by Julie Moss
My legacy has nothing to do with making money or winning a bunch of races. It has to do with being part of a priceless, empowering moment when I did not quit, when I finished. It also has to do with learning the hard way how not to trip over my own achievements. What I would have given for a mentor, someone who saw the greater potential! I badly needed an older, wiser woman to say, “You’ve had a very special moment. This is not something that just comes along,” and then work with me to draw it out, define it, express it through what I said, how I lived, and how I presented myself. That’s why it took me so long to green-light this book. The process of fully owning the moment has taken time. I needed to manifest and share my inner Wonder Woman before I felt comfortable telling my story. Every time I talk to a young girl or woman, I remember how no one was really there for me. I’m right there for the next generations.
Our girl power shows up in different shapes and forms. Two manifestations for me were in how I learned to view pain, and how I dealt with the men in triathlon. I have a theory as to why women run nearly the same times as men in endurance sports events: we tolerate pain better. And we focus better when in pain. It also happens to be well-documented scientific fact. We’ve been engineered accordingly too. We have babies. We go through labor. We tend not to lash out when someone or something hurts us, but to process the pain and (hopefully) emerge stronger. We endure and tolerate a lot—at times, more than we should.
I figured this out after giving birth to my son, Mats, in 1994. He was my only child, my only birthing experience, but the kid gave me my money’s worth! He just needed to get outside—the story of his life.
During labor, I called the nurse and asked, “The doctor just told me I’m dilated six centimeters . . . how much more do I need?”
“About four centimeters,” she said.
“How long does that take?”
“About four hours or so.”
“Well, I can jog a marathon in four hours and handle that.”
So, I equated the pain of those final four hours with the marathon’s final miles, which made it easier to handle. We all have our ways.
As an athlete, I know that the best way to work through pain is to surrender to it. When we can surrender, the power that pain holds over us diminishes. At first, I didn’t understand how to surrender. I thought I could choke off or somehow bargain with pain. Pain laughs at that approach, and then sends you a few extra spasms for the hell of it. And it can be hell!
I first made the connection between pain and surrender during a really deep tissue massage. Know how we tend to tense up when massage therapists hit our sore spots? That’s the exact opposite of what we’re supposed to do. So I thought, what if I just give in to this, surrender to the massage? Is it going to kill me? No! As I tried to give in, I breathed deeper, my muscles relaxed, and it worked. I’ve since trained myself to go into that place in the latter stages of an Ironman or a Half Ironman.
In Spring 2016, when I was trying to become the oldest female certified lifeguard in California, we worked all week with a big south swell, which greatly increased surf size and created a swift south-to-north ocean current. I didn’t want to telegraph that our back-to-back days were taking their toll on me and I was wiped out. Funny thing was, the younger trainees didn’t think twice about voicing their complaints; I may have been the only one not whining. During the “mega vitamin,” the only endurance event of our training (400-meter swim, 5-mile run, 400-meter swim), I exited the first swim with my heart rate spiking, not where you want it when starting a five-mile run. To bring my heart rate down, I focused on my breathing. Four breaths in . . . four breaths out . . . smile. I got so zoned out that I didn’t realize I’d won the women’s race.
Breath is a central key to our power. We have to inhale to feed oxygen to our bodies, to live. It’s automatic. But we tend to rush our exhalations, or be shallow with them. Slow, deep exhalations solve that. They are like a basic sitting meditation technique or a moving meditation. If you can stay in that space, and breathe through the pain and discomfort, or tension or stress, you can move for what seems like forever, and do it smoothly. Some also call this sweet, gentle, and euphoric place “the zone” or “runner’s high.” It’s a powerful place, because we feel limitless, free, and invincible. No fences, no boundaries, no walls. It is our appointment with our freest, most liberated, most powerful self.
Going through pain doesn’t mean the fear of it disappears. I think of the biggest pain moments I’ve had, and yes, I fear going back there. What if I don’t want to go there in a race—but have to in order to achieve my goal? What if I don’t want to revisit the pain and discomfort required to come from behind, or to add thirty minutes to my toughest brick workout?
