Category: blog

Earlier this year, a young female mountain biker shared her frustrations about her experience at a local cross country mountain bike race. Her story, in 2021, echoed so many of my own from the last DECADE of racing bikes. It seems that many promoters have some major blind spots for treating women equally to men. I’d like to try to bring some of those issues to light.

Now, I want to be clear here. There have been some major strides in awareness and a push for events to be more inclusive and respectful of women. And that’s awesome. However, women today are still experiencing lots of subtle, and sometimes not so subtle, moments of disregard and disrespect at cycling events. The good news is that there are a lot of simple, fundamental actions that can be put into practice immediately.

When I decided to write this article, I reached out to a dozen different women’s cycling groups for input – road cycling, mountain biking, free riding, with local, national and international scopes and I received HUNDREDS of responses, with many of the same issues occurring on all levels of racing, all over the world.

The following are some common threads and how a race promoter can handle or address those issues. This is by no mean exhaustive, but I hope it’s helpful.

1. Marketing

Include images of women in you’re marketing materials – that’s anything from social media posts, event banners, post-event articles & write ups, or video clips. Look at what you’re currently posting, printing and publishing. Analyze how often you’re displaying images of women vs images of men. Even that up by deliberately including & featuring women.

2. Access to Toilets

Nothing says, ‘We don’t care about your needs’ more than not providing restroom access at a race or event. That may require CONFIRMING a public restroom will be unlocked for the event, then CHECKING that indeed the park/facility unlocked it. If it is brought to your attention that the restroom, which your event should have access to as per the permit you paid for, is not in fact available to participants, be outraged & take action.

At a minimum, there should be toilets at the start of the race. Major bonus points for any long format course that offers porta-potties at a strategic location along the course. Women literally cheer when they see a porta-potty, I’m not joking. To put a finer point on this, on average, women menstruate 1 out of every 4 weeks. That means that at any given event, you can expect 25% of the female participants are dealing with their menstrual cycle. Peeing in the woods isn’t going to cut it.

3. Equal Prizes & Payouts

It’s simple – EQUAL PAYOUT. Period. Full stop.

Don’t place participation requirements on the women’s categories (I’ll explain why that’s absurd in point #7). This goes for swag prizes too – offer the same level of swag items to both the men’s & women’s categories. Ideally, the same exact items to all 1st, 2nd, 3rd place winners regardless of gender.

Don’t give women men’s clothing. Just don’t. It doesn’t matter if it’s high quality and expensive. Consider this, would giving a man a piece of women’s clothing be well received? Women feel it’s just as inappropriate.

4. Equal Treatment During Award Ceremonies

It’s awesome to call out race times during the podium ceremony. If you choose to do so, do it for ALL the categories. If you call it out for the first place winner only, or for only the pro categories, that’s fine, but treat the men and women equally in equivalent categories.

Intermingle the women’s & men’s categories during the award presentations. This is especially important if the prizes include choosing from a swag table. It’s way to common to call out ALL the mens’ & boys’ categories first. They get choice of swag on the ‘choose your own table’ and the women are left to the very end with everything picked over.

It’s a much better scenario to have equal prizes reserved for the podium positions and then raffle off or give away the leftover swag in another way like a crowd toss, to segment winners, or in some other creative manner.

5. Equal Distance / Duration

Either distance or duration should be equal for both genders. The selected metric will vary depending on the discipline and course. For example, duration is the main focus for cross country, cyclocross and criterium races, while distance should be equal for marathon, downhill, freeride, enduro and road disciplines. Not sure what your discipline should do? See point #9

6. Equal Categories & Starts

I’m sure this will be a contentious point, but ideally, offer the same categories for women as you offer for men.

Women are discouraged from participating in an event if they are forced to race against women 2-3x younger or older them themselves. They want to race amongst their peers, and they want to have a choice.

At the very least I would suggest having a juniors category, an open category and a master category in each level of racing. Not sure if this point is relevant to your discipline? See point #9.

Don’t combine women’s classes, either amongst themselves or with other categories, at the event unless you speak to the women first. If there is 100% agreement of participants – great, make a change, if not, respect their choice to start and race against their competitors.

