Outdoorsy

To use a term coined by my friend Megan, I grew up in an “indoorsy” family. My time in nature consisted of short walks in Lynn Woods with my dad; the possibility of camping or driving more than 20 minutes to access nature was simply not on the radar of either of my parents. I was an active child who played outside often with kids in my neighborhood, but never got into sports. My family didn’t have a lot of money, so I couldn’t dabble in different extracurriculars to find one that stuck, and I was always intimidated by how boys in elementary school gym class would turn something as playful and fun as dodgeball into a scene from The Purge. It was more in my comfort zone to stay away from both athletics and the outdoors, and this inclination continued into my early 20s.

Shortly after I graduated from college, I had a moment of existential panic when I realized I wouldn’t be young and spry forever, so I started exercising more. During college, I had opportunities to travel, which introduced me to landscapes very different from the suburbia I had grown up in. My interest in exploring beyond urbanized areas increased, but I lacked the confidence, skills, and experience to push myself to do things on my own. When I looked at people who did the types of things I wanted to do, they always seemed so… intense. I wanted to see cool places, stay healthy, and enjoy nature beyond the beaten path, but I didn’t feel like I fit in with the people I saw in the outdoors. I remember going to a single outdoors club meeting in college, where one woman arrived directly from the airport after a month-long backpacking trip in China and the man leading the meeting rode his bike into the third-floor classroom, ululating (yes, literally) and looking like he just finished a segment of the Tour de France. Outdoorsiness seemed to be these people’s whole identity, and I was merely a neophyte searching for someone to show me how to pitch a tent. One of my least favorite traits in myself is my pride; I was afraid to step outside of my comfort zone with these people simply because I didn’t want to embarrass myself in the face of their superior capability.

The thing that finally pushed me over the hurdle was, ironically, shacking up with one of those former-aggro-dodgeball-kids. Lee grew up in a rural area where the woods was his neighborhood and playground. His father was an Eagle Scout, so he was raised enjoying the outdoors in a way that I never did. He’s also one of those obnoxious naturally athletic people who is good at just about every sport they try. Lee pushed me physically and mentally to try new things, and much as I want to say it was my own independent spirit, I don’t know if I would have learned to love the outdoors like I do now if it weren’t for him.

When we started dating, I had never camped. Our first trips were at established campsites, the kind with water spigots every few yards and flush toilets. The first time we went dispersed camping, I was nervous about bears, having enough fresh water, injury, and a whole host of other risks. We were going in a group as a prelude to a rafting trip, and I was the only inexperienced one there. I hoped that my naïveté wasn’t noticeable as we set up camp with five other people, including two badass women who seemed perfectly at home in the outdoors. I quickly realized that dispersed camping wasn’t scary like I thought it would be, and that it offered access to areas more remote than I had ever been. I was hooked.

This was a turning point in my relationship with the outdoors, and as I’ve spent more time in it, I’ve realized that my perception of wilderness’ accessibility had been skewed. I used to think that those outdoorsy people were intense because that’s how you had to be in order to successfully experience nature. I’ve since realized that outdoorsy culture did not grow out of necessity, but stems from a similar flavor of hypercompetitiveness that intimidated me away from dodgeball as a kid. It feels cliquey and exclusive, and is often dominated by fit, white people. Historically the outdoors was overwhelmingly male, and while I see more and more women blazing trails every year, social media and some outdoors companies have created a certain image of the “outdoorsy woman” that is far from realistic; she’s hot, tan, and never sweaty in her matching legging/sports bra outfits, beanie perched jauntily atop her glossy locks. By comparison, most women I see on the trail look more like me: ragged, hair frizzy, hip belt digging into their stomachs, with sweat stains in their crotch, back, and armpits. Beyond the imagery of the “outdoorsy person,” gear is often prohibitively expensive, and when you are new to camping, backpacking, etc., it’s not always clear what you truly need vs what you don’t. It’s difficult to justify spending hundreds of dollars to go camping one time if you aren’t sure you’ll like it. Add all of this to the open hostility that many people of color experience in the outdoors, and it’s easy to see why it feels inaccessible to so many.

As a woman, there are other challenges we face outdoors, safety being the biggest one. Many solo women who share their experiences on social media won’t post a location until well after they’ve left, not to be exclusive, but to protect themselves from internet stalkers. Less nefarious, but irritating nonetheless, are the advice-givers, or men who feel compelled to offer unsolicited advice to women. The comments are often benign and almost always well-intentioned, but it happens frequently enough to me and other women that if you don’t recognize it for what it is, it’s easy to be made to feel incapable or like you don’t belong in the outdoors.

As I’ve spent more time in outdoor spaces, I feel more confident navigating unfamiliar situations. It helps that most of my exploring is done with Lee, who offers a measure of security both in his practical knowledge/skills and his identity as a man. I still struggle to embrace my lack of experience in certain areas (I constantly have to remind myself while mountain biking that it’s just for fun), but I have multiple friends who role model what it looks like to throw oneself at new experiences headfirst and without fear. Every time I complete a strenuous hike, or bike something I would have walked over the week before, it helps me tackle the next opportunity. While outdoorsy culture can be exclusive, the outdoors itself is not; it doesn’t care who you are, what you look like, how long it took you to finish that hike, or if you had to quit halfway through. All of the competition and gatekeeping that scared me away doesn’t actually exist once you get past people, and getting past people is, for me at least, what the outdoors is all about.