1st Annual Women’s Adventure Scholarship Winner: Bobbi Barbarich
With growing anticipation and excitement for our Second Annual Women’s Adventure Scholarship for the 2021 season, we wanted to highlight the incredible women who were chosen from our first scholarship round. With over 250 women sharing their insights, experiences and motivations as runners, it was deeply humbling and inspiring to read the applications for women all across the globe who have found a great sense of meaning and connection to lacing up their runners and hitting the trails!
One of three Women’s Adventure Scholarship winners was awarded to Bobbi Barbarich from Nelson, British Columbia, joining us for Aspire’s Women Sawtooth Backcountry Trip!
For Bobbi, getting out on the trails has been a beautiful way to “experience the outdoors, and feel gratitude in moving through nature” When speaking of general fears and barriers for women out on the trails, she spoke in depth about the challenges faced when running solo and the differences between female and male experiences on the trails.
“The general belief that women are at risk when they are alone, or without men. That women who do adventure alone or with other women are somehow special or have specific traits that make them more successful than other women and that is the only reason they can adventure alone. That there is space for only a few women adventurers, and they must compete with each other or be better than men in order to be out there. That gear must be specific to women, rather than just good quality gear. That we must look good while using it. That we are constantly expected to be desirable to men, to society, in order to appreciate what our bodies are capable of. We must overcome all these innate perceptions, expectations impressed upon us since birth, before we even put on our shoes”
However, regardless of these barriers, Bobbi has overcome incredible feats in her own running experience.
“Completing an ultra trail race 15 years after a compression fracture and herniated disk. I was told I’d never be able to run again and I felt a strong disconnect from nature for a very long time. I did a lot of other sports, but nothing felt like running. When I finally shed ideas of old injuries and worked to make them a strength, running came back to me and I haven’t looked back. It’s harder than it used to be, but I’m more fulfilled and grateful for what our bodies and minds are capable of doing. I have a new, respectful relationship with myself.”
With Bobbi’s insight, passion, and resilience we want to share her final essay submission from our Adventure Scholarship.
When I was little, I would explore animal trails that snaked up and down the valley around our house in the wilds of northern Alberta. I was an adventurer discovering new lands; comfortable with being lost, confident that the home I built from branches was sturdy.
But as I grew up, I learned that the valley was stalked by murderous bears, that the creek could possibly swell and swallow me whole, and my shelter wouldn’t keep out the rain, much less someone coming to hurt me. I learned I should never be there alone. The wild was no place for a girl.
When I got older, I started running. I ran because someone said I was fat because I was expected not to be what I was because I was supposed to want boys to want me but they couldn’t if I was like this.
I did not run on the trails I knew well, where the grass tickled my ankles and the ground underfoot was soft. I ran on the road where people could see me if I needed help, where my parents could come get me when it was time to do the chores. I ran where I could measure just how far I was going, so I could fit onto a boy’s lap without hurting him.
On one particular day, the road stretched forever in front of me. Heatwaves rippled from the gravel, into the endless blue sky where the raging sun bore into my head. It struck me the road was part of a constructed world. And I realized that running further would not change the reasons why I was running on the road.
So I stopped. And I walked home, but I stayed on the road because I did feel unsafe. I did feel I could not go where I wanted, though I couldn’t remember where that was.
Slowly, I felt for the piece of me that was missing. I started looking for it. I read books about wild adventures that told me this female body was capable of great things. I rode bikes and played roller derby and started my own business and left the man who told me I had become too intimidating for him to love.
I found a river valley in the city with paths that felt impossibly familiar. I started running again, following dirt trails that snaked below city maps. I learned this body I struggled so hard to confine was powerful. It would carry me through dark forests and onto windy peaks. I ventured safely into shady corners on mountainsides. Not only was I okay there, but it where I could grow, unconstructed.
I found the piece that would get lost in the wild, the part of me that would find her own way home, was right where I had been told to leave her. And she was happy I’d come back.