Start the relevant men’s and women’s categories at similar times. Don’t push the women onto their own day, after or before the men’s racing or at other undesirable times. Amateur categories should get the less desirable & attended time slots.

If you expect the event to sell out, reserve a segment of entries for the women’s categories.

7. Figure out the Math

I heard over and over again women were subjected to arbitrary math rules. This applied to everything from equal payout, to qualifying for race heats, to team qualifications to invitational events.

Let me give you some examples.

1. Payout Qualifiers: Some local XC races require the pro women’s class to have 10 participants in order to receive the same payout as the Pro Men’s Class. Two issues with this one…

First, individual categories do not fund their class payouts. Payout for the Pros is funded by the amateur classes, so there is no reason to place an arbitrary requirement on the Women’s Pro Class.

Second, the targets are usually grossly unreasonable. Let’s say a local XC mountain bike race typically gets 5 pro women, on average, registering for the event. The typical attendance would need to DOUBLE for the women to receive full payout. Would any promoter EVER require the Pro Men’s class to DOUBLE their participants from one year to the next before paying out the full prize money? Nope. Never.

2. Qualifying Rates: In some UK collegiate downhill races, only 10 females can qualify compared to 100 men. The low qualifier rate and rules about belonging to teams impacts scoring so that women are typically awarded only a gold medal and no silver or bronze while the men receive medals for all 3 places.

What’s the tip here? Don’t set arbitrary numbers. Figure out the math, look at the historical participation data and the event’s participation goals before setting up the rules.

8. Respectful Announcers

Race announcers should be vetted for professionalism before being handed a mic. Comments about body size, hair color, strip clubs, etc.. have no place at a cycling event in any way shape or form. (You know who you are)

9. Just Ask!

The single most important tip I can offer is this: ASK WOMEN FOR FEEDBACK & INPUT.

If you want to know how to improve your specific event and event experience, ASK THE WOMEN attending, and those who have attended in the past. How was their experience? What could be improved? Why didn’t you come back? Was this change better or worse… ? Would you prefer option 1 or option 2?

Many women have experiences at events that are less than stellar – but they tend to keep it to themselves because no on wants to be a ‘complainer’. But if you seek feedback from the women attending your current & past events, I guarantee they will have advice, suggestions & insight on how to improve the experience.

Small Steps

I have been involved in bike racing on the participant, race promoter, and series promoter level. I have raced grassroot events and local series, as well as many regional and national events. I’ve participated in road races, criteriums, time trials, XC, cyclocross, enduro, short track and endurance events. I’ve seen race promotion from many angles, in many disciplines and I’m often asked the same question, “Why aren’t more women participating?”

I don’t have a concise answer to that question, but I am trying to chip away at the issues contributing to low female participation. I hope this helps.

2020 was a shocker of a year. Heading into the early months of February and March I was feeling dialed and ready to rip the enduro scene. I was fully committed to training & improving my skills over the winter. This excitement quickly turned to disappointment as news of the pandemic broke out and it’s ramifications became clear:

Just When I Was Getting Comfy…

As I settled into enjoying the break from the pressures of racing, training, coaching, & volunteering, life hooked a sharp left and I found myself held hostage at my local hospital – confused, scared, isolated. This was mid May. Here in NJ we were still deep in the initial Covid peak and a hospital was not where I wanted to be.

Riding Isn’t Just Pushed Aside, It’s Not Even On The Table

I’ll keep this part brief, but if you’d like the long-winded version of this experience, you can read it here. I woke up in the middle of the night with a severe stomach ache. I was in the hospital for about a week, where they removed a large cancerous tumor along with a foot and half of intestines from my abdomen. My world shifted so fast and so hard I felt completely dislocated from the ‘me’ that’s always been, I was utterly disoriented, bouncing between exhaustion, rest, stress and utter intense focus to educate myself about gastrointestinal stromal tumors.

