by Julie Moss
Never mind that I never had a boyfriend in high school because I was, you know, the good friend, the trusted friend, the girl with personality, the girl who tried too hard to be funny. I had no clue what it took to be in a relationship. I was barely comfortable in my own skin, let alone trying to be part of a couple. Now, less than a decade later, I’m suddenly driving guys off my doorstep?
Like I said, plenty to cringe about.
After my Japan victory, I decided to go for it all—winning the 1985 Ironman. I was in great shape, and now knew how to win the long race. I had overcome my poor run history at the distance, and I felt ready. I was coming to Kona to win, period, nothing else. Much had changed since 1982. Fully seventy-five percent of the field was running in its first Ironman, and they came from thirty-four countries. Also, the 1,250 entrants were more than double the 590 starters in 1982—and selected from over 12,000 applicants.
I had changed too. At least I wanted to believe it. I swam strongly, despite the remnants of a hurricane pushing big swells into the swim basin. I forged a lead on the bike while Sue rode ahead in the Wide World of Sports camera van, logging film as a hired gun. By the time I reached the transition, I was three minutes ahead of Joanne Ernst, with rising star Paula Newby-Fraser seventh and Kathleen in fourteenth.
Then we had to run. I’d given too much to the bike, and by four miles started suffering bladder pain. Joanne promptly caught me and surged ahead while I flailed. By the eleven-mile mark, she held a nine-minute lead. I started walking before the twenty-mile mark and dropped out a mile later, due to the presence of blood in my urine. Not to mention the heartbroken feeling of being stifled by Kona yet again. Joanne wound up finishing second to Sylviane Puntous, with previously unknown Liz Bulman getting third.
About six weeks later, I’d recovered enough to finish a strong second to Joy Hansen in the Kauai Loves You Triathlon. Joy and her twin sister, Joan, were a top sister duo, eclipsed only by the Puntous twins, Sylviane and Patricia. I exited the swim in sixth, then rode the best bike time of all women. During the bike, Joy and I had a bit of a problem with a pack of male competitors trying to get us to join them but, in so doing, exposing us to drafting violations. Joy was diplomatic in the way she asked the guys to get out of our way. Only they wouldn’t go. I got sick of wasting valuable focus and energy worrying about us getting disqualified, so I asked them more directly. They heard me loud and clear and pedaled away from us en route to Hanalei.
I also found myself on the cover of The High Performance Triathlete, a new book of tips and stories by Katherine Vaz and Barclay Kruse. I was thrilled to be on the cover of a book! To cap my eventful season, Kathleen and I showed up at the Triathlete of the Year awards in competing outfits, giving the media an apparel angle to vamp about. It was a fun evening.
Even though I enjoyed strong popularity and was now achieving consistently good results, a question kept burning inside, one that nags and prods because you know what it’s really asking: “What can I really do if I train properly?”
It was time to find out.
CHAPTER 8
Girl Power!
“Courage starts with showing up and letting ourselves be seen.”
—Dr. Brené Brown, author, Daring Greatly
Like millions of others, it thrilled me to watch Shalane Flanagan, the top U.S. women’s road racer of the past ten years, and her magnificent victory in the 2017 New York City Marathon. Not only did she run her heart out, she was the first American woman to win the famed race in decades.
Fully energized from catching the race on TV, I headed to my afternoon yoga class. The young female instructor talked about how wearing a Wonder Woman costume at Halloween allowed a powerful, fierce, empowered persona to emerge that made bold choices and was fearless. What struck me, though, was her need to wear a costume to achieve that outcome. She talked about peeling off the costume and embodying the Wonder Woman persona, as if diving into her alter ego and then reemerging as a fully integrated woman. I thought about how, when training for an Ironman, I’m in that empowered, dynamic, full place. Though it isn’t a costume and mask, layers of limitation and self-protection are stripped off. Anything is possible and everything attainable.
