SANDI
is out of her comfort zone
Ever determined not to give up on life and adventure, last year, I became both a grandparent and took up motorcycling. I’m nearly 60 and not entirely mad, so I went on a proper course (for the motorcycling not the grandparenting), passed and bought a bright red bike and helmet.
Not immune to the lure of fashion, I also bought a rather nice jacket, trousers and gloves. In the shop, it made a rather pleasing black ensemble. Something Diana Rigg might have worn in The Avengers. Next morning, I dressed with some excitement in my full hell-raising gear. I looked in the mirror. I don’t know what had happened to the clothes overnight in my cupboard. They had inexplicably lost all their dazzle. Instead of the feminine version of James Dean I was expecting, I looked like a garden gnome dressed for a laugh at a party.
I set off on my bike and within one day of riding around London, I realised without a shadow of a doubt that I didn’t dislike motorcycling – I hated it. It was terrifying. I had fondly imagined that I would scoot about town, roaring to my next appointment with swagger and flair. Instead, I arrived sweating and out of breath, hands paralysed from gripping the handles, and usually shaking from a less-than-friendly encounter with a bus, a taxi, or once, a spectacularly bold cat who refused to give way. Taking my protective clothing off took for ever and by the time I had regained my composure the meeting was usually over. I lasted a month before I gave the bike to the Women’s Equality Party to sell at a fundraiser.
The experience left me a little depressed. I began to worry that my days of daring were over. There are so many women from the past who were risk takers and I had rather imagined that I had the courage to follow in their footsteps. Women like Annie Edson Taylor, who, in 1901, became the first person to survive going over Niagara Falls in a barrel. I have no idea why anyone would think this was a good idea in the first place, but I love Annie for succeeding. I think we have some inbuilt notion that taller, stronger people are better at risk-taking, but history reminds us otherwise. Look at Georgia (Tiny) Broadwick, who was my height (5ft) but a giant in aviation. Tiny began her career parachuting out of hot air balloons, and in 1913, became the first woman to jump from an aeroplane. She was the first person in the world to do a free-fall parachute jump. I don’t get on a plane unless there is a movie showing and certainly don’t ever plan to jump out of one, but I do love her courage. What if I couldn’t follow in her footsteps? What if I had become the grandmother without guts?
I had a brief low moment and then I read some marvellous research by scientists at Exeter University and Melbourne University in Australia, which explained that women dare all the time, we just don’t call it that. Risk has always been measured in a macho way, which is either physical or financial. How likely is the activity to end your life or cost you money? This means we overlook the fact that women constantly get out of their comfort zones. So many of us challenge sexism on a daily basis, stand up for our friends at awkward times, and women are far more likely to donate a kidney to a family member. I know so many great women who show courage every day. You don’t have to cross the Grand Canyon on a tightrope to prove your worth. I met an Icelandic woman called Halla Tómasdóttir. From 2008 to 2011, while billions were being lost on the sub-prime market, she steered her financial services company, Ardur Capital, through the crisis without losing any money. How did she do it? ‘I didn’t invest in anything I didn’t understand,’ she said. That’s courage. Taking a risk on your own good sense.
I may not be motorcycling any more, but I have started making soufflés. Do you have any idea how much nerve you need to not open the oven door before they are ready? I wonder if there is a nice outfit I could buy to wear while I’m waiting?
looked like a garden gnome dressed for a laugh