Jenny Bruso is the founder of , an inclusive community highlighting the underrepresented outdoorsperson. Here, she’ll share gear reviews for plus-size outdoor enthusiasts as well as her experiences battling stereotypes within the outdoor industry.

Who are your favorite plus-size outdoor adventurers?��I can wait while you think about it.��Just one. Name just one?

Alright, I’m not going to give you too hard of a time about it. As brands and outdoor news hubs continue to ramp up the conversation on diversity in the outdoors, there’s still a notable lack of body diversity represented. In fact, most brands don’t make plus-size clothing, let alone gear, which is the very first step in acknowledging that plus-size people are recreating outdoors.

When I started hiking, I definitely wasn’t seeing us at outdoor��conferences and events��or on��the outdoorsy social media accounts I followed, but I knew we were out there. This is why I started . I was desperate to connect with other plus-size adventurers and everyone who wasn’t��represented in ads and social media.

says, “Change your feed, change your life.” The importance of diversity in the outdoors should go without saying by now, but do your social media feeds reflect these values? If you aren’t following any plus-size adventurers, you have no more excuses! I’ve done the work for you. These five plus-size outdoorspeople��are just a sampling of the many of us out there. And for you aspiring plus-size adventurers, the outdoors isn’t waiting on you to be anyone other than who you are right now, so don’t wait for it. These leaders��have some words just for you.

Mirna Valerio (@themirnavator)

Mirna Valerio is an ultramarathoner. Sometimes��she runs for days at a time. She is also an educator, opera singer, cross-country coach, , and the author of a memoir called��. She started running as a teenager, but after a health scare in 2008, Valerio��recommitted to the sport. Today, her presence in the athletic world is normalizing the image of the plus-size athlete. Seeing Valerio profiled in publications like the�� and ��is a huge win for representation.

“When people ask me how they can move their bodies more, I tell them to just start with a walk around the block and to notice how their feet and legs feel, how things look and smell,” Valerio says. “Movement is about so much more than losing weight.”

Ashley Manning (@ashleysadventure)

Ashley Manning is a whitewater rafter and hiker. In 2018, she completed more than 1,000 miles of��the Appalachian Trail. Currently, she’s leading rafting trips on the Green River in Utah. Manning is a , where she writes about her experiences as a plus-size adventurer and offers tips on plus-size activewear and gear. In outdoor media, women and femmes aren’t always celebrated for their amazing feats,��but rather for how they look while doing what they do. Manning regularly posts photos��of her��wild rafting adventures and of��herself owning her body and sexuality, challenging the way plus-size bodies are desexualized and policed. “Do not let anyone’s words stop you from enjoying what you love,” she says. “For the most part, the outdoor community is full of lovely, accepting, and kind people.”

Jolie Varela (@indigenouswomenhike)

A couple years ago, Jolie Varela, a��citizen of the Nüümü and Yokut Nations, was going through a deep depression and wanted to begin the work of healing and reconnecting with her homeland, Payahüünadü (Bishop, California). Through her organization,�� (IWH), she shines��a light on issues many nonnatives don’t know about, like the epidemic. In 2018, Varela and other indiginous women�� their ancestral trade route, Nüümü Poyo, also known as the John Muir Trail, which ignited conversations about the whitewashing and colonization of many of our most beloved trails and public��lands. IWH is currently working on a gear library to give indigenous people, who are largely left out of the outdoor recreation narrative, access to gear. “The land does not discriminate,” Varela says.��“Your beautiful body belongs on the beautiful land.”

