Painfully Personal Post #2 - I get why Lucy did what she did

It was painful watching the Jian Ghomeshi trial unfold.  As a lawyer and feminist, I've long been concerned about the way victims of sexual assault are treated in court - as if they're the ones on trial, the ones who must prove their "innocence", the ones who bear responsibility for the violence. But the Ghomeshi trial took that cruel absurdity to a whole new level.

Let's be honest. No one believes for a minute that Ghomeshi's innocent. Dozens of people - male and female - have now spoken out frankly about who he is - a deeply misogynistic, violent, manipulative narcissist. The only question is whether the women "consented" to his attacks. As proof they did, Ghomeshi (conveniently) offered up email messages and letters providing evidence that the women were nice to him after the attacks - even continued to pursue him.

Of course, what they did or didn't do after the attacks doesn't prove anything. Where are the messages from before the incidents confirming that Lucy and the others consented to "rough sex", wanted to be hit and choked? There aren't any, of course.  But there don't need to be. Because we're so sure we know what we'd do if we were assaulted that we're quick to judge his accusers and discount their evidence.

Does this seem right to you?

Warning: This post is not about running. This post is about something that's been bothering for awhile - what we teach young girls about their bodies, their place in society and their relationships with the opposite sex.

This morning, a woman I follow on Twitter retweeted a link to an article in which the author argued there was nothing wrong with allowing - even encouraging - teenage girls to get their legs and pubic areas waxed so they'd feel more comfortable participating in summer activities like going to the beach and swimming. The crux of the argument seemed to be that it was important to ensure young women were able to satisfy societal expectations so they wouldn't be negatively affected by other's criticism of their bodies.

Really? That's how we should respond to societal expectations? By teaching young women to conform to them?

How about if we teach them that they are beautiful just the way they are?

How about if we teach them that many societal expectations are ridiculous? That much of what's expected is oppressive, painful and downright dangerous?  Yanking hair out by its roots, for example. Or starving themselves to stay too thin? Or wearing shoes that permanently damage their feet and backs? Or dousing themselves with carcinogenic chemicals so that their faces and hair look a particular way. Or going to tanning salons?

How about if we encourage them think about why those expectations exist and what they say about our culture, and in particular the relationship between men and women?

Why, for instance, don't men wear ridiculously high-heeled shoes that shorten their calf muscles, encourage deformations of their feet, and make it impossible to run from danger?

And why do some men (and women) find hairless female genitals so attractive?  Is it something to do with knowing significant pain was inflicted to create them? (Tiny bound broken feet spring to mind.)

And why don't we teach our daughters and sons that sex isn't about emulating the unrealistic (often pornographic) images they see around them in music videos and advertising, on television and the internet? That they have a right to be treated with love and respect. That how they feel and what they enjoy matters. That girls and women aren't just playthings for boys and men.

The reality is that, however much waxing, dyeing, tanning, and starving young women do to conform to societal expectations, they won't feel better about themselves. They'll just learn that what's important is how they look and how well they conform - and not what they think, what they feel, or how they treat other people and themselves.

If you think I'm over-reacting, please take the time to watch "Sext up kids", a documentary aired by CBC's Doc Zone in February 2012.  I saw it a few months ago and haven't been able to shake it since.

Mourning and Celebrating Marie Colvin

Today, I'm mourning the death of Marie Colvin, Britain's foremost war correspondent, who was killed by mortar attack in Syria yesterday.

Last night I heard a radio interview she gave the day before she died. Surrounded by violence and death, she described the things she was witnessing in a calm, lucid, passionate report. I can't begin to express my admiration for her fearlessness and compassion. She was a woman whose story we should tell over and over - especially to our daughters.

I admire not only Marie's physical courage - which was extraordinary - but her moral courage as well. She wasn't afraid to speak the truth to power, to tell the stories no one wanted to hear, or to give voice to the most vulnerable - in particular, women and children.

For her, it wasn't just a matter of pursuing her art or her career by writing moving or titillating stories of people in crisis. It was a matter of exposing the horrific realities of war and calling those responsible to account.  As her mother put it: “Her legacy is: Be passionate and be involved in what you believe in. And do it as thoroughly and honestly and fearlessly as you can.”

Rest in peace, Marie. You will be greatly missed. But never forgotten.

Getting my head in the game

Here it is the middle of February and my next big race (a 50k ultra) is only 3 months away. I guess it's time to get a little more serious about my training.

Since Christmas, I've been running regularly and gradually lengthening my Saturday long runs. However, I put training on hold for a couple of weeks to travel to Belize with hubbie and friends (I'll post an account of that adventure soon), then recover from a nasty chest cold. To complicate matters, we're in the midst of a bus strike at the moment and I've decided to run or walk to work, rather than spending hours stuck in traffic every day. In theory, it's a good way to kick start (or restart) my ultra training - but I, though I'm running lots, I can't pretend it's good quality training.

