Strong Like Her: A Celebration of Rule Breakers, History Makers, and Unstoppable Athletes

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To strong women everywhere

You’ve always had the power.

—GLINDA THE GOOD WITCH

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

1. THE ORIGINAL WARRIORS:

Ancient Depictions of Strength

2. THE OUTLIERS:

Victorian-Era Women Who Walked on the Wild Side

3. SINK OR SWIM:

Strength as a Means of Survival

4. THE SANDWINA EFFECT:

Strongwomen, the Circus, and Suffrage

5. BEACH BABES:

Pudgy Stockton and the Crowd-Pleasing Ladies of Muscle Beach

6. UNLADYLIKE:

When a Babe Is Not Considered a Babe

7. BREAKING INTO THE BOYS’ CLUB:

Running toward Opportunity

8. A WOMAN’S PLACE IS IN THE WEIGHT ROOM:

The Rise of Strength Sports in the ’70s

9. A BUILT BODY:

When Muscles Are Required to Shine

10. FORM FOLLOWS FUNCTION:

How Body Expectations Are Born

11. THE POWER WITHIN:

How Outer Strength Breeds Inner Confidence

12. STRONG(H)ER THAN YESTERDAY:

The Modern Athlete and the Fight for Equality

AFTERWORD

Acknowledgments

Athlete Bios

About the Author

Notes

Historical Photo Credits

Portrait Credits

STEPHANIE PHAM

MARTIAL ARTIST

When everyone is against you, what do you do? Do you succumb to that or fight through?

INTRODUCTION

A few years ago, I decided to compete in a bodybuilding show. My goal was not to become a professional but to challenge myself in something new. I trained for the physical aspects, yes—seeing how I could transform my body with consistent effort fascinated me. But I took it up for the mental challenge, too. I’m happiest when I’m learning new things and seeing how far I can push the boundaries of my mind—which in bodybuilding also happens to be inextricably linked to the body, given that you have to stay incredibly focused to get through all the workouts, strict meal timings, and unending gallons of water. Even mindfulness comes into play when you’re lifting, to make sure you’re engaging the muscles you’re intending to target.

I learned a lot through the experience, about discipline, consistency, and what one ounce of almonds looks like. I also learned that even today, people have certain ideas about how women should look, and when you step outside those bounds—particularly on purpose—it invites commentary.

It surprised me, although maybe it shouldn’t have. I’d started lifting heavy weights about two years before, and I distinctly remember walking into my gym the first day and seeing a woman with broad shoulders. She was very strong and very nice, and I was very sure I never wanted to look like her. It wasn’t until I realized how powerful I felt slinging around a barbell that I began to let go of my preconceived ideas about my body’s appearance.

IT CAN TAKE TIME TO deprogram a lifetime’s worth of messaging. I was born when Jane Fonda’s workout videos were booming in popularity. Spandex and step aerobics reigned, and in the era following Title IX, a civil rights law that banned discrimination in educational programs, girls were encouraged to play sports—or at least not overtly discouraged from it. I tried my hand (and feet) at lots of different things—ballet, gymnastics, soccer, track, swimming—before settling into basketball as my main sport. I spent hours at practice, and in that time, I worked to be more agile, smarter, more flexible, faster, more coordinated, and even smaller. Aside from some fleeting frustration in elementary school when I couldn’t do a pull-up, I didn’t spend much time thinking about strength. It never really occurred to me to be stronger.

To be fair, strength was not a common goal for girls when I was young. A 1985 quote from film critic Roger Ebert articulates the bias that I had probably internalized. At first sight, there is something disturbing about a woman with massive muscles, he wrote in reference to Pumping Iron II, a movie about women’s bodybuilding. She is not merely androgynous, a combination of the sexes like an Audrey Hepburn or a Mick Jagger, but more like a man with a woman’s face. We are so trained to equate muscles with men, softness and a slight build with women, that it seems nature has made a mistake.