Sam Ortiz (@samortizphoto and @biggirlsclimbtoo)

Sam Ortiz’s outdoor adventure life began only about five years ago, but she’s done a lot in that time. She hikes, mountaineers, climbs, and volunteers with search and rescue efforts in Washington. She launched a plus-size climbing event series at her local climbing gym after lobbying��for plus-size harnesses, which the gym agreed to. Ortiz recently began an Instagram community called ��to increase awareness of plus-size climbers and share information. Her mountaineering experience has landed Ortiz a cover of ,��and she’s modeled for big outdoor brands like REI and��Eddie Bauer. ��“It’s OK to be slow. It’s OK to try and fail and try again. It’s OK to ask for help,” Ortiz says. “You belong out there just as much as anyone else, at any pace, in any capacity that you desire.”

Megan Banker (@pdxoutdoorchiro)

Sometimes, being a leader is incidental. You’re just doing what you love, but there are so few of us that it sort of happens anyway. Megan Banker is one of those people. She’s a climber and mountaineer who regularly posts pictures of herself atop massive mountains, like Mount Hood and Mount St. Helens, as if it’s just what people do on the weekends. That isn’t to say Banker doesn’t regularly get real about what it��takes, even calling attention to flippant attitudes by climbing bros who act like there are “easy” ways to climb a mountain. It’s refreshing in this social media influencer age to see Banker just doing her. “Becoming an outdoor adventurer takes curiosity, time, determination, and usually chocolate,” she says. “None of these things come with size restrictions.” Rumor has it that��Banker will be starting her own plus-size climbing group in Portland, Oregon.��(Megan, I’m ready.)

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Jenny Bruso is the founder of , an inclusive community highlighting the underrepresented outdoorsperson. Here, she’ll share gear reviews for plus-size outdoor enthusiasts as well as her experiences battling stereotypes within the outdoor industry.

You’ve seen it. You’re scrolling through Instagram and it’s one outdoor fantasy highlight after another. The picture-perfect remote landscape, shot from somewhere at a great height. It’s dusk or dawn, and there’s a woman: white, young, thin, tan, with effortlessly cascading hair, looking as though she was flown directly onto a peak or ledge and not at all like she just climbed an actual mountain. Or maybe the person is a man, also white, young, etc., standing on some precarious boulder protruding from a viewpoint. The caption is always some apolitical, inspirational message about good vibes and spreading positivity.

This has become the trope of outdoor social media, but whose life is actually like this? Mine isn’t. I’m always looking for the folks who have something to say about what nature does for their real lives:��The people who utilize the outdoors as a part of their self-care practice, whose lives have been changed or even saved by nature. The people who go to the woods to grieve and heal, who hike to stay sober or to not kill themselves.

This isn’t hyperbole. Nature and hiking make my life livable.

It was only seven years ago that I went on the hike that would change the course of my mental wellness. I was wearing clubwear, cowboy boots, and a full face of makeup, feeling really self-conscious about sweating and breathing heavily with other people around. It was 2012, and I was in one of the deepest depressive states I’d ever been in. I had been��using meds and therapy off and on up to that point for PTSD, depression, and anxiety. Both treatments helped me tremendously��but rarely with lasting results. As whatever medication I was on stopped working, or my insurance changed, or the therapist I was seeing stopped working at the free clinic I was going to—things you deal with when you’re poor and without proper health care—I’d slip back down the rabbit hole until the lights were nearly out,��to��a��place where I did not want to be in the world anymore.

As I made my way up the biggest incline of the trail, pausing regularly to catch my breath and talk myself into continuing, I felt something inside loosen, like a fist unclenching. Despite my labored breathing, I was aware of the sensation of my lungs filling all the way up. Anxiety makes my breathing short and arrhythmic—sometimes��I catch myself holding my breath altogether for seconds at a time. Despite self-consciousness, I felt more in my body than I possibly ever had, noticing the way it moved on this new terrain. My body and breathing were in tandem, machinelike. All of my senses were engaged. It didn’t leave a lot of room for cyclical negative thoughts. Every turn revealed something different. What could happen next? This curiosity engaged my creativity. When I reached the highest point of my trek, the turnaround point, I felt like I’d done something so good for myself. I’d found something I needed.