As we started our postures, I thought about “stripping off” what we hide behind, how we feel compelled to put on a costume so we can feel like someone more powerful, charismatic, or beautiful than our natural authentic selves. When we do that—and we all do, to some degree—what do we hide behind?
Funnily enough, some think I’m beyond hiding. After crawling and lying across a finish line, emptied and exhausted, what else is there to hide from, right? But I have costumes too. For one thing, I’m always self-conscious in the yoga room. I wear a tank top, even in superheated rooms above 90°F when everyone else is wearing trendy little yoga bras, unconcerned about how many rolls show on their tummies while they tuck into the happy baby pose.
We continued our postures as the young woman’s remarks moved through me, eventually activating my inner voice. It had something very simple and direct to say: “STOP HIDING. Strip it off.” It was time for my own personal reveal. I peeled off my tank top and finished our session in my yoga bra and tights. I’ve been doing yoga for ten years, and practicing in that particular studio for six. It was the first time I showed my stomach in a class.
A simple, common rule of yoga is to not compare your practice, postures, or physique to another student. Especially don’t compare six-pack abs or tummy rolls! By keeping your eyes on your own mat, you help create a nonjudgmental environment in which everyone feels safe and focuses on their own practice. While I know this, my perfectionist side felt better covered up so I wouldn’t worry about being judged—the things you’re supposed to leave outside the yoga room. I’ve taken pictures doing yoga poses, midriff exposed, but I have artistic control of those. It’s much different than stripping down in a public setting.
It was a powerful moment. Here I was, a nearly sixty-year-old woman doing empowering things, but unwilling to be seen. The yoga class “reveal” was an “Aha!” moment of moving deeper into my authentic self. That is what being an empowered girl and woman is all about.
Sometimes, the people in our lives take different views of our transformative, life-changing moments. Maybe they don’t understand what has happened with us, or more specifically, how these moments indelibly change us. Friends or family may think they know you or me inside and out, only to be faced with the more empowered you, someone who’s expanded beyond their existing perception. It doesn’t change overnight; after all, they built that perception over the time they have known you. Sometimes a lifetime. Great change creates initial discomfort. When we’re uncomfortable, what do we do? Often, we pull back and revert to our old worldview—and throw on a costume and mask to disguise how we really feel.
Take my breakthrough moment in Kona. We know that sea-change moments are deeply personal, but when they happen, they are often so subtle that no one else notices the shift. Or these moments need time to percolate, to reveal their greater meaning, purpose, or message. What feels seismic to you or me might be little noticed by others. Or not noticed at all. At first.
In Kona, the triathlon world wasn’t talking about the transformative moment I experienced on the finish line. They were buzzing about the unlikelihood of an endurance sports neophyte nearly winning the Ironman. You know, the freak show to which Scott Tinley alluded. That perception concerned me. Today I would not have allowed such labels to erode my power, nor impact my vulnerability.
People will debate all day if we’ve changed or not. There’s nothing we can do about idle chatter. Ultimately, though, girl power is how we act after a changing moment, when we do something that makes us an outlier to ourselves. How do we return to our everyday lives and maintain the energy and momentum? How do we describe it without being questioned or criticized? How do we move forward? Into what are we moving? When something seismic happens, it may put you on a pedestal and make world headl
ines—but what about bringing it into your everyday life?
As we continued our yoga postures, I thought about these questions and the Wonder Women in our lives; what prompted them to step into their power and light. I thought about Shalane, who stepped from an already great competitive career into her fullest power to win her first major global marathon. None of her 200-plus race victories mattered as much as New York. She really stepped forward. She even stated beforehand that New York might be her last marathon if, for some wonderful amazing reason, she won. She wanted to script her ending, conclude her career on her terms. (In actuality, she stepped to the line in the 2018 Boston Marathon after stating it might be her final Boston.) Though our dreams are unfulfilled now, she pointed out, our ongoing efforts will lead to gratification, even if delayed.
