Set Your Own Summit
The path, for me, has not been a straight one. Sometimes it hasn’t even been well thought out. There was no map for a career in the outdoor industry for women when I started. When I took a position as the marketing specialist at a local specialty retailer for $10 an hour after graduating from law school and passing the bar, I did not know that would be the smartest career move of my life. Not only did I reconnect with my North Star — something I had lost sight of in law school — but I unknowingly stepped into the storied legacy of industry leaders who got their start on the shop floor.
Growing up in Grand Island, Nebraska, in the 1970s and ’80s, a life outdoors was not about majestic mountains, never-ending running trails, wilderness boundaries, and wild rivers. It wasn’t the life I live today, but I’ve always found a reason to be outdoors.
In the summertime, as the humidity rose and the air stilled, the screen door would slam as my sisters and I ran down the lawn to the irrigation-fed sandpit lake behind our childhood home. Neighborhood kids came and went throughout the day. We grabbed our fishing poles and inner tubes. Made up stories, hopped on our bikes, and joined games of keep-away, kick-the-can, and baseball. The biggest interrupters of my life outside were lunch, dinner, and the Wednesday excursion to Skate Island.
Mornings were my favorite time of day. I would wake myself up to be at the pool’s edge by first light. At just 6 years old, when I started swimming, I had tapped into a passion, strength, and determination for something greater than myself.
(1979) I look down to see my 10-year-old toes wrapped around the edge of the starting platform. The hot and humid Nebraska air warms my skin and cools my nerves. My main competition, besides myself, is in the next lane. I shake my arms to keep the muscles relaxed or, more likely, to provide some release for my nerves. This is the last swim meet of the summer and of my age group. I have to drop a second off my best time to qualify for AAAA, the fastest recognized division in swimming. Mentally, I know what needs to be done: relax the body, poise the mind, and stay focused for 100 meters. The gun sounds and I break the water’s surface with my hands, my head, my shoulders, and finally my toes. In the water is home. No fear, just a drive and a passion.
As I moved into awkward “big hair” (remember: Midwest) teenage years, which in retrospect lasted way too long to call a fad, the lake and languidness of life were replaced by organized volleyball and tennis, dirt bikes, Jet Skis, and snowmobiles. Living on the rural side of town, surrounded by acres of cornfields and never- ending horizons, my bicycle — what is now referred to as “human-powered recreation” — became my ticket to friends and freedom.
I won’t go into detail on the following years when I was figuring out that everyone else in the world didn’t think I was as great as my mom did. Suffice it to say, these were transition years filled with five universities, an eating disorder, moving away, then moving back to my hometown. I was lost and I wandered. My wandering led me from walking to running to climbing to Southern California and wild rivers and Joshua Tree, Yosemite, and the Pinnacles. Very soon after, my passion for climbing, love for the outdoors, and sense of purpose served as my North Star for major (and not-so-major) life decisions. By the time I turned 30, I was living in Boulder, Colorado, had just graduated from law school, and was climbing more than I was working.
I had been climbing for six years before I really owned up to what climbing meant to me. I followed boyfriends around from climbing place to climbing place, occasionally setting up an anchor or leading a pitch. One day I woke up single and without any climbing gear. I had to decide how important climbing was for me. Without a second thought, I spent more than $600 on equipment, called my friend Isabel, and headed to Joshua Tree.
(2003) I plugged the #3 Camelot in the rock a foot or so above my head. I resisted the urge to inch it back further into the crack. Wedging in gear after a good placement was a habit I picked up climbing the insecure walls of Eldorado Canyon outside Boulder, Colorado.. It usually spelled a long, grueling struggle for my climbing partner, who had to remove it (and a not great exchange at the belay), because I would push it to the point of no give.
A good placement I could tell. Why, then, could I not commit to the next three moves that were the crux of my part of the climb on The Diamond face of Long’s Peak in Rocky Mountain National Park? Was it because I was 60 feet out from my belay partner — and diagonally at that? Was it because I was more than 1,000 feet above the scree field that led to Chasm Lake below the wall face? Was it because I was tired from climbing six pitches at 13,000 feet? Probably all of those reasons and a few thousand more — like no caffeine that morning, setting my alarm for a 1 a.m. wake-up rouse, the pack on my back, hurting feet, pounding head, crusties in my nose, and I am pretty sure I had a hangnail. Most days, I am able to tip the scale of motivation with just one good reason. On that day, the most logical motivation was that I really couldn’t back down.
This is where my current life story leads me. We are all setting our own summits every day, both professionally and personally. On that day when I was climbing the Diamond on Longs Peak, my summit was swapping lead climbs at 12,000-plus feet. Three years earlier in Joshua Tree, when I was teaching myself to climb traditionally — by placing protection gear that my climbing partner removes as she follows me — my summit was topping out on a 5.1 climb that I led. As a 13 year old, my summits were not quite so ambitious, but equally important.
Today my summits include taking my dog for a walk, getting to the climbing gym, or squeezing in a run at lunch. Sometimes, though, it is a 14- mile run along the base of the Flatirons or a full-day at the crag.
Your summit could be getting in your first day on the slope, walking on the beach, going to the park, or dusting off your hiking boots. They can, and probably should, change daily.
The people, specifically women, who embrace a life in the outdoors are the ones we in the active outdoor industry want within our walls to call colleagues, to share passion. As evident with the popularity of REI’s #OptOutside initiative, we are not willing to settle for the status quo. Not only are we not willing, but we will actively change and challenge the status quo. We know that to make the best decisions — whether for our families or for an expedition — many voices need to be at the table. The same holds true for companies. It is not enough to dismiss or critique what is the madness of Black Friday. We must instead focus on the possibilities and opportunities that come from tapping into our innate sense of purpose and exploration. #OptOutside is a call for a new paradigm for which the organization I am privileged to lead, the Outdoor Industries Women’s Coalition, is a willing participant and advocate.
In January, the OIWC launched the CEO pledge to elevate and showcase the collective identity of an industry that values women’s leadership and women’s voices. Research and our own experience show that more women in decision-making positions drive faster, proactive, and inspired innovation and design — meeting the needs and desires of a diverse participant demographic necessary for a healthy and sustainable outdoor industry.
One of the biggest challenges facing outdoor companies in the next 10 years will be competition for employees with specialized skills who understand the consumer’s needs. Because of the active outdoor industry’s reliance on technology and engineering for innovation, we are in direct competition with Fortune 500 companies in the energy, automobile, and high-tech sectors for employees. But the industry has a distinct advantage: We love being outside and being active, and we treasure the places in which we play. This is what connects us. It is a culture that no money can create.
Whether you grew up in small-town U.S.A. in the middle of a cornfield, or in the city where green space is a one-block designation, or at the base of a mountain with trails and rivers as your backyard, the active outdoor industry welcomes you.