The Slow Road Back to Two Wheels

I had 6 weeks of rest waiting for my intestines and abdominal muscles to heal. Unlike any other injury I’d had, the recovery was not a smooth path. Intestines’ are a fickle thing, and it’s not obvious what their status is. I came a hair’s breath from having another surgery.

Along side this recovery I was dealing with an undercurrent of anxiety and the lingering side effects from the chemo drug I’ll be on for the next 3 years – but it’s all manageable. One thing I learned to do over the last 12 months is to take a day – when that emotional turmoil boils up to the surface – take a day – or 2. Take whatever is needed. And here’s the key – there’s no need to feel guilty about it.

Heading into 2021, I’m Keeping My Options Open

I don’t have many expectations for 2021. In terms of cycling, I’m going to continue to improve my fitness, strength & skills on the bike. I’m planning on doing some racing – just not nearly as much as I used to. I’ve got a lot of things on my bucket list and plans to tick them off sooner rather than later.

Cancer-versary

May 16 marks 1 year from my tumor surgery. Last week I had the ‘1 year CT scan’. There is no evidence of any disease. My bloodwork indicates that my liver is handling the imatinib rx without any issues and I’ve graduated from seemingly constant oncology visits to a 3 month period before my next appointment.

Although all of this brings a feeling of relief, it doesn’t fully quell that underlying layer of anxiety – I’m not sure anything will.

In the meantime, I’m going to make the most of my time on and off the bike, because there is no time like the present.

The next couple weeks were focused on recovery and rest. My family took excellent care of me. I’m very careful with my diet – eating only soft foods, soups and lots of smoothies. Friends and family inundate me with flowers and get well cards and I catch up on a lot of movies.

I saw my surgeon in his office. He hinted at cancer but never made a direct statement. The biopsy was supposed to take 5 days, but this tumor isn’t common, so it had been shuffled to different labs for verification before final results were sent back to him. He is pleased with how the incision is healing and approves longer walks and light jogging.

When the surgeon finally calls with the results more than 14 days post-surgery, he tells me it’s a gastro-intestinal stromal tumor (GIST) and lets me know surgery was probably the only treatment needed. I take that to mean it was not cancer. He asks me to see an oncologist to confirm treatment.

I got a recommendation for a gastro-oncologist and head over thinking this is going to be a short and semi-pointless consult. I’m retelling my story, he’s reviewing the reports, and then he looks at me and says, ‘So it looks like your in remission…’ I immediately interrupt and say, ‘Wait, what? Remission? That’s a term you use when talking about cancer’. He can see plain as day I haven’t heard any direct statements, so he pauses and then he patiently restarts from the beginning.

He states that the tumor is cancer.

He defines the type (sarcoma) and explains various details, he answers all my questions until I’m just sitting in quiet disbelief. It’s not a short appointment. My husband is with me and is just as rattled as I feel. We head home and the anxiety floods in. What does this mean?

I dive into researching every last word on every report – the surgical report, the ct reports, the biopsy results. I get genetic testing done, I have a coloscopy & endoscopy, there are more biopsies sent out. I get second and third opinions. I talk to my family and friends. My sister works in a hospital setting and we discuss every last detail of every appointment, every opinion, and every report. She uses her access to scientific research to precure more information. I have more appointments with the oncologist.

Every time I felt like I reached a level of understanding or felt a sense of security with the situation, the next doctor appointment or scan result would rip that footing away and I’d be spinning in a sea of anxiety.

The worst one was a follow up CT scan they did to inspect my other organs for evidence of cancer. I had been told over and over again that there was no evidence that the cancer had metastasized – ie – it had not spread past the one tumor. This scan was simply part of the standard treatment routine. My tumor was medium risk based on how fast it had been growing, and it was stage 2. Stage 2 is good – that’s early – and you know what everyone says, when you catch it early, better outcomes.

The doctor called and told me they found a spot on my liver.

The liver and the lungs are the 2 organs that this type of cancer metastasizes to first. I’d learned that from the doctors and from the internet research I’d done. Now, he also said there’s not need to panic, it could be any number of things, but I’d need an MRI to better view it and determine if it’s part of the cancer.

