else’s first day and they pulled out a bag of handmade biscotti to munch on the boat. My final coworker, who was several days in and still had several more to go, grumbled about having eaten all of his good food already and not having access to any more. “I’m in the ugly middle between ice cream and biscotti,” he complained.

Middles suck. You’ve been working long enough that everything is no longer bright and shiny. But you aren’t close enough to the end for the rose-colored glasses of nostalgia to kick in. You’re in the middle. And Middles are where things start to break down. Like my car, which, one week after getting it up to Alaska, flashed all the dashboard warning lights and made my life flash before my eyes. Several mechanics and a large check latter, we’re back on the road but it was a close call.

Other things that were in danger of breaking down included: my recently constructed confidence in my place in the outdoor industry. That’s a longer story, which I want to tell you today.

Word of the Month: Send It – A phrase used when someone plans to climb a mountain really high or come down one really fast. Typically used as a term for enthusiasm in rock climbing, mountaineering, or mountain biking. Example: “Yo, dude, do you want to send it this weekend?”

Even until very recently, I assumed I wasn’t “outdoorsy”. I didn’t own top-brand gear, didn’t do any extreme activities, and wasn’t thin and fit like the other hikers I saw on the trail. When hiking, I would arrive at the summit, red faced and out of breath, and try to avoid being in any photos because of how embarrassed I was of my body. It took me years to find out that my struggle wasn’t a sign of weakness, but rather a symptom of undiagnosed polysystic ovarian syndrome (PCOS).

PCOS is a chronic illness which I will carry the rest of my life. It makes it difficult for me to lose weight, wreaks havoc on my hormones, limits my chances for children, and is a precursor for a whole host of future complications. Very little science has been done around it, despite the fact that it affects 1 in 20 people. There’s no cure and no known cause, and the only current treatment is to take birth control and lose weight (which, you will remember, is chemically harder for me).

Shortly after receiving my diagnosis, I took my job with the Forest Service and moved to Alaska. I desperately juggled the lifestyle adjustments required of my diagnosis with the demands of a new outdoor job. This left very little emotional bandwidth to deal with constant abelism comments like: If you don’t like hiking up hill, why are you here? And, If people are able to drive to the top of a hike, that ruins it for me. And, Why would you want to sit at a coffee shop on your day off instead of climbing a glacier?? All of these sentences (and believe me, I’ve heard them all) frame the outdoors as a competition – one that only certain people are allowed to compete in.

I quickly learned that I have a different mindset from the average outdoor professional. I value everyone’s experience in the outdoors, I believe that the industry should be far more available and inclusive. I often want to just sit and take in the landscape instead of pursing the next peak on my bucket list. I don’t even have a bucket list. I was reminded constantly that I still wasn’t “outdoorsy” enough, even while working an extremely outdoorsy job. During this time, I found incredible comfort in Instagram accounts like Unlikely Hikers, Drew Climbs Walls, and Emma Mitchell, which reminded me that outdoors bodies are like beach bodies: if you’re outdoors, you have one.

This experience hardened my resolve to pursue a career where I can show people how to engage with the land around them, no matter their skills or abilities. For too long the primarily white, able-bodied, affluent outdoor culture has revolved around consumerism and exclusivity. Points are earned by how high you climb, how fast you go, and how unique your experience was. This mindset sees the outdoors as something to be consumed and competed for, rather than savored and enjoyed. The point of any outdoor activity should instead be, feeling good in your body, seeing something beautiful/interesting/new, and enjoying the land you are on.

I am still learning how to prioritize these things in my own experience. Sometimes feeling good in my body looks like pushing myself to climb higher than I thought I could. Sometimes seeing something beautiful requires going fast so that I can get there. Sometimes enjoying the land that I’m on is heightened because I know what I’m seeing is completely unique to my exact moment in time. But always, always, I seek to value relationship (with myself, others, land) above metrics.

I hope that the blog posts I’ve written over the past two years have helped you begin to make these changes as well. If you are someone who is still intimidated by the outdoor culture, this is your invitation to get out there! The outdoors is for everybody, no matter how you enjoy it. If you are a long-time enthusiast, this is your reminder to slow down and reassess your relationship with recreation. Remember to celebrate your experiences and enjoy the ride.

Your access to the outdoors is sacred and worth protecting.