For a moment panic sets in but if you wait a moment or two, your eyes will adjust to the dark and you will be able to see enough to continue most of the time depending on your circumstances. Have you ever been walking somewhere at night with a flashlight and then suddenly the battery dies and the light goes out. Some of our posts are about our personal approaches to fitness/health, and some posts are more reflective, critical and meant to challenge common assumptions.įor more on our history, read Tracy and Sam’s book Fit at Mid-Life: A Feminist Fitness Journey.Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path. We also have a very active community in the comments on our blog and on our facebook page and twitter feed. From our original two-voice conversation, we’ve now become a team of bloggers, including Catherine Womack, Cate Creede, Martha Muzychka, Christine Hennebury, Natalie Hebert, Susan Tarshis, Bettina Trueb, Mina Samuels, Diane Harper, and Kim Solga with an array of guest posters from around the world. Since then, the blog has grown into an international conversation about fitness, health, aging, and gender. The blog started in 2012 as a record of Sam and Tracy’s quest to be the fittest in their lives when they hit the age of 50 in 2014. What does it mean to be fit? What way(s) does women’s quest for fitness and health contribute to empowerment and/or oppression? And what are appropriate measures of fitness in a feminist context? You?įit Is a Feminist Issue started with a conversation blog co-founders Sam and Tracy have been having for more than two decades about feminism and fitness. Image description: Lakeside scene of small grey sided bunkie (shed) with a padlock on the door, cedar, partial view of dock with lake and the other shore behind it, grey sky, stone covered ground in the foreground.I plan to enjoy the early morning light for as long as I can. I can get out for a short run in the morning light before that and have a shower and have my breakfast and pack my lunch and still be on time. Today I am meeting a friend for coffee at 8 a.m. Image description: ground covered in wet fall leaves with a bit of greenery, some dirt, and Tracy’s left foot wearing a robin blue running shoe and red socks.Upshot: I went running Sunday morning before breakfast and it was light.
Sam and Rachel, who are serious cyclists, find their outdoor late afternoon training messed up by the change. said no one ever.” It turns out that quite a few people do think it’s better to have early light than later light. It was in response to her post of a picture that said “I love setting my clocks back so it gets dark by 4 p.m. Image description: cottage road with trees on either side, leaves all off and scattered on the side of the road, overcast daylight sky.Later that day a debate raged on Sam’s Facebook timeline about which was better - earlier light in the morning or longer light at the end of the day. In the light of day, it felt energizing and refreshing. I didn’t care that it started to drizzle a bit before I hit the turnaround point of the 5K. And I couldn’t wait to get out of bed, throw on my running gear, and head out the door for a solo run on the hilly cottage road that winds its way along the lake and through the woods.
But on Sunday there was no such conflict.
My running schedule has been all upside down lately because I’ve been struggling with the early morning darkness, and early morning is my best time to go running. Up there, with no street lights on the cottage road, when it’s dark it really is too dark (for me, anyway) to go running. To me, on this particular day, it meant one primary thing: I could go running before breakfast on Sunday morning, around 7:15 a.m., and it wouldn’t be dark.
The reason for leaving: they didn’t want us growing up with our freedom and opportunities curtailed by the racist system of apartheid that was then South African law.īetween going to bed Saturday night and waking up Sunday morning, the clocks changed, marking the end of Daylight Savings time. The occasion of the visit was the gathering for four generations of the family to celebrate 50 years since four of us–my parents, my older brother, and me–came to Canada from South Africa. It’s a tranquil, perfect, beautiful spot that, when combined with my parents’ hospitality and the sense of home they have created there (despite it not being the home we grew up in), makes it my favourite place on the planet. This weekend I was visiting my parents at their home on a lake about two hours northeast of the eastern edge of Toronto.