For the majority of this experience, and up until this point, I had been able to keep a level of hopefulness and positivity going. This news, however, broke me. Suddenly, not seeing my kids graduate high school was a real possibility. I’d miss their birthdays, their milestones. I’d miss seeing them create their own families. Should I pre-write birthday cards for them, and how many? Would getting a birthday card from me after I’m dead make them feel loved or just create unnecessary heartache? The unfairness and randomness of it all was crushing and I absolutely lost it.

The good part of COVID is that with everyone hunkering down at home, I’m able to schedule appointments very quickly. I get the follow up MRI done a couple days later and the doctor calls with results that same day letting me know that the spot on my liver is not part of the cancer.

I’m elated… for the moment.

The roller-coaster of emotions wasn’t limited to just doctor calls, there’s the experience of telling my friends and family it’s cancer. As if this whole situation isn’t stressful enough, waiting for and dealing with their reaction is rough – everyone is initially shocked, which makes sense, but then many seem afraid – afraid of the word, afraid for me or afraid of me – sometimes all three. It’s surreal.

With most people though, we are able to get past that initial awkwardness and get to a real discussion. Talking about it helps me process what’s happening, it helps me solidify my understanding, so I talk a lot.

I’ve never experienced this level of emotional turmoil – the ups & downs were drastic in the first couple months post surgery and I’d have days where I just had to shut off – I couldn’t focus on work for any length of time or accomplish simple household chores. It was just sit in the backyard, toss a ball for my dog or sleep.

I am so grateful to have such incredible people – family & friends – in my life helping me get through all of this. My husband Jason, my sister Debbie – I would have been a disaster without them.

I’m a year out now, and am back to life-as-normal, but there is an undertone of anxiety that lingers. Once in a while it’ll rear back up – a doctors appointment or periodic scan for example. It’s always there, nagging quietly in the back of my mind. I’ve spoken to a lot of cancer survivors who have a similar experience – the anxiety never leaves, but it does fade into the background.

I try and use it as a reminder to appreciate what I have right now and to take action on my bucket list items rather than wait. And if I need a day to tune out, I take it.

Meanwhile, I’m frustrated by how long soft tissue takes to heal.

Some days were good, some days were not. I had to be careful with what I ate, and once in a while my intestines would act up. At one point, about a month after a my surgery, I got that “backed up” stomach ache that started this whole fiasco – it felt like another intestinal blockage.

Off to the urgent care I went for yet another CT scan. They found that my intestines’ were indeed blocked again. The intestines appeared ‘flattened and closed’ at the surgery spot. They could see swelling before the surgery point and deflation after that point – like a balloon pinched closed between your fingers. Sometimes the scar tissue can stick to itself they told me, causing this type of blockage.

They transferred me to the hospital. I did not want to be here. I did not want to go through this again.

My surgeon looked at the films and had everyone wait. Sometimes, he said, if the scar tissue isn’t healed together, this type of blockage can sort itself out with hydration and laxatives. The pain had receded so that was a good sign. They pumped me full of fluids and after a few more hours passed the surgeon stopped by to poke and prod my abdomen. He determined that the blockage had indeed cleared on it’s own and I sent home without any other treatments.

As the days and weeks pass without any other complications, my desire to become more active, specifically to ride my bike, kicked in.

When can I start riding again?

I was happy to be on two wheels, but my body was not right and the idea of training or racing seemed very distant. Despite this, I stayed positive, and approached recovery like any other goal:

• clarify the big-picture,
• figure out the steps to get there,
• focus on 1 step at a time,
• celebrate small achievements &
• accept that this would be a lengthy journey.

I’d ride a few miles feeling great and then my back wheel would slip on gravel or wet rocks and it would feel like I sprained my abs. I avoided riding in any wet conditions whatsoever, and had to avoid technical trails and features (my favorite stuff). I bridged this weakness by getting my dog Odin a sled harness and bungee leash so he could do the pulling when conditions were less than ideal. I also started a home physical therapy routine targeting my abs and cupping for the scar tissue.