I’ve learned to work out the pain piece privately, building my calluses without people watching. The idea of others watching me through such a challenge is claustrophobic. How will they view me? That’s why, for years, I avoided the California Ironman 70.3 Oceanside, a wonderful race next to my hometown. When I raced in Japan, France, or Australia, it was no big deal—the spectators knew me as a foreign triathlete. In Oceanside, people know me personally, some for decades, and I feel the pressure of performing for them, of finding that next gear. In 2016, I decided to run the race but to take a different approach: I entered underprepared, with no expectations. I thoroughly enjoyed the “Hey Julie!” and “Go girl!” shout-outs from spectators. What a heartwarming experience. Hometown fans always give you the sweetest love on the course . . . I just needed to realize that.
I’ve also learned another vital component of expressing girl power: how to navigate male-dominated arenas, surfing and racing being two of them. For better or worse, some women pin their attention and focus on their men, often subjugating their dreams and visions. I fell into that trap as a young woman, whether it was with Reed in 1982 or other situations. Since then, I’ve learned to straddle the fence between strident independence in my own life, and being a loving, supportive partner in a relationship.
At first, women athletes of my generation struggled for respect from men. It was like climbing up a sheer rock face with bare hands and feet. Triathlon, the first significant post–Title IX sport to emerge (snowboarding was the second), was different: it treated women and men equally from day one, from distances to (eventually) prize money. “I am fairly certain we were the first national governing body to promote equality for men and women,” Sally Edwards said during the fortieth anniversary of the Mission Bay Triathlon, the sport’s debut. “A sanctioned race by Tri-Fed would have no gender discrimination. That set the standard that men and women were equal in sports. It’s a landmark moment for a sport’s organization in the early 1980s to come out with the fact that we would be promoting gender equality.”
Girl power has produced some parity all along. In 1979, the second year of the Ironman, twelve people completed the race. Among those was fifth-place Lyn Lemaire. In 1988, Paula Newby-Fraser obliterated the women’s course record at Ironman with a performance that would have won the first five Ironmans outright! Let’s not forget ultramarathon running legends Ann Trason and Pam Reed, who beat women and men alike in events from the Western States 100 (miles) to the Badwater 135, or Diana Nyad, the Wide World of Sports commentator during my big race and, in 2013, the only human to swim from Cuba to Florida without a shark cage. Know that Beatles song “When I’m Sixty-Four?” Well, that’s what Diana did!
I had a much different experience with men while surfing—or, should I say, trying to talk my way into waves while dealing with their insensitive comments. I didn’t know the word “misogyny,” but in the lineup, I battled it firsthand. I remember thinking, “These guys are so full of shit.” No subject seemed to be off limits: recent conquests, true-or-false, explicit details, and all. I thought, “Why would any girl want to subject herself to this?” Be invisible, I told myself.
Later, this school of hard knocks served my launches and landings into lifeguarding and triathlon really well. From
my surfing experiences, I learned how to hold onto my own power, my essential truth, while navigating the comments, egos, and moments of aggression that happened in just about every surf session. My #MeToo moments came in the seemingly benign form of crude surf session chatter, very real and impactful, though not of the devastating caliber other women have faced for decades in the workplace.
“One of the things I love most about Julie is her willingness to get out there and surf, be one of us,” Jim Watson says. “I remember in 1981 or 1982, my friends Steve McKellar, Paul Buckner, and I took Julie up to Trestles [a top-notch surf spot about twenty miles north of Carlsbad, near the resort town of San Clemente]. She fit right in—with the conversations, the jokes, catching waves, the way we got on each other. She gave as well as she took, which made her stand out . . . and one thing Julie will never tell you, but I will, is that she was a good surfer. Still is.”
