When I was a young girl, people often mistook me for a boy, with my lanky limbs and Howdy Doody freckled face. I think that, definingly, is what set me on the eternal search for glamour, the fear of being butch. From a very young age, pants have made me cry, and athletic wear has sunk my soul into repulsed numbness.	Not that I would have had any athletic prowess anyway-- that deep field perception thing, linked with a unusual lack of correspondence between the hand and the eye. So I was filled with daily horror for years, as the terrible hour loomed when we all trooped into the tiled, fluorescent room in the basement to exchange our frocks for sweaty, clompy gear, and subject ourselves to the neo-Fascist domination of the gym teacher. Later, I traded basement locker rooms for dorm rooms, and got to wear cute little plaid skirts for matches, but the sight of a 6-foot tall woman bearing down on you with a hockey stick/lacrosse stick/tennis racket with her thin lips distorted by the clear rubber mouthgard, somehow failed to acheive my feminine ideal.	In college, I finally hearkened to the notion that there is a whole class of sports which are designed for people who like to wear, indeed are supposed to wear, fancy clothes. Lawn sports. My Alma Mater prides itself on its championship croquet team, and all the girls are in love with the Imperial Wicket. Annual croquet matches with the Navy are formal events, with champagne and strawberries, waltzing couples, the Middies in dress whites, lovely spring frocks outed for their seasonal premieres. In my day, the Laura Ashley outlet used to get stripped bare the week before The Big Game.   cute story on the Big Game 10.5 min; thanks NPR!
	But croquet in these decadent times is a drinking game, and not ultimately of direct benefit to one's health. The croquet matches in which I was a participant uniformly ended in a sort of lawn-rolling debauchery, with everyone sprawled out comfortably drunk, idly whacking odd things with the mallets. Natty Bo for the Saturday afternoon matches, champagne for the Sunday morning matches. When I returned west, level playing fields became a bit of a problem, and though there were a few particularly memorable high-altitude matches, competitive croquet became a thing of the past.
Years passed, and as I mature, the desire for regular exercise becomes strong, a wish to keep myself slim and supple, so as to flatteringly fill out the fabulous frocks which are pillar of my wardrobe. All the hated athletic wear has slowly vanished from my bureau. I hail from a techno-jock world capitol, and I know that image is extremely important for athletes. I also know that taking the Patagonia high-jock fashion was a weenie way out, and to wear the serious tech wear, you were expected to live up to your clothes and be hardbodied and obsessed.		No thanks, sez I. No pain, no pain. I don't intend to sweat while exercising, so there's nothing left but to be my glamorous self always, and tone down the physical aspect accordingly.
	High Fashion Fitness:
biking I mostly go bike riding in a miniskirt, but you have to be careful when you turn corners not to let your legs hang apart. In autumn I ride in long skirts, which is all right if you carefully drape the hem over an arm and grasp it. Long tight skirts are out, though. Mountain biking in heels has the advantage that you can grip the pedal with the wedge.	walking This is walking rather than hiking. I have been walking deep in the woods more than once in strappy sandals or mules, and one of a number of all cotton minidresses( in pastels; fresh and sporty!). Hiking in the desert, I wear very light linen collarless shirts over a camisole and a large straw chapeau to protect my fair skin. Big sunglasses, Clinique SPF 15 lipstick.	canoeing With canoeing, I like to wear rather long, flowing dresses, so I can pretend I am some romantic late-19th century heroine. Rivers make me feel very epic. If you don't like to get your hems wet, or if you like to jump out of the canoe, then you can go the tropical goddess route, ie bathing suit and sarong. Thongs or high-end Tevas (in the earth tones) are called for-- make sure you have a nice pedicure.
bungee jumping In my checkered youth I was emplyed as a test jumper for some Kiwis running a covert operation out of Felt, Idaho. While I have jumped in a black velvet backless evening gown, I do not generally recommend jumping in anything but very tight skirts, since they do flare out while you are upside down. Never jumped with a harness, though-- I suppose with those you could wear almost anything above the knee. For shoes, anything that fastens securly to your feet is fine. I usually wore little pointy grandma boots.	badminton Long frocks are a must-- they don't reveal any immodest bits when you reach to whack the birdie, and they swish attractively when you scamper around the court. Very attractive. If you have anything linen, that's especially lovely and light for lawnsports like this. You can wear a big hat, but it might get skewed- better to tie your hair back with a big ribbon or pretty clip. I generally wear espadrilles or strappy sandals, if I wear shoes at all.	swimming This is the best-- the variety of cute swimsuits is endless. I go to the cripple swimming class at the rehab center, which is mostly old ladies who know what it means to remain feminine in all situations. These women come into the pool perfectly coiffed and made up, and rotate their suits out according to the day and the season. The younger ladies keep their long hair dry with elegant clips. Everyone wears earrings and white tennis shoes (pool rules on the footwear). It's very elegant, as the morning light slants out over the pool, to see all the lovely old ladies bending and swaying in unison, like some sort of geriatric Esther Williams vision come alive.
Ironically, in midst of seeking a high fashion fitness lifestyle, I have become an outdoor-activity guru. I find myself in the position of advising people on bass fishing, elk hunting, bag limits, and accessible duck blinds. I tell people where to go on their week-long pack trip, help choose routes for long distance bike adventures, reserve campsites, and offer practical information on sport climbing routes. But mostly hunters seek me out. These men want to hunt elk/ deer/ sheep/ antelope with a bow, a rifle, a shotgun.They want to poison coyotes, waste bunnies with a handgun, trap weasels or marmot or otters. They want to shoot their limit on geese, ducks, quail, pheasant, grouse, sage hen, chuckar. So I dispense advice to them on licenses, permits, land use restrictions, seasons, drawings, and limits.		And I think about what they are going to be wearing in the woods....safety orange cammo. Euuuw. Those outfits are the tackiest, especially when the vests are worn over heavy coveralls, with a nasty greasy old hat. I know about these things. Those old men just can't figure why theirs is the last generation to be able to skin and gut a large mammal in the snow, after felling it with a single shot. I could tell them, if they ever bothered to asked me that: style is sadly lacking from this particular sport.
	I do envision a day when High Fashion Fitness has reached the world of hunting-- what a day that will be when the standard for duck hunting is a sleek black ventilated poly suit, when you can get cute day-glo Thinsulate numbers for the deep snow elk hunting, and dramatic dark rich robes for killing varmints. All wash and wear high tech fabrics, for easy good looks. As I am the cyber-guru for hunters, I will bend my will to bring it about, and mark my words:when hunting involves cute outfits, the world will go hunting. How much do you love me?