Since then, the world has changed, and I have changed along with it. My weight today would horrify my eighteen-year-old self, and my arms are no longer the toothpicks I once prized. And yet I’ve learned the numbers on the scale are just one aspect of my life. It turns out I’m more motivated by the number I can deadlift.

Discovering the benefits of throwing around weights much heftier than eight-pound dumbbells has been life-changing, and I’m certainly not the only one to feel this way. Scroll through social media or peek inside a gym, and you’re bound to spot women who are getting strong and loving it.

I thought lifting was so cool from the first time I saw it, says professional strongwoman competitor Kristin Rhodes. I was born to pick up anything heavy.

I was born to pick up anything heavy. When in history is that a sentence that could have been reasonably uttered by a woman? Maybe Katie Sandwina said it. She was a beloved circus performer who could lift a 600-pound cannon and bend iron bars. Or perhaps Pudgy Stockton said it. The Queen of Muscle Beach dazzled crowds in the 1940s by holding her husband in a handstand over her head, a feat she performed with curled hair and the curves that were popular in her day (yet make no mistake, Pudgy was jacked).

Stockton and others paved the way for the likes of Jan Todd, who set more than sixty national and world records in powerlifting; for Misty Copeland, whose muscular frame broke the mold of what a ballerina looks like; and even for me, a writer and first-time bodybuilding competitor who will never be famous for anything related to athletics.

AS I STARTED ON MY own strength journey, I began to think about where my aversion to visible muscularity had come from. Even though I’d played plenty of sports, when I walked into a weight room, I initially underestimated what I was capable of. Why was that? When my strength training came up, why did people warn me about how I was bound to hurt myself instead of encouraging me to test my limits? And why was I suddenly getting so many comments wondering whether I was worried about how I was appearing to the opposite sex, as if that had anything to do with my new hobby at all? I was seeing all kinds of strength being modeled by women in the public eye, and yet the topic was still so divisive.

I turned to one of my favorite places, the library, to answer some of these questions. But when I tried to read more about women and strength training throughout history, I came up mostly empty. Women were mentioned here and there, but the pages were dominated by men. I knew that couldn’t be the whole story.

MEG GALLAGHER

POWERLIFTER

I TRY TO NEVER FORGET THAT THE REASON I’M IN THE GYM IS BECAUSE I LOVE MY BODY AND I WANT IT TO BE STRONG.

And so I set out to write about the women I knew had been kicking butt since the beginning of time, grappling with the issues surrounding strength long before I ever learned to front squat. What I didn’t know was just how profound their contributions had been in ways that go beyond sports record books.

Throughout these chapters, we’ll explore where our ideas about how women should look and act originate, uncovering biases that might feel hardwired but have actually been learned. We’ll see how femininity and frailty once went hand in hand at the same time masculinity and muscularity came to be associated. We’ll learn how women worked within the confines of social norms to stealthily get strong, eventually breaking down barriers even as they were governed by them. We’ll dig into the cultural factors that have both encouraged and left some hesitant to build muscle, along with how strength served to expand a woman’s role at key points in history. Mostly, we’ll celebrate the awe-inspiring women, from ancient times to today, who have harnessed their physical power to great effect—which almost invariably serves to unlock strength in other areas of their lives.

This aspect has led to personal growth and social reform in ways that often go underrecognized. Physically strong women have been on the forefront of issues from suffrage to body autonomy to equality in the workplace. Knowing the history of women’s hard-won freedoms is not only inspirational, it’s instructive.

AS I COLLECTED THE STORIES of women through history who broke barriers and embraced strength despite convention, I found myself spotting their spiritual descendants everywhere I looked. In particular, I was struck by how female athletes of today continue to push the boundaries of what women are told they can (or cannot) do. The twenty-three contemporary female athletes profiled in this book model a new kind of female beauty, one based firmly in their incredible capacity and efforts. It seemed only right to include their photographs and their stories here. Their expertise ranges across disciplines, from rock climbing to martial arts to fencing. All exhibit strength in their own ways, adding to the definition of who and what a woman can be, and I’m personally inspired by each one. Without the women who were willing to swing a kettlebell before it was socially acceptable or learn to ride a bike in a corset and a full-length dress, we wouldn’t be where we are today, in an age where strength sports are growing at a record pace. We have more to learn from these pioneers than how to get strong; why it’s a worthy pursuit is the more powerful message.