As one of three chosen Adventure Scholarship winner’s Bobbi joined us for our Women’s Sawtooth Backtrouny adventure. Her post-trip report is below:
Running is a nearly universal experience. Whether it was playing tag in elementary school, knocking out 5km for a charity or chasing after the bus this morning, most of us have run at least a few steps in our lives.
This universality is also why running makes a good metaphor: many people have some familiarity with what it feels like to run, whether or not they like it. I completed the Sawtooth Backcountry Women’s Retreat with Aspire as the culmination of a year of pushing through mental and medical barriers. Fittingly, Sawtooth was rife with metaphorical opportunities. Here are my top three musings from a long, challenging and totally gratifying journey:
We’re all in this together. I consider running a solitary endeavor and it indulges my introverted insecurities. Alone, I cannot compare my perceived weaknesses to others. Although I signed up for a group running trip with Aspire, I did so to feel comfortable in a new landscape, without the obligation of running with others.
However, a few days prior to the trip Abram sent us a message: the trail would be snow-covered and to stay safe, we would need to stay together. Alarm bells screamed through my head. I would frantically try to keep up, then I’d bonk, and everyone would be annoyed with me.
Instead, our guide gave us the lead and together, we settled into a pace to manage the challenging terrain. We commiserated together through miles of frozen post-hole footsteps from a previous hiker and skidded down an icy luge a dirt bike had left on the trail. Many times I swore as I caught myself from falling on my butt. Yet in hearing others’ near misses, I realized this was as difficult for them as it was for me. And somehow, that made it better. Had I been alone, I would have thrown down my poles in a tantrum and walked out of there. Instead, after a comical eternity, we were back on dirt and elated, laughing at what a disaster we’d just ran through.
One step at a time. There’s no greater truth while running long distances. You can stand still and stay where you are, or you can take one more step and get a little closer to where you’re going. Because of the snow, we rerouted to another trail and had planned on a shuttle to get back to camp. Later during the day, we opted to cancel the shuttle and just run back to camp. We weren’t sure how far from camp we were, but it seemed close
The road descended out of the subalpine for not two or three, but seven unexpected miles. This was the furthest several of us had ever run, and without the comfort of camp in sight, we’d have to keep running. My legs were rubber and the naysayers in my head yelled at me to stop. But as the sun disappeared behind the mountain, cool shadow drifted over my shoulders, and we kept moving. The world suddenly felt very simple. I could keep running, or I could stay right where I was. I could push through this challenge, or give up and have someone come save me. Without a word, we chose to keep moving. And eventually, inevitably, we returned to camp. Cheers from the crew, copious salty snacks and a warm fire greeted us. I was exhausted, but with an unexpected confidence in what my body was capable of doing. I’d run the furthest of my life simply by taking another step.
Where there’s pain, there’s growth. The first time I ever went running, I managed to go about 200 metres. It was the longest I had ever run at once. And it hurt like hell. I was crying and sweating and full of agony. I had wanted to run beyond the horizon, so I vowed to keep running those 200 until I could run 400. Then it was a mile. When I ran my first marathon, I almost didn’t toe the line because that would be the furthest ever. Four kilometres from the finish line, when I could barely muster the next step, a woman near me kept repeating, “Anyone can run 4km.” I knew I could do that, so I did. Running my first ultra, I thought I would die after a bad reaction to caffeine and poor nutrition. But I somehow made it and now I was running in the Backcountry of the Sawtooth mountains. In every pain cave is an opportunity to get stronger.
My weekend at the Sawtooth Women’s Retreat was the furthest I’d ever run, with people I’d never met and beyond any comfort level, I’d encountered. I’m more comfortable and confident with discomfort… And the journey is just getting started.
With applications for our Second Annual Women’s Adventure Scholarship open, we’d love to hear from you! Head on over to ____ to apply!!