Under the tall trees, I discovered the bliss of how microscopic I am in the universe��but also undeniably a part of everything that is. My pain and problems took a back seat to thinking about my body’s needs: water, food, do I need to go to the bathroom? The outdoors has space for me in ways that don’t exist in my daily life among the barrage of messaging about how bodies should look and move, about how women should be. The trail is indifferent to me, to my size, trauma, the stupid things I’ve said or done, the way I’ve hurt people and myself. In nature, I found forgiveness for myself and others.

Nature mirrors what I know to be true: our differences are what make us beautiful and special. The biggest and strangest things are often the most precious. Sameness doesn’t actually exist. Everything changes, everything has a season. I no longer feel shiftless and untethered the way I did growing up. I grew up fast, foregoing many years where my peers still played and felt safe and free. In the outdoors, I rediscovered play and the fun of exploring. It inspires my creativity.

Hiking and being outdoors has become one of the biggest and most consistent tools in my arsenal for managing anxiety and depression. Having the knowledge that I can access this by just going outside, regardless of what I’m going through, is a kind of freedom. Sometimes��this freedom only lasts the duration of my time out, but often I’ve been able to take this clarity with me.

There are some stupid memes on social media showing two side-by-side photos of a forest and pills of varying colors and shapes pouring out onto a counter. The forest image contains the words��“the only antidepressant I need.” Messaging like this minimizes the very real mental-health crises many of us are going through on a day-to-day basis, especially for . The outdoors is not a cure-all or a substitute for professional mental health care, but it can help. Currently, I’m back on meds, and I’m often about two crises away from getting back into therapy.

We’re overworked, overbooked, and so stressed that we’d rather zone out on our phones or stream internet television to soothe us than find��time to get outdoors, understandably so. Getting outdoors requires time and resources that some of us don’t have: the lowest-income people are often living in areas . Still, with a little creativity, I’m certain we can all find ways to engage with nature, in whatever form that takes, within these constraints. Here are some things that can help:

• . Studies show it can improve your mood. A green space is anything not built by humans: an impressive tree at a bus stop, an area with your houseplants, a place where birds are chirping, etc.
• Do you have a yard? Even a little patch of dirt to sit on? ! Which explains why I feel a significant boost caring for my houseplants and why the smell of wet earth has such an effect on me.
• ��lessens the activity in the part of our brain associated with depression and repetitive negative thinking.
• Don’t have 90 minutes or easy access to nature? —it doesn’t have to be outside—can lower cortisol levels, the hormone created from stress. Elevated cortisol can suppress your immune system, lead to insomnia, depression, digestive problems, and other issues.
• Being too busy isn’t good for us, but some of us are in positions where that can’t be improved (kids, bills to pay, etc.). If you can find even a little wiggle room, schedule your self-care time. I’m not talking about baths or ,��just scheduled time to do something that makes you feel cared for.

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Jenny Bruso is the founder of , an inclusive community highlighting the underrepresented outdoorsperson. Here, she’ll share gear reviews for plus-size outdoor enthusiasts as well as her experiences battling stereotypes within the outdoor industry.

Being an out, proud, and loud-about-it fat hiker, I receive a lot of questions from other plus-size women and femmes (feminine-presenting people who don’t necessarily identify as women), and most of the time it’s about clothing. Where did you get your jacket? What would you wear snowshoeing? Does plus-size snow gear even exist?

Until recently, I dreaded these questions, because I didn’t know how to answer them. I’d never worn good, functional, attractive plus-size winter wear, because I didn’t see it in stores. The outdoor industry hasn’t done enough to meet the needs of plus-size women and femmes. Many brands only offer larger sizes online, and many only up to a size��3X or a 22–24. All of that��on top of the fact that technical gear is expensive and than our thinner peers.

As another winter approached, I couldn’t stand the idea of wearing the same ugly,��ill-fitting men’s winter clothing I’d been wearing for the last few years. It makes me feel unattractive and��less confident. No matter what size you are, you deserve gear that’s functional and aesthetically pleasing. Things that fit. And layers!