As a woman’s belief in her physical prowess grows, it does more than improve how much she can achieve athletically—it also elevates her overall well-being, including emotional, social, and economic health, and these are all signs of strength to strive for. No longer is her body an object to be judged; it’s a vessel to be cultivated, and celebrated.

The warriors who rode on horseback in pants before that was allowed, the swimmers who shed the weight of giant wool skirts to feel the freedom of cutting through the water, the runners who were told they could never have kids because their uteruses would fall out, the lifters who made do with equipment that wasn’t designed for their proportions, and your neighbor who joined a boxing gym all share something special: the power of strength.

NZINGHA PRESCOD

FENCER

It’s always a goal when I’m competing to find my courage.

CHAPTER 1

THE ORIGINAL WARRIORS:

ANCIENT DEPICTIONS OF STRENGTH

The world’s most famous athletic competition, the Olympic Games, began in 776 BCE in southern Greece. At the time, a law stipulated that if a married woman was found at the Olympic festival, she was to be thrown from Mount Typaeum into the river below. (Whether unmarried women were allowed to attend is unclear, but even if they were, it’s probably not a stretch to say they weren’t warmly welcomed.) To send a lady sailing over a cliff because she’s curious seems a little harsh, especially for a culture that was so oriented on mind-body-spirit.

It’s somewhat confusing as well, given what we know about how much the Greeks valued the gymnasium. Like contemporary gyms, the ancient Greek gymnasium was a place where one would train for physical competitions, as you might expect from the name, but it was also where young Greeks got their education in morals and ethics. The gymnasium was considered a central point of social and spiritual life, with athletics, academics, health, and well-being all intertwined. Throwing a javelin was just as important as discussing music theory.

But while the Greeks loved both sports and academia, there’s a big asterisk next to that for the majority of the city-states: girls were not allowed to partake. Having a lively conversation about Pythagoras after wrestling practice was simply not a viable option for the average woman.

WHILE PHYSICAL EDUCATION FOR GIRLS was nowhere near on par with the boys, there were some opportunities to compete. Starting in the sixth century BCE, the Heraean Games offered a footrace for young, unmarried women. The distance was shorter than what the men ran on the same track, and instead of being nude, as the males were when running, the participants were covered in a one-shouldered tunic that hit just above the knee.

Something is better than nothing, but it wasn’t nearly as prestigious as the Olympics, which remained resolutely male-only. The expectations were lower, as evidenced by the shorter distance, and the importance was lesser. Lots of rich detail about the Olympic Games has been passed through the generations, while the Heraean Games are far more mysterious. History was written by men, and men, by and large, wrote about themselves.

At least one woman tried to buck the system. In the fifth century BCE, Callipateira, mother of boxer Peisirodus, disguised herself as a male trainer in order to get into the Games. She had coached her son, after all, following the death of her husband, and she was just as knowledgeable about boxing as anyone else in the arena. When he won, she jumped over the fence to run to him, but unfortunately, her clothes got caught, and she was exposed—in more ways than one. In a show of mercy, organizers refrained from dumping her into the river, not on the basis that she had a rightful claim to attend but out of respect for her father, brothers, and son, who were all Olympic champions. Her own merits should have saved her, but instead, it was the men in her life. In the aftermath, a law was passed that trainers had to enter the Games naked, to double-check that they had the right parts to be there.

Callipateira wasn’t the only Greek woman with a rebellious streak. The wealthy princess Cynisca found herself a participant in the Olympics, thanks to a bit of a loophole. In chariot racing, it was the owner and master of the horses who was considered the official competitor, not the racer (who was usually a slave) or the horses (because they were horses). At the encouragement of her brother, Cynisca entered the tethrippon, a four-horse chariot race, in 396 BCE. She won, then repeated the feat four years later. Although she was not allowed to enter the stadium for the awards ceremony, she did get to place a statue in Zeus’s sanctuary, as was the tradition for tethrippon winners at the time. I declare myself the only woman in all Hellas to have won this crown, reads the inscription she chose.

