Hello! Happy Monday. If you’re new to Sticks and Stones, welcome and thanks for subscribing. This is the newsletter where I break down what I’m reading every Monday.
It’s beginning to look a lot like December in New Mexico.
Here’s Ted after yesterday’s run ^
Back to business.
What I’m reading
On Running in the City as a Woman: In his much-loved book ‘What I Talk About When I Talk About Running,’ Haruki Murakami completely misunderstands what it means to be a female runner. [Tatum Dooley for Outside]
2018 Is Pro Surfing’s Year of the Woman: Surfers have a tendency to overuse the word legend to the point of meaninglessness, but when it comes to Stephanie Gilmore, there is no better descriptor. [Andrew Lewis for Outside]
Gifts for Them: Because “gifts for her” and “gifts for him” don’t really speak to everyone who loves getting outside. [Amil Reddy for MEC]
Amy Irvine Takes Ed Abbey to Task in ‘Desert Cabal’: What do we do with the work of complicated outdoor men? One new book—released in time for the 50th anniversary of ‘Desert Solitaire’—searches for an answer. [Heather Hansman for Outside]
The Underground Railroad Bike Route Is a Source of History and Hope: There’s the Underground Railroad Bicycle Route, a 2,000-mile journey that roughly parallels its clandestine namesake, which was staffed with abolitionists and traveled by African-Americans who sought freedom from slavery in the early 19th century. This is the trail Daniel White chose to travel—for himself, for his ancestors, and for the next generation. [Shawnté Salabert for Adventure Journal]
A Vindication of the Rights of Women: It’s the unique burden of women athletes that they have to argue for the existence of their sports. [Jen See for Beach Grit]
Ann Bancroft Foundation’s New Director Katie Lauer Wants Girls to Dream Big: She’s only weeks into her role, but Katie Lauer has been preparing for the job much of her life. [Gail Rosenblum for the Star Tribune]
Other reads
“Blood Cries Out” by Sean Patrick Cooper for the Atavist:
On the morning of November 14, in coffee shops and hair salons along Washington Street, people were incredulous. First a farmer’s wife was party to murder, now another one had been shot dead in her bed. This wasn’t the stuff of a quiet, God-fearing town.