At any rate, now that I'm back from vacation and reasonably healthy, it's time to figure out what I can realistically accomplish before race day. I ran a heck of a lot in 2011 (nearly 1750 kms in all) and have managed to maintain a reasonable level of fitness since my last marathon in October 2011 so hopefully a 50km run is still within reach - though, of necessity, I'll be taking a "less is more" approach. :-)

It makes me nervous to think about training to run "50 at 50" so it was nice to stumble on this photo today. It's from a 5km race I ran in June 2011 in a personal best time of 26:36. Not fast, objectively speaking, but smokin' for me. I was especially happy with my performance because the course was a tough one - with a number of long, steep hills - and I finished first out of 18 women in my age group.  As it turns out, my age group was a relatively slow one (there were four women older than me who whooped my butt!) but still...  It might be the one and only time I ever finish a race in first place.

Looking at the picture reminds me of how good I felt that day. The weather was perfect, the race well-organized, and the course truly delightful with breathtaking views of the ocean at every turn. I think I started a little too fast which made the last kilometre feel tougher than it should have but it was still exciting and exhilarating to run a PB on such a tough course.

I plan to run the same race (the Chester Cut 'n Run) this year and it would be nice to shave a few seconds off my time. Since I'll be 50 years old come race day, I'll likely be running head to head with some of the women who beat me last time out and it would feel good to give one or two a run for their money. In the meantime, here's hoping memories of last year's race get my head in the game so that I'm properly trained and ready to run 50k by May 12th!!

Bright spots on a grey and gloomy day: A long slow run in honour of Sherry Arnold

On Saturday, I ran my first long slow run in a couple of weeks. (I'd missed two previous weekend runs because I was travelling in Belize then recovering from a nasty chest cold I picked up while I was away.)  The day was relatively mild for February but it had already started raining by the time I headed out the door and forecasters were calling for worsening weather (heavy rains and high winds) as the day went on. The weather was nasty enough and I was feeling sick enough that I might have opted to stay inside - except that I was determined to participate in a virtual run taking place in hundreds of locations around the world in honour of Sherry Arnold. 

Sherry, was a 43 years old married mother of two and stepmother of three. She disappeared on January 7th around 6:30 a.m. while running near her home in Sidney, Montana. Though her body has yet to be found, two men have been arrested in connection with her disappearance and one has confessed to killing her.

Sherry's cousin, Beth, another runner who writes a wonderful blog called Shut Up + Run, has written a lot about Sherry and her disappearance over the past month.  By all accounts, Sherry was a warm, talented, strong and compassionate woman who won't soon be forgotten. (Please visit Beth's blog to learn more about Sherry and consider making a donation in support of the two children she left behind.)

During my run for Sherry, I was determined to celebrate her life rather than focusing on the grim details of her death, but it was hard not to feel angry and sad as I headed into Miller's Head Peace Park at the midpoint of my 18k run.  Another woman lost to the senseless violence that pervades out culture. Would it never stop?  Though I did my best to savour the solitude and sweet smell of pine needles crunching beneath my feet, despair and cold drizzle made it difficult to enjoy the park as much as I usually do. In desperation, I began searching around me for bright spots to lighten my mood.

The first one I noticed was this brilliant green moss clinging to some rocks lying beside the trail.

I love moss like this - soft and glistening, it reminds me of the mosses that blanket tree trunks on Vancouver Island where I studied at a small international college many years ago. Though the trees that fill Peace Park are much less majestic than those in BC's old growth forests, the moss growing on and around them often makes me think of the college and the happy years I spent there.  

The second bright spot came in the form of two umbrellas carried by a couple who were entering the park as I was leaving.

Crayon yellow and pink, they made me think of the tulips that will spring from the ground in a few months. And I loved that these folks braved the bad weather to walk hand in hand through the park. It seems that, like me, they know that Peace Park is a very special place.

As I exited the park and turned to run towards home, I focused once again on Sherry and how her life had affected so many other in such positive ways. She was a well-loved teacher and friend whose legacy of courage, strength and grace was the brightest spot on a grey and gloomy day - a bright spot I will carry in my heart and mind as I train for my first (and likely last!) 50k race in May.

From what I've read, Sherry and I shared a love of running but I think we also shared a deep and abiding belief in its transformative power - so thinking about Sherry will remind me that the most important thing about my running is not that it keeps me slim and relatively fit (though those things are good too) or that it satisfies my type A craving for ever greater challenges. The most important thing about running is that it offers opportunities to breathe deeply, contemplate how I want to live my life, and practice caring and compassion for myself and others. Through running, I've learned a lot about myself, made wonderful friends, raised money for worthwhile causes, and honoured inspiring people like Sherry, Jon and Kirsi. In short, running has helped (and is helping) me to be more fully the person I want to be.  

So, thank you Sherry. I hope you rest a bit more peacefully knowing you've inspired so many of us to try to live with as much compassion, courage and integrity as you did.