Cynisca was proud, and rightfully so. She’d found a way to do something no other woman had done before. And even though some suspect her brother only encouraged her to enter in order to make a mockery of the entire process—the point was that wealth, not athletic ability, was the deciding factor in who won chariot races, since more money equaled better horses—Cynisca still pushed the envelope on what a woman could achieve.

She came from Sparta, where things were a little different compared with the rest of Greece. Women in Sparta trained in sports, as long as they were virgins, and even got to compete against one another. Spartan lawgiver Lycurgus was pro strength training for girls, though his logic might not exactly jive with what we think of as feminist today. Philosopher Xenophon said this about his reasoning: Lycurgus, thinking that the first and foremost function of the freeborn woman was to bear children, ordered that the female should do no less bodybuilding than the male. He thus established contests for the women in footraces and strength, just like those for the men, believing that stronger children come from parents who are both strong.

This was confirmed by biographer Plutarch, who noted that Lycurgus had the girls wrestle, run, and throw the discus and javelin—everything the boys were doing. His goal was to remove softness, daintiness, and effeminacy. In what was considered a risqué practice by most contemporaries, boys and girls exercised together.

This strategy worked. Spartan women were buff, and Plutarch approved of Lycurgus’s approach of letting the girls in on the action. It gave also to woman-kind a taste of lofty sentiment, he wrote, for they felt that they, too, had a place in the arena of bravery and ambition.

Brave and ambitious—why shouldn’t that be female?

NOT EVERYONE WAS ON BOARD with these ideals. Although Spartan women were well known throughout Greece for their unparalleled beauty (probably an outer reflection of their inner health), Athenian playwright Euripides, for his part, was not a fan:

No Spartan girl

could ever live clean even if she wanted.

They’re always out on the street in scanty outfits,

Making a great display of naked limbs.

In those they race and wrestle with the boys too—

Abominable’s the word.

For girls to exercise was unclean, but the same criticisms don’t seem to have been leveled against boys. In Plato’s Republic, his teacher, Socrates, said this: The most ridiculous thing of all will be the sight of women naked in the palaestra, exercising with the men, especially when they are no longer young; they certainly will not be a vision of beauty.

The one-two punch of ageism and sexism is something that would have been nice to leave in ancient times, but how often have you heard a woman’s body criticized for not being attractive enough for a swimsuit or whatever inappropriate piece of clothing she’s chosen to wear, especially once she’s left her twenties behind? Plato, to his credit, dismissed the concern, maintaining that men and women should be treated equally. He felt gymnastics, riding, archery, javelin throwing, footraces, and fencing were all appropriate for girls. Eventually, he reasoned, society’s biases would disappear. He was right in some ways—there are innumerable women today who are incredible gymnasts, archers, and fencers—but until You throw like a girl is a compliment instead of an insult, equal treatment will remain elusive.

While Socrates thought girls exercising alongside boys was ridiculous, he could admit they had athletic skill—to a point. After watching a girl juggle twelve hoops while tumbling, he said her performance helped prove that a woman’s nature was not inferior to man’s but that women lacked physical strength and judgment. Contradictory much? For a famous thinker, it’s maybe not the most airtight argument, but it is a popular one. It’s also incredibly frustrating, because even when indisputable skill was displayed right in front of his eyes, he found a way to dismiss it for no evidence-backed reason. The girl’s talents challenged a belief he couldn’t bear to part with—that males are superior in strength and smarts. Rather than dig a little deeper to try to confront why he felt this way and home in on what that feeling was rooted in, Socrates defaulted to the well-worn idea that men are just better, obviously, no explanation necessary.

EVEN IF MOST GREEKS DIDN’T think much of the physical strength of the women in their midst, there was a group of powerful