Part of my cancer treatment is taking imatinib (gleevec) for at least 3 years.

Returning to Glen Park

In the back of my mind this whole time I’m weighing whether or not returning to racing is a reasonable expectation. I find true happiness on my mountain bike – that feeling of flying through the woods – I love it. I also find great joy in the process of setting, pursing and achieving goals – racing gave me a clear set of targets, but I don’t necessarily need to race to find contentment, so I decide that I’d be okay with not racing anymore if my body just can’t take it.

As the fall of 2020 rolls in, an enduro at Glen Park opens registration. I love Glen Park! But I am pretty far from anything that looks like ‘race shape’. What the hell – it’s a day on my bike at a place I love seeing people I like – that’s more than enough to convince me to sign up.

My teammates & I head to the park the weekend before the race to get some extra time in on the trails. That double that scares the crap out of me? What do I have to lose by going for it? Today, I’m feeling good, tomorrow, I might not. Let’s not wait another day. I clear it.

I have to do it again. And again. [You can watch it here: https://www.facebook.com/1487105181551108/videos/1904567559673805 ]

Mid May, I woke up in the middle of the night with a severe stomach ache. By morning I was in absolute agony. My husband dropped me off at the nearest hospital (Covid rules = no visitors allowed). This first day seemed to go by pretty swiftly, the doctors saw me right away and scheduled an abdominal CT scan. Since I had to drink contrast fluid and wait for it to work through my intestines, there was a couple hours of waiting involved. The doctors had started an IV with pain meds, so I was feeling pretty good at this point – except for the Covid nasal swab – the early version where they had to swipe the back of the sinuses was eye-watering awful. As I waiting and starting to feel better, I remember thinking this is probably going to amount to nothing and I’m wasting everyone’s time.

When the results came back the ER doctor visited and let me know I had an intestinal obstruction and that I’d need to have it surgically removed. Her slightly enlarged eyes and barely concealed pity gave me an uneasy feeling. This feeling compounded when my questions were not answered directly or specifically.

“What’s causing the Obstruction?”
    “Could be any number of things…”
“What will the surgeon be doing exactly?”
    “Depends on how he wants to handle the obstruction… He’ll be able to give you those details when he talks to you, let’s get you admitted”.

Channeling Sarah Conner

On day two I was expecting more information but I really didn’t get much. I flipped between feeling incredibly uneasy, unsure of what was going on and utter boredom.

Various doctors came and went after his visit – a gastroenterologist, a pulmonologist. No one had much info for me. The obstruction could be a collection of debris like seeds, it could be a growth, it could be twisted intestines…

The obstruction was a tumor.

I can’t recall exactly when I saw the surgeon for the first time, but he was direct and clear.

The obstruction was a tumor, a large one – bigger than a baseball. I needed to stay in the hospital instead of waiting for my surgery appointment in the comfort of my home because the tumor could rupture – and that would be BAD.

It would have saved me a metric-ton of worry if any doctor had told me any portion of that information in the ER. But now I understood the ER doctors & nurses shocked look and undertones of pity.

A baseball? Jesus, how can that be?

At 5-8 and 134 lbs, how did I not notice a baseball in my abdomen?

Surgery was the next day.

My 9am appointment kept getting pushed back because the hospital was short staffed thanks to Covid. Eventually it was time. My anxiety peaked when the anesthesiologist asked if I had Crohn’s disease. Why would any medical professional ever make assumptions? “Uh, no. I have a tumor.”

Thank goodness the surgeon was equal parts commanding, confident and compassionate.

I was wheeled into the operating room, staff bustled around. The anesthesia quickly drifted me into sleep.

He had initially thought it had grown out of my mesentery – the web of blood vessels that holds your organs in place – which would have made for a complicated surgery, but instead it sprouted from my jejunum (part of my intestines) which was easier to deal with surgically – he took a foot an a half of my intestines and 4 nearby lymph nodes which all got sent out along with the tumor tissue for biopsy. The tumor had been fed by it’s own 1cm diameter blood vessel that he sealed off. We expected to get the biopsy results back in 5-7 days…

OOF. That was a lot to process in a dissipating drug haze. But I got the message –

– the surgery went well.