May we never forget

There were 14 women murdered in the Montreal Massacre on December 6th, 1989, simply because they aspired to work in a male-dominated profession:

Genevieve Bergeron, 21, was a second year scholarship student in mechanical engineering.

Nathalie Croteau, 23, was in her final year of mechanical engineering.

Helene Colgan, 23, was in her final year of mechanical engineering and planned to take her master's degree.

Barbara Daigneault, 22, was in her final year of mechanical engineering and held a teaching assistantship.

Anne-Marie Edward, 21, was a first year student in chemical engineering.

Maud Haviernick, 29, was a 2nd year student in engineering materials, and a graduate in environmental design.

Barbara Maria Klucznik, 31, was a 2nd year engineering student specializing in engineering materials.

Maryse Laganiere, 25, worked in the budget department of the Polytechnique.

Maryse Leclair, 23, was a 4th year student in engineering materials.

Anne-Marie Lemay, 27, was a 4th year student in mechanical engineering.

Sonia Pelletier, 28, was to graduate the next day in mechanical engineering. She was awarded a degree posthumously.

Michele Richard, 21, was a 2nd year student in engineering materials.

Annie St-Arneault, 23, was a mechanical engineering student.

Annie Turcotte, 21, was a first year student in engineering materials

I'm grateful for their legacy - a new determination to end all forms of violence against women - but I'm also sad that so little has changed in the 22 years since.

According to Statistics Canada, in 2009 women made up only 22.3% of those working in the natural sciences, mathematics and engineering and 6.4% of those working in trades in Canada. And, of course, violence against women remains a huge problem here as it does elsewhere. At special risk are aboriginal women.

There is some good news. Today, more men and boys are prepared to speak out on issues of violence against women, initiatives like the White Ribbon Campaign raise awareness of the issues and encourage men to get involved and we now have a National Day of Remembrance and Action on Violence against Women.

Still, we must never forget those 14 young women, and what their deaths taught us about the work that remained and still remains to be done.

I run to be...

I read this post from "I <3 to run" on Facebook last week:

Never underestimate the strength of a woman.
Never f#@K with one who runs 26.2 miles for fun.

My apologies for the colourful language but I love the sentiment. After all, one of the main reasons I run is to be stronger - physically, mentally and emotionally.

We still live in a world where violence against women is so commonplace we scarcely notice it. But, over the past few weeks, heart-wrenching reminders have come from close to home - a murder/suicide not far from where I grew up in PEI, the body of a murdered woman found on a serene wooded path where I run regularly, a teenaged girl from the north shore who disappeared on her way to meet her boyfriend. 

Though I refuse to let fear keep me from running, such stories remind me that violence has a gender. The great majority of perpetrators are men and far too often the victims are women and childen.

The slogan for the Nike Women's Marathon in San Francisco last month was "I run to be."  But at various points in the race, runner were invited to take it a step further and ask themselves what running helped them to be. It was inspiring to see so many say that they ran to be "fierce", "fearless" and "strong".

There were other inspiring things about the race:  Kara Goucher and Joan Benoit Samuelson - two iconic marathoners - stepping up to the start line in solidarity with us average runners. Mothers and daughters, sisters and friends, of all ages, shapes and sizes who've made running the race an annual tradition. And the awesome sight of thousands of Team in Training runners proudly displaying the names and pictures of loved ones on their t-shirts. 

I've just hung this poster from the race on my office wall in hopes it will inspire me - not just to run more - but to work harder at being the person I've always wanted to be - fierce, fearless, compassionate and committed to making the world a better place.

Running Lessons: Fragile flowers, weak women and other myths

On one of my runs this week, I came upon this patch of beautiful spring blossoms which had somehow survived battering, torrential rains the night before. They reminded me that fragile-looking flowers are often much tougher than they look. Purple irises are another good example. Even before the snow is completely gone, they push skyward in search of spring warmth and sunshine, much stronger and more resilient than their soft shapes suggest.

Given that flowers aren't really all that fragile and women aren't either, it's ironic that women are so often referred to as "fragile flowers" - the implication being that they need to be cared for by the men in their lives. Why do cultures around the world continue to propagate the myth that women are inherently weaker than men - physically, emotionally and psychologically - when so clearly we're not?  The sexes may manifest their strengths in different ways but women give birth, for goodness sake. Need I say more?

I suppose it's because I'm so irritated by the myth that women's achievements in ultramarathons thrill me.  A number of interesting studies have suggested women may in fact be capable of outperforming men in such endurance events, and women like Pam Reed and Ann Trason (two accomplished ultramarathoners) are testaments to that possibility. Though fewer women than men compete in ultramarathons, they're more likely to finish and routinely place in the top 20. Not bad for a bunch of fragile flowers.

Tonight, I'm imagining a world in which girls grow up understanding just how strong they are - that they're not fragile flowers but potential ultramarathoners. I think it might look very different from the world we live in now.