Whenever I go to trade shows or industry events, I’m shocked at how solidly, stubbornly pink the women’s outdoor gear options are, even gear for truly extreme sports. Women’s gear often lacks features that are available for men—and for some sports, equipment isn’t available in women’s sizes at all.

On Saturday, not for the first time, my dad offers to buy me a gun. I’m still in my running gear, sitting on my bed, certain I’m leaving sweaty ass-prints on my good quilt, but I’ve got no choice. I have to sit here, crammed against the wall’s one outlet because my phone can’t hold a charge, and I have to call him. He’s my dad, and I want him to make me feel better.

I have always respectfully admired runners. I respect them for their self-discipline and for their commitment to exercise. As a former lacrosse player, I respected the cross-country team because their sport was my sport’s punishment, and always thought of their competitions as organized events designed to see who could hurt the fastest. I hate running. When I entered high school, my mother grew tired of driving me and decided it was time I started walking…

Lydia Davis recently won this year's Man Booker International Prize, and a pavement-born wave of clammy guilt and embarrassment washed over me because I wasn’t familiar with her works. I bookmarked a few of her pieces published on various literary journal websites to add to the ever-growing and overgrowing list of essays, poems, and short stories that I hoard. The act of adding another work to the list makes me feel productive, comfortable, and…