At some point I found myself back in my isolated hospital room. My throat ached. I still wasn’t allowed to eat. I felt just as isolated there as I had pre-surgery. The IV in my arm had shifted and bent at some point and was creating a bloated, painful bulge. I called for assistance. 2 agonizing hours later a nurse moved the IV to my other arm.

The delay in nurse response time sent me into a panic when I had a reaction to one of the iv antibiotics in the middle of the night. A few minutes after administering Flagyl, my face flushed, my fingers became tingly and I had severe dizziness. I couldn’t catch my breath. I buzzed for help. It was over an hour before anyone entered my room. My husband called the attending doctor.

Much of the reaction had passed by the time the nurse arrived and she brushed off my concern – I didn’t know at the time it was caused by the antibiotic. She had the doctor prescribe me anti-anxiety meds. I don’t often ask for help, so when I do and I’m not believed, it’s pretty emotionally devastating. My panic turned into red-face anger. I refused to take them.

It’s just before midnight and apparently a bed “just opened up” on a Covid negative recovery floor, so they moved me. This was a much better experience – open doors, the constant soft sound of busy nurses and staff that were just an “excuse me” away.

Like all things in life, the move had it’s tradeoffs.

My roommate couldn’t get herself to the bathroom on her own and frequently relieved her chronic diarrhea at her bedside commode.

In the morning, when the nurse administered the iv antibiotic, the reaction was even faster. I called for help and she came right in – she could see the redness in my face, my shortness of breath, my dizziness. She knew right away what it was and what to do.

It was incredibly reassuring to be believed.

My focus turned to, “What do I need to do to go home?”

A breathing therapist (I have asthma) gave me a blow-tube and exercise instructions to use it for. The nurse asked me to start walking – walking as much as I felt up to. I took these challenges to be my ticket out, so the next day I was rolling my IV stand up and down the hallway & performing the breathing exercise every hour.

I had stopped taking IV pain meds when I had been moved – I’m not a huge fan, and I know the quicker you’re off that stuff, the quicker you can go home.

I graduated to plain oatmeal. When the attending doctor came in, all I could ask him about was what I needed to do to be discharged. He was pleased with the nurse’s report of my activity, but he informed me that I would need to have a bowel movement before I could leave.

Ummm. Say what? I haven’t eaten solid food for nearly a WEEK!

Madison’s Magical Money.

Side note, when my daughter was 2, she swallowed a penny. It took that penny 10 days to travel through her much shorter than an adult’s intestines before it exited her system.

How the hell long would it take for oatmeal to pass through my intestines?! This was not a timeline I was okay with.

By the end of the next day, my continued activity coupled with my powers of persuasion – it could take a week for a meal to pass through my system, my house is just a half mile away, my husband’s promise to return me to the hospital should anything cause concern, and – this is the winning ticket – flatulence, was enough to get approval to get the hell out of there.

Walking into my house never felt so amazing.

Getting picked up from the hospital was a hazy dream. I was so happy to be going home. It was so emotional to see and hug my husband, my kids, my dog. I settled into the couch and slept – truly restorative sleep. It felt like the chapter to this crazy experience was finally wrapping up.

Little did I know we were just getting started.

Fall is my favorite season. Between the astounding colors and cool air it feels like a chapter ending and change in the air.

This has been a strange year – the xc racing burnout that typically arrives in late August hit extra early in mid June, with stifling humidity and unusually high temperatures. Add to that burnout the declining vitality of my parents, their impenetrable façade of strength and energy crumbling away as their mortality races towards them. Any free time I might have between freelance work hours gets gobbled up by thankless hours upon hours of planning, teaching & coaching the Essex Offroad MTB Team, which underwent significant growth. Just when I get fed up with spreading my time too thin, I experience a rare, touching moment of appreciation or an over-heard comment that illuminates a positive impact and strikes me so deeply it feeds the next few hundred volunteer hours and the desire to spread the stoke of more women on bikes. Then there’s the aging of my 2 children, my oldest already in high school – I have a strong compulsion to spend as much time as they’ll put up with before they head out to make their own way in the world. All of these issues are pulling me in different directions.