I cannot imagine Shalane’s patience or desire to keep going through age thirty-six to win the big one. We’re not talking about a college senior who showed up out of nowhere to make good on a thesis project. Shalane holds U.S. women’s records at 3,000 meters, 5,000 meters, and 15 kilometers. Going into New York, she was the third fastest U.S. women’s marathoner of all time, behind 2017 Boston Marathon runner-up Jordan Hasay, and U.S. record holder and 2004 Olympic bronze medalist Deena Kastor. Shalane’s mother, Cheryl Bridges Treworgy, set the women’s world marathon record in the 1971 Culver City (California) Marathon, running 2:49:40. Shalane ran 2:26:53 in New York. Shalane won the silver medal at 10,000 meters in the 2008 Olympics and a bronze in the 2011 World Cross Country Championships. She’s suffered through several near misses in her hometown Boston Marathon, including 2018, when she finished sixth. In 2016, she finished sixth in the Rio Olympics.
Shalane’s sacrifice to achieve these results was profound. She postponed getting pregnant though she’s a wonderful mother to two teenage foster girls. She understood that her dream might come down the road, in the future. She was willing to wait. Obviously, she always thought it attainable. Now, hopefully, she can move into her next dream, bringing new life into the world to join her, her husband, and daughters.
Her story also speaks of a major obstacle to girl power—dealing with regrets. What do we regret? Why do we regret it? What happens to our vision, willpower, and energy when we live in that state? Would we regret not participating, not giving another shot or two—or three—to what we seek deeply? This piece is huge, its components unique to each person. It deals directly with our deepest dreams and goals, and whether or not we are going to chase them. Only you know what can give you the greatest gratification, just as I know what gives me greatest fulfillment. Here’s what Shalane told ESPN after the 2017 Boston Marathon, in which she finished third: “I’m not good with regrets, and I would just regret not giving it one last go at two more major marathons. I definitely want to start a family. I’ve loved my experience with my foster girls. My cookbook has been extremely rewarding and I’m working on a second one . . . but I feel like there’s still some unfinished business. How my career ends is super important to me. It doesn’t mean I’m going to win a major, but at least I’m going to try to win a major marathon in the U.S., and I need at least two more events.” That’s a girl anchored into her purpose, her goal, her mission. Her power.
Shalane’s understanding of her girl power is evident. She’s a huge advocate/force for women training other women/bringing up rising female stars in her sport through various pitfalls—and after reading about everything from convicted serial sex abuser Larry Nassar to what’s happening in USA swimming, lord knows what’s out there. That’s another element to girl power—helping others and mentoring. She embodies it so well.
On the personal side, Shalane callused her body and mind to handle prolonged discomfort at a very high stress level. That stress included the mighty task of beating world record holder Mary Keitany, the three-time defending New York champion. Then she converted the tense, amplified energy of New Yorkers shaken by yet another terrorist attack. (A terrorist killed eight pedestrians in lower Manhattan’s Battery Park City five days before the race.) She “made the shift” from wanting something out of lack (the elusive first major) to feeling gratitude in the moment. When the race got tough, she thought of others. She got out of her head. She rose above her physical discomfort and connected with something bigger. In so doing, Shalane became the first American woman since Miki Gorman in 1977 to win New York.
What a Wonder Woman! Everything lined up for her to step into her power. She used her “superpower” to focus toward others while staying within herself. In the last two miles, she was trying hard not to smile, or cry. She had the race won and yet, she never turned around to check Keitany’s position. Instead, she celebrated with the spectators. She celebrated her mightiest self.
This great performance exemplifies the power we need to practice in our lives. Sometimes, it presents itself in the most surprising, inopportune moments, like it did with me. At other times, we build and wait patiently, setting ourselves up for the moment when we step fully into our power. That’s Shalane’s story. You and I hold something great within ourselves, something that affirms the unlimited potential of life and creation. It emerges when we shed our “costume” of excuses, regrets, and inability (or unwillingness) to step forth. We peel back the layers, and find the Wonder Woman within us. It is such an intentional, humbling place to be.