I tested new plus-size offerings from Columbia, REI, and Smartwool on a recent trip to the Grand Canyon and northern Arizona, where temperatures dipped down to ten��degrees. These options are now available in many stores, as opposed to only being available online, and sizing is more uniform (though note that not all of these items go above a size 3X).

How to Layer—Wait, What Is Layering?

I didn’t even know what a base layer was until this year. Now I know that layering is about more than staying warm. Wearing the right materials helps regulate your comfort as your activity level��or the weather changes. When you get sweaty and stop for a break or a snack, you can get cold fast. Worse, you run the risk of hypothermia, especially in windy conditions. And just in case some know-it-all outdoorist hasn’t told you yet: no cotton! It clings when you sweat and doesn’t dry as quickly as wool or synthetic materials, leaving you shivering in��cold, soggy layers longer. Here are some more basic terminology and tips:

• Base layer: A��thin, lightweight, moisture-wicking layer between your skin and winter wear to keep you from steeping in your own sweat. Think��long-sleeved tops and legging-style pants that conform to��your body but aren’t too tight or restrictive.
• Midlayer: Clothing that��holds your body heat in. What��types of midlayer you choose, if any, are��a little more dependent on weather conditions: How cold is it? How long will you be out?��Think��flannels, fleeces, wool sweaters, light jackets, and puffy vests.
• Outer layer:��Designed to��keep��the water and wind out. Think��puffy coats and waterproof pants. The warmness level��of puffy coats varies��based on their fill. If it’s not pouring rain, I prefer a rain-resistant pant, which is lighter and more breathable. Snow pants are too warm for me, but they’re a good idea if you run cold or if you’re participating in��snow sports rather than hiking snowy trails.
• Shell:��A piece that shields you from rain, wind, and snow. A hooded waterproof jacket is essential. My jam? A puffy coat under a rainjacket, which are generally thin and only protect from wind and rain. Waterproof puffy coats also exist. Make sure your shell is big enough to fit over all your layers.
• Accessories: I��suggest wearing a knit cap long enough to cover your ears or a fleece-lined cold-weather headband. Waterproof gloves are a must. I prefer the kind that transition from mittens to fingerless gloves for dexterity. A Buff is great for face coverage, especially in the wind.

I rarely put on all of these things at the outset of a hike. Usually, I start out with my base layer, midlayer, rain-resistant pants or, if it’s raining or snowing, a shell and rainpants. When I get moving, I heat up fast. I put on my top-half outer layers as I need them. Don’t let yourself get soaked before putting them on!

Base Layers

Columbia Midweight Stretch Long Sleeve Shirt and Tight ($65 each)

This is true to size—and stretchy! I was certain the Omni-Heat thermal-reflective lining would be some sort of outer-space-looking gimmick, but it really does create a shield of breathable warmth. I was amazed at how toasty��and comfortable I was walking for hours in 25-degree weather.

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Smartwool 250 Base Layers ($95 and up)

I wanted to love ��because they’re so good looking and the 250-gram merino wool is soft, breathable, and odor resistant. However, the bottoms bear all��the signs of the manufacturer sizing up from the original straight sizes—and that just doesn’t cut it. They’re too short-waisted for my round, high butt, and the waistband is a little too firm, so it folds over every time I sit down. It’s not uncomfortable, but I don’t like messing with it constantly. I will keep the , though; they fit beautifully,��they look like they’re expensive,��and��they make me feel like a fancy B.

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Midlayers

Columbia Glacial Crew Shirt ($40)

The throwback, classic style of the Glacial Crew shirt makes it one of my favorite pieces. It’s cute enough to wear with street clothes, which is rare with function-first clothing, though I’d love to see it in funkier colors. While plus-size outdoor wear is clearly making leaps and bounds, the design and color options are still often far too muted. Believe it or not, we don’t all want to hide behind our clothes! Regardless, I love this great-fitting, light microfleece shirt, because it��keeps me perfectly warm without overheating.