So it makes sense that the enduro scene has pulled me in and away from xc racing.

The enduro discipline has all the fun of racing, hanging with friends and riding technical trails at mach speed without the pain and misery of redlining every climb relentlessly for 1.5-2 hours. It’s a welcome change of pace that has a much higher happiness to misery ratio.

With enduro races less frequent than xc events, I have more weekends free to visit my parents and irritate my kids with ‘family’ activities. Seems like a win-win all around, so it makes sense that I’ve decided on a Juliana Maverick for my 2020 racing endeavors!

2019 Highlights in Photo Format:

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2019 Race Results:

NJ State Cross County Champion – Pro Women

H2H Series Cross Country Champion – Pro Women

2019 Cross Country

1st – Ringwood Rumble, NJ
1st – Stewart PI Mousetrap, NJ
2nd – Point Peter Pounder, NY
3rd – Lewis Morris,  NJ
4th – Mayhem, NJ

2019 Enduro

1st – MASS Enduro #8 – Glen Park, NJ
2nd – MASS Enduro #2 – Glen Park, NJ
4th – Maxxis ESC Specialized Enduro #10

Across the United States, there are 31 National Interscholastic Cycling Association (NICA) leagues striving to reach a more balanced male to female participation rate. In our own State of New Jersey, we are at a dismal 17%.

I am on a personal mission to change that number, starting with my own NICA team – Essex & Verona Offroad. Last season I set a goal to double our girls squad. There was zero change.

If at first you don’t succeed, try, try again

As disappointing as that was, it did inspire me to take a look at things from a different angle. In the role of Social Media Coordinator for the New Jersey NICA League, I promote the image of the league. What I had been doing was representing our league, AS IT IS NOW. That means I was promoting an image of our league where girls are marginalized.

You can’t ignore the facts

Check out these screenshot from our league IG account during the 2018 – 2019 season, I’ve outlined the pictures of girls in purple:

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It’s pretty consistent that at best only 2 of the 9 images on any given scroll are clearly girls – students or coaches. There are females in the group shots, but they are very difficult to discern.

I also took a look at some of our league and team collateral – and low and behold, the amount of images clearly representing girls was consistent or below our current 17%.

What message do girls and parents perceive when the brochures, flyers, annual reports & social media feeds are flooded with pictures of boys, and every practice is also dominated by boys?

Our league director overhead one prospective female athlete, who clearly enjoyed mountain biking, say she didn’t want to join her local team because she didn’t want to be the only girl.

Stop looking at where we are, and focus on where we want to go

I’ve learned I need to represent the league AS WE WANT IT TO BE – you know, if you build it they will come… or fake it ’till you make it.

Our target audience here is at a turbulent stage of life – 12 – 18 years old. Most girls are in a heightened state of self-consciousness due to the state of their physical, emotional and social development.

It takes a special kind of girl to feel completely at home as the only female, surrounded by boys and men, out in the middle of the woods. Are there girls who are comfortable in this situation – you bet. Is it a majority? No way. For those that are more guarded, the following subtle changes may help them feel welcomed and excited about mountain biking.

How do we say, “Girls, You Are Welcome Here & You’re Going to Have Fun!” ?

Here’s some food for thought – ask yourself the following questions:

• Does your media features girls as much as boys?
• Do you use this phrase: “Now recruiting boys & girls in 6-12th grade…” Why is “girls” always listed 2nd? Can you swap that around so it’s “…recruiting girls & boys…” ?
• If your team has fan clothing, do you offer women’s and girl’s cuts, styles or products?
• Do you regularly ask your female coaches and female students for feedback & ideas?
• Have your asked your male students if they have sisters or cousins they can invite to a “Try It Out” event or practice?

Fingers Crossed

Will these suggestions make any difference? I don’t know. I certainly hope these changes will be adopted by the mountain biking community to create an inviting and encouraging environment for young women.

Comment your ideas below because this is how change is made!