Girl Power Heroines

When I decided to start a blog, I thought I should commit to a year of weekly blogs on women who have been my heroes. 52 weeks 52 heroines, that kind of thing. But then I waffled and wanted to be unfettered by a topic and posted my first blog post ever, and then I skimmed the HuffingtonPost book on blogging and felt inferior and unfocused, so here's the happy medium: I'm committing to heroines until I feel hemmed in and then we'll see.

Here's a list of women who have been inspirational to me at different times in my life. If anyone reads this and wants to comment on my list or their own. . .awesome

Rachel Carson, Zola Budd. . .okay, I'm feeling tied down already. Press on. . .When I first got into running, all my heroes were runners, like Zola the bare-footed South American, who in 1984 at 17 years old (I was an ancient 23 then) broke the woman's world record in the 5000 meter. And then there was Grete Waitz and Joan Benoit, wonder women of the marathon. This was in the late 70s early 80s, and I was starting college. I moved away from my hometown of Berkeley, which in and of itself is odd, since Berkeley is such a college town and the Bay Area is a major destination spot for people starting life anew. And I was intensely attached to my life in Berkeley, my high school boyfriend, my tiny circle of friends. I moved away because my best friend wanted to. I moved away, a whooping 90 miles, and planned on taking everything with me--the dumb boyfriend, my best friend (not dumb), my plants, my fish, coffee grinder (hand cranked). I was just going to school, not changing. Why change, I was pretty awesome (translate: I was an introverted egghead nerd bitch that desperately wanted to be loved forever and ever by my disloyal self-centered boyfriend).

Have you ever been to Davis, California? Well, in 1979 it was a tiny farm town. Consider by comparison, Berkeley in the sixty, where when someone said there were pigs on campus, they meant police officers. Well, in 1979 Davis, pigs were pigs, pens and pens of giant experimental pigs on campus. My first tour of the campus led me past these pens, by a cow operation, the vets standing on the table, arms in her belly up to their elbows, blood everywhere. I was raised vegetarian and had only been eating cow for a few years. Then there was the narcoleptic pony who was starving to death because he fell asleep every time he got excited and food excited him. Davis was the perfect fit for an ex-veggie hippy girl from Berkeley majoring in pure math.

The absolute lack of anything to do in Davis made it a personal fitness haven. Everyone ran, biked, roller skated, jazzercized to Jane Fonda tapes. In no time, I was decked in leg-warmers, a terry-cloth head-band, and taking up running. I even tried to learn Jazz Dance, but that was because my room-mate liked dance. I am not good at telling my body complicated dance moves. I'm built for repetitive movements, running, cycling, skating--any exercise that requires my mind to grasp a very short sequence of instructions and then my body to perform them over and over and over. That's heaven for me. Hence the running heroes. No Isadora Duncan for me. Give me a Zola.

Joyful Things

I thought to start this blog with a purpose, a focus, one thing to write about, like my heroes, knitting, the environment, but that is too unlike how my mind works. I will say this: these are the things that bring me joy and for this year I'm making more room for joy, as schmaltzy as that sounds, it matters, so here's the list: plants, photography, writing, my family, landscape history, being outside, traveling, the ocean, taking baths, excellent things (like Bach, Lance Armstrong on a bike, Michelangelo's Peita), words, coffee, well that's good for now.