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REI Co-op 650 Down Vest��($55 and up)

Until I tried the REI Co-op 650 Down vest, I didn’t understand puffy vests. (If you need the warmth of a puffy jacket, why would you wear one without sleeves?) Turns out, keeping your core warm radiates heat to the rest of your body without getting you overheated, and as a person who naturally runs hot, this is a game changer. Throwing this over a long-sleeved midlayer is about all the coverage I need while I’m hiking or snowshoeing, so I don’t feel bound up in jackets. In extreme cold, wear it with a long-sleeved midlayer under a puffy and shell for maximum warmth.

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Columbia OuterSpaced III Half Zip Fleece��($50)

Superstretchy, wool-like (but really synthetic), and created with cute design details in many different colors, the OuterSpaced III Half Zip fleece is true to size, lightweight, and breathable. It could also be worn as a base layer.��I’ll take one of each, thank you!

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Outer Layers

Columbia Anytime Casual Pull On Pant��($55)

Hi, these are my favorite. I didn’t believe in anything other than leggings to hike in until I tried the . Rain repelling, lightweight, and breathable, it��also fits well over a base layer. Plus, it’s��not ugly and overly techy looking, like I’m about to pull an entire chainsaw out of my pocket. I can’t say enough good things about it.

REI Co-Op 650 Down Jacket��($69 and up)

Like the vest, but with sleeves, this is rain repelling and light, great on its own or over layers. Its classic style and good fit are��suitable for most adventures.

Columbia Pike Lake Hooded Vest��($130)

More of that Omni-Tech witchcraft, but superquilted and thick, the Columbia Pike Lake Hooded vest’s synthetic fill means it dries fast��in wet weather��and doesn’t decompress, which keeps you warm. It’s too thick to be a midlayer, but it can be worn well over a lightweight down jacket. I love the hood and overall chicness of the design. This has become a go-to of mine.

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Shells��

REI Co-Op Rainier Rain Jacket��($45 and up)

I could just say REI��makes the best plus-size shells and stop here,��but let’s dig a little deeper. The ��is your classic��light-wind��waterproof jacket. It comes in many different colors, including bright ones! I love the hidden collar underneath the hood for extra protection.

REI Co-Op XeroDry GTX Pants and Jacket��($95 and up each)

The real heroes of the rainjacket game are the XeroDry GTX�� and��. They are full-on function, with rain- and snow-proof��cinchable wrists, ankles, hems, etc., for maximum protection. I feel so secure in these pieces (though not exactly attractive). The billowing, wide legs of the pants don’t do anything for my figure, but it means I can wear them over a lot of layers, and this is a good thing. I feel like I can do anything in the Xero Dry GTX set. Sometimes, and I say this begrudgingly, function is a tad more important than fashion, especially when it comes to snowy conditions.

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“You’re almost there! It will be worth it.”

“Is this your first time out here?”

“You look like you could use a break.”

“Are you okay?”

These are just a few of the comments I get while hiking. They seem pretty harmless, right? Supportive, even. Except I can’t help but wonder: Would people say these things to a thinner, more athletic-looking person? I don’t think so.

I’m a fat hiker who started hiking about six years ago. To say I didn’t grow up outdoorsy is a massive understatement. I lived in Portland, Oregon, for years before I did anything more than visit a waterfall on the side of the road. My partner took me on a hike for one of our first dates, and I never could’ve guessed it would become my thing. Soon, I was doing it all the time. This eventually led to the creation of , an Instagram platform featuring the underrepresented outdoorist. This includes people of size (I prefer “fat,” but not everyone else does), people of color, queer, trans, gender nonbinary folks, and people with disabilities.

