Know Her Stories

A longtime partner of H&B, Ashley Callingbull joined us to talk about the many exciting things in her life. She just signed a book deal, she’s going to be the first Indigenous woman to model for Sports Illustrated, and she recently collaborated with us on the new Ashley Callingbull Collection.In a very special Know Her, Ashley talks to us about the significance of her Cree and Blackfoot names, and how the experience of growing up in poverty gave her the drive to chase, and accomplish, some of her wildest dreams. You’re going to want to get to know her. What aspects of your identity are you most proud of? Probably my culture all around. There are so many beautiful traditions and beliefs that have shaped me, and there's a lot of strength that comes from my culture. I love the spiritual part of my life and going to sweats and ceremonies, and I love dancing at powwows. I'm really proud of the resiliency that runs through our blood. It gives me strength in every part of my life. "I'm really proud of the resiliency that runs through our blood. It gives me strength in every part of my life.” Have you had any experiences at any of those ceremonies that really stuck out to you? The first time I ever danced at a powwow was really significant to me. I won all my princess titles at my powwow on my reserve. I never knew I would be competing in big international pageants later in life. It's crazy that my pageant career actually started through my culture. "I’m fiercely independent and driven because of the life I had.” I also did an editorial campaign shoot at the same arbor where I started dancing. It was so cool to go back and be little Ashley again—she would have never even dreamed of doing something like that. Growing up in poverty really humbled me. It made me thankful for everything that I have. Coming from a place where you have nothing and no dreams changes you. It makes you want to work harder. I’m fiercely independent and driven because of the life I had. That's so neat how things came full circle with the pageant. I know. And never in a million years would I have thought of doing regular international pageants because pageants on the reserve are so different. You’re showcasing your culture, your language, and your community. But I always wanted the crown! Where do you feel the most like yourself? Honestly, probably on the reserve where I'm from. That's where all my family lives. It's like over 300 acres of land in the middle of nowhere, and that's where I get to see all my favourite Alberta sunsets. It's quiet. I just feel at peace because that's where I grew up. That's where all my memories are. Were there any significant life events that gave you a better grasp of who you are? Definitely. I was invited to speak at Harvard University and that was surreal. They wanted to hear me. After I finished speaking and got the reactions I did, I thought, wow, my voice is really powerful, they want to hear it at an Ivy League school. Now I speak at stadiums of 20,000 people. It’s all just helped me realize how much my voice resonates with people. Who were your role models when you were young? My mom was always my number one role model. My mom and my grandmother raised me to always be proud of who I am. They gave me the love I needed. I also really love and idolize Buffy St. Marie. She's really done it all, and she's still doing it. When I went to compete at my first international pageant, I experienced racism at a whole different level. I don't know what Toronto newspaper it was, but this was back in 2010, and they wrote something really gross about me. They made a joke because I was the only Native woman competing. They wrote, “Oh, what is she going to do for a talent? Chug Lysol or something?” I reached out to Buffy because she was in the public eye. I told her what I was experiencing and that I wanted to sing one of her songs for my talent. I thought, there's just no way she's going to reach back out. But she did. I really needed someone, and she took the time to reach out to me, call me, tell me all these things that I needed to hear. She lit a fire under my ass. It made me want to do what she was doing—chasing big dreams and helping women. If she didn't give me that strength, who knows if I would have pulled through that, right? And still to this day we're in touch. She's more than a role model. She's a friend.You must have a lot of people looking up to you now. What sort of advice would you give to them? I always encourage people to love and live fearlessly, and to always love and appreciate themselves for the way they were created. I want you to love yourself regardless of what you think your flaws are. Those are the things that make you different. And when I say live fearlessly, I mean never live in fear of chasing your biggest or smallest dream. Go big, show the world what you're made of. "I always encourage people to love and live fearlessly, and to always love and appreciate themselves for the way they were created.” What are you excited about lately? So many things. Wow. I'm really excited about the official Ashley Callingbull collection coming out in September. I've been working with Hillberg and Berk since probably 2018, and I get to have my own collection now. It's exciting because I get to share a piece of myself with everyone and also the story behind it. Also I'm going to be the first Indigenous woman to become a Sports Illustrated model, and I just signed my first book deal with Harper Collins. So I have a book coming out in 2024!Did you ever go through any interesting phases as a kid? I was always super nerdy. Everyone knew me as the science fair geek. I was just so proud of what I could figure out and what I could put together on display for everyone, and I loved presenting it. It’s funny because now I present at a lot of shows. I'm currently a CFL host. I guess it was always there, that want to be in front of an audience. Like if I ever found a camera, I would always start recording myself, pretending I was doing on-air shows. Is there anything you do that other people describe as weird that you think is totally normal? 100%. I talk in weird voices all the time, especially to my husband and my dogs. I like making random weird voices. Kids really love that side of me when I work with them because I'm just being myself.   Can you talk about the significance of your Cree name? Yeah, so my Cree name was given to me by an Elder quite a few years ago. They gave me the name Shining Rock because they said everywhere I go, I shine and bring light into people's lives. And then they chose “rock” because that's the purest thing on earth.You just received a Blackfoot name also. Congratulations. Could you talk about that as well? I was named after an Elder who's part of the Horn Society. He’s a pipe carrier and said he wanted me to have a powerful name that was connected to him and carried on a legacy. So Sacred Pipe Woman is the name I was given. It's amazing to be gifted these names. They have such deep stories behind them. "It's amazing to be gifted these names. They have such deep stories behind them.” How did it feel to be given these names? With the first one, Shining Rock, I was surprised, really. I was excited. It had such a beautiful meaning. And with my Blackfoot name, I've been going to Sundance with my husband’s Blackfoot family for the last five years. It's really important for us to be a part of each other's cultures because that's what we want to pass on to the next generation—knowledge of our cultures and languages. When I was given the Blackfoot name recently at Sundance, I had my husband's family and my family standing with me. It was such an emotional moment because after they gave