Now for a reality check, focusing on the responsibility and accountability of owning our power. Early on, if I’d truly earned my spot in the lineup by surfing well, I would’ve gotten more waves. There’s a scene in the 2002 movie Blue Crush in which Anne Marie, played by Kate Bosworth, refuses to catch a wave. In the ocean, you have to earn respect. That’s when other surfers will help you get waves. There are always respectful guys who will do that. But invariably, I would get into a perfect spot, take off, drop in—and blow it. Blow it once, and that can be it for awhile. If you ride the wave and make a statement, you’ll get another wave. You’ll blend into the pack. If not, then it’s time to start improving.
I’m often asked, “When do I know I’m operating from my personal power? When do I feel my inner Wonder Woman?”
When something connects with my heart, I’m on my way. I crave those heart-connecting moments in competition now. I used to concentrate on blowing the public’s mind again and again. In retrospect, that is eye candy, window dressing, a big tease compared to the greater depth, taking my sport and its people into my heart. Living and anchoring into my power honors that authentic place I discovered when I was twenty-three. I always want to live from that place of authenticity and vulnerability, reaching out, helping others, putting them ahead of myself . . . paying it forward. I always want to seize my moments when they present themselves.
I think of the Wonder Women in my life today. My best friend and college roomie, Lisette Whitaker, is one. The owner of Lionheart Coaching and Counseling (the name of her business says a lot), Lisette operates within her deeper authenticity and sense of purpose. She does so by helping other people—including me, more times than I can count. How do you celebrate with a girl like Lisette? Well, in April, we celebrated her sixtieth birthday by running the Paris Marathon! Another friend, Diana Kutlow, recently experienced the job interviewing process at age fifty-nine. Not easy. However, she bucked up and landed a position with Hands of Peace as director of development. Their mission is to create dialogue among Palestinians, Israelis, and Americans to pursue peace and freedom. They bring the groups together for two-week camps, one in Israel, one in the U.S. How amazing would it be to illuminate and empower the children of a feud stretching back thousands of years, to raise their voices as leaders of change?
Then there are my two closest childhood friends, Cindy Conner and Sue Robison, both sterling examples of powerful women doing great things to empower others. Cindy recently retired from thirty years as a law enforcement officer and mentor to countless other officers—not to mention running upward of fifty half marathons in her spare time. In January 2018, she was injured in a horrendous accident, requiring months of hospitalization and rehab before walking again—but she’s coming back to hopefully run and ski again. She knows no other way. Sue has started girls (and boys) on their paths to inner and outer strength as a primary school teacher for thirty-plus years. Sue, Cindy, Diana, and Lisette shine in their empowered selves every day of their lives.
I am also reminded of Dr. Tricia DeLaMora, an Ironman qualifier I met at Dig Me Beach in Kona in 2017. During the bike portion in the Ironman Santa Rosa, her eleventh career Ironman competition, Tricia stopped to administer CPR to a competitor who collapsed, saving the athlete’s life.
When I first heard this story, I assumed Tricia dropped out, and the Ironman World Championship wanted to honor her sacrifice with an entry. She did receive that Ambassador Athlete entry directly from Ironman race announcer Mike Reilly.
“So you had to end your race . . . ,” I said.
She had a surprise for me. “No, no, I got to finish. Once I knew he was safe, I got to finish.”
What a Wonder Woman!
CHAPTER 9
Riding the Wave: The Rise of Endurance Sports
We paddled out to catch some waves. My friends Robin, Cindy, and Emily joined me, surrounded by the Carlsbad surf community, a mixture of men and boys, “soul surfers” who took a natural, almost nativist approach to the lifestyle. Some caught their waves and headed to work with soaked hair and big smiles. We kids, all eager grommet shredders (aggressive novices), learned our lessons, some on a very large stage.
By 1985, when pro surfing was as much on the rise as triathlon, two of the Association of Surfing Professionals (ASP) World Tour’s Top 16 and seven of the Professional Surfing Association of America’s (PSAA) Top 20 hailed from Carlsbad. So did innovative event producer and dear friend Jim Watson, director of the Stubbies Pro International Surfing Tournament. Jimmy also played a small role in the development of triathlon. Jimmy worked with my agent/manager, Murphy Reinschreiber, and producer Denis White to hold the 1986 Nike Triterium, a protourban circuit race in Oceanside, where the California Ironman 70.3 is now contested.