When it comes to talking about plus-size hikers, lack of clothing and gear and representation are getting a little more airtime from the outdoor media, as they should. But there are many ways still finds its way into our lives. I asked my plus-size hiker friends about their experiences in outdoor culture—beyond the clothing, gear, or representation issues—and many cited interactions with other hikers as the thing that made them feel most judged. I get it: I often notice the disbelieving looks I regularly get from men as I pass them on trail with a friendly “hello.”

As I processed all this feedback, I couldn’t help but think about how so many straight-sized hikers might not even realize they’re saying things that are��demeaning.So I put together this guide to help.

Think About What Your Comment Really Says

Many comments from other hikers—even something seemingly innocuous like “You’re doing a great job!”—are meant to be supportive and encouraging, but they don’t always come off that way. These comments are, sometimes indirectly, about our bodies. An othering is happening. There is surprise about our abilities, concern about what may be interpreted as lack of ability, and sometimes straight-up rudeness. Many people I talked to expressed having moments where they were treated as if they were in the way of another hiker. These interactions don’t allow us to simply be hikers on a trail.

On a good day, I just smile and say “Thank you” or give an overly jovial “Oh yeah, I’ve done this trail many times,” when what I really want to say is “Yeah, I know. I’ve probably done this trail more times than you will in your life.” Fellow fat hiker Ashley Manning, trail name YardSale, is currently thru-hiking the Appalachian Trail. She had this to say on her recent : “A guy came up to me today as I was pumping water and said, ‘You’re more badass than any of us. I’m not trying to be rude, but you don’t see people your size out here.’…If there’s one thing I’ve learned already, it’s that the trail knocks people on their asses. No matter what size you are, it’s hard. I’m no more of a badass than that guy, because it’s so damn hard. I’m proud of everyone out here.”

If you want to be encouraging, a simple “Hi, have a great hike!” does wonders.

Don’t Assume We Want to Change Our Bodies

Another assumption many people make about plus-size hikers is that we’re doing physical activity because we want to lose weight. The way exercise has become synonymous with weight loss in dominant culture removes the joy from moving and inhabiting our bodies, regardless of one’s size. I’m outside because I want to enjoy the outdoors, revere nature, and appreciate the gift of my body taking me places. I choose hiking over the gym to get away from diet and fitness culture. Also, many of us don’t actually want to lose weight. Many of us don’t feel bad about being fat.

What would our relationships with ourselves and each other look like if we removed moral capital and essentialism from exercising, food, and bodies? I think we’d all be happier and make healthier choices all around.

Give Us Space on the Trail

Bear with me—this one is complicated. Straight-sized people have an innate sense of liberty with their bodies that many people of size don’t. They tend to make bigger movements, sit with their legs wider, or stop dead in their tracks in public places. People of size are often super aware of the space they inhabit, because we receive frequent messages that we don’t fit (belong). Roxane Gay wrote in her recent memoir, Hunger, “The bigger you are, the smaller your world becomes.” Chairs are often not made for us (constricting arms, 200-pound weight limits, etc.), tables in restaurants are too close together, and don’t get me started on airplane seats.

Don’t crowd people, fat or not, who are moving at a slower pace, especially when going up- or downhill. A breezy “Coming up on your left/right!” is all it takes. On a narrow track, give us more room to pass, and only pass when there is actually room. Sure, your small body might be able to squeeze up against the side of a cliff with ease, but can my bigger body? We all deserve to be on the trail, and we all deserve to fully inhabit our bodies.

Assume Nothing

Better yet, listen when we tell you about our experiences. Resist asking questions or making statements—even with good intention—laced with bias or assumptions about our bodies. I lead multiple group hikes every month that are attended by people of all body types and speeds. You don’t know what someone is capable of just by looking at them. Being bigger doesn’t automatically mean someone is slower.

And sure, being strong and fast is cool, but no one is getting the gold. Doing something slower or differently is still doing it. I take just as many steps as the person who does the trail in two-thirds the time.

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