It’s about putting ourselves in a position that requires us to push outside our comfort zones. And, ladies, we push until we’ve pushed ourselves into a more powerful, authentic place.
My first experience with girl power was like diving into the Great Unknown. In 1982, a seismic wave of perceived empowerment fanned out from Kona to the world via the media. The stories mentioned grit, determination to finish, and the fearlessness of touching the outer limits of my physical capabilities. Some thought survival too. ABC switchboards lit up after Wide World of Sports with people asking, “Did she survive?” Other comments included:
“ABC Sports has called this one of the most defining moments in sport. ‘This’ was Julie Moss desperately trying to get to the finish line . . . ‘This’ was the event that inspired millions of people, the event that started so many people in the sport, the event that has iced the expression that ‘just finishing the Ironman is the victory.’”—30 Years of the IRONMAN Triathlon World Championship
“No one can describe the sight of an athlete such as this, beyond the limits of exhaustion, crawling to a finish line. Nobody tried.”—Armen Keteyian, San Diego Union and The Sporting News
“It was real. For McCartney, a happy ending. For Moss, a bitter defeat. Well, that’s the funny thing. Though she didn’t win, Moss’s effort the last hundred yards had hit a nerve.”—Los Angeles Times
These excerpts illustrate a breakthrough, a dismantling of old expectations, an entering into the new. “Everyone has a defining moment; mine just got captured on film,” I told Kevin Mackinnon for Ironman.com. “Every time the tape’s played, it hits this deep emotional chord that says I discovered something new about myself, and other people get to see it.”
What do we do with that defining moment? What will you do with yours? It’s the question we all face, or have faced. The way we respond determines whether our moment becomes the beginning of a personal transformation, or a blown opportunity.
I became a Wonder Woman to many. I wasn’t comfortable with it at first, but when athletes do something mind-blowing in our culture, we elevate them, give them catchy nicknames, admire them as examples of what we secretly (or not so secretly) wish we could do if we only had time to train more, if we were sponsored, if we didn’t have to work 9 to 5 . . . if, if, if. We’ve been elevating athletes since Ancient Greeks created the ancient Olympiad and feted their superstars, comparing them to gods and goddesses.
I’d tapped my inner Wonder Woman, my girl power, though I really didn’t know it. The race connected me to very powerful inner resources, like the laws of attraction, magnetism, and toughness that build empowered women. They felt like newborn
babies at first; I had to nurture these released qualities.
For many women and girls in my generation, that was new ground. I was one of them. As a late-stage baby boomer, I spent a childhood listening to my mom’s dream for me: to marry well, to “earn” the “coveted” MRS. Degree from the school of life. I guess.
All of a sudden, my soul echoed, “No, you are okay just as you are. You don’t need a boyfriend or blond hair or anything else to define who you are.” A nice soul call, but it was striking up against the inner world of the redheaded, freckle-faced girl trying to match up with beautiful blondes on the beach. Actually, it was surfing with the guys that helped me first realize, “I’m not going to not be out here just because I’m a girl.”
Triathlon completed my personal emergence. As one of the few women competing in Ironman in the early years, I didn’t know what to expect or how I would be viewed, always shaky territory for me. So I just went for it. Then, to have men look at me like, “You can do something I can’t do, or even think about doing,” reinforced something mighty within me—that I could navigate the world on an even playing field. That’s what I’ve been doing since. A lot of women have told me that watching my Ironman motivated them to try a 5K, or a 10K, or even a half marathon or full marathon. Some jumped straight to triathlons, Half Ironmans and even full Ironmans. All of them felt more power within themselves.
It took a while for me to understand what “being empowered” means. I kept thinking, “I have to do everything big.” I always felt the need to find big moments to assert myself. For a while, I became kind of a caricature. At least that’s what I think now when I read the old articles. Who is this person—who’s not very nice? She’s so self-centered. Who is that? Insecurity drove a lot of my decisions. But, like so many watershed moments, the lessons I’ve gleaned have evolved over my life, like taking something new and different from our favorite self-help or business leadership book every time we open it up.