One of the two ASP stars, six-time Top 16 finisher Joey Buran, had something in common with me: he made his signature career statement in Hawaii, in his case winning the 1984 Pipeline Masters. Then he founded the PSAA, giving career opportunities to hundreds of young pros. Often the toughness and tenacity of the Carlsbad crew made the difference in close heats, and they developed an international reputation for winning.
When I look at Carlsbad during my coming-of-age years through an historic prism, I see an amazing convergence of personalities and energies. Carlsbad housed the only Top 16 world pros in the mainland U.S., Joey Buran and David Barr. Local newspaper editor Steve Hawk’s kid brother, Tony, was doing things on a skateboard as an eight-year-old that people had never seen. Jim Watson; my coauthor, Robert Yehling; and others were turning surf contests into well-oiled, well-promoted events, and teaching surfers how to be professional athletes. At my alma mater, Carlsbad High, the football program was cranking out performers like future NFL stars Glen Kozlowski, who won a Super Bowl ring with the mighty 1985 Chicago Bears, and Ted Johnson, who played ten seasons with New England before becoming “ground zero” that triggered the NFL concussion issue, after Sports Illustrated documented his battle with football-related early-onset dementia a decade ago. In the high jump arena, Cindy Gilbert was winding down her Olympic career (she currently coaches the event at Carlsbad High), and Sue McNeal was winding hers up. And I was not the only woman in town getting people off the couch to exercise. Downtown in the old Mayfair Market, Judi Sheppard Missett was revolutionizing movement to music with Jazzercise, and she and husband, Jack, were beginning to fan out their thousands of franchises.
“I don’t know if there was something in the water during that time, but it was pretty amazing,” Jim Watson recalled. “I like to think it was a bunch of us who were raised to work hard and do something with ourselves, and then we saw these opportunities and we acted. We didn’t feel like we had a lot of limits or rules, either, which I think is very, very important to how everything took off.”
We all grow up with local heroes. None was bigger for me than Barbie Baron, the owner of Offshore Surf Shop, the community surf gathering spot. Barbie was a top pro in the 1970s and a sharp businesswoman who, with her Offshore partner Scot Tammen, groomed three generations of Carlsbad locals while selling them boards, accessories, an
d clothing. She was like the den mother, giving direction and guidance to waterlogged kids like me with love for who we were, who she saw us becoming, and her contagious “surf stoke.” She prodded more than a few indecisive young phenoms to enter surf competitions and change their lives. This woman has lived a long-empowered life, a true Wonder Woman.
I got to know Barbie better while working at Novak’s (now Harbor Fish Café). We served up the “bomber sauce” created by Mr. Novak, who had come out of retirement to run the kitchen. Any Carlsbad local over forty-five probably still carries that taste in their memory. It drew in hungry surfers and visitors like honey to a swarm of starving bees. My friend Sue Robison, like me a big Novak’s fan, has come closest to replicating the original (and still secret) sauce.
Several years ago, Barbie decided to run a few triathlons around her fiftieth birthday. After not being in touch for years, we reconnected over her training program. Now, I was the mentor and she the protégé. What a great way to pay someone back! More recently, we shared stories at her fabulous retirement party. I still idolize her.
I’ve also had the honor of surfing with another legend, Linda Benson, the first woman to ride the thunderous twenty- to thirty-footers of Oahu’s Waimea Bay. Linda was the living embodiment and stunt double of Gidget, the classic California beach movie series, which starred Sandra Dee and, later, Sally Field. Linda was a multiple U.S. and West Coast champion in the 1960s and the inspiration for countless younger surfers. When we paddled out near my Cardiff home, I was amazed at how well this woman moved after fifty-five-plus years of surfing. She grew especially excited when the bigger set waves arrived too! She maneuvered her big board without wearing a wetsuit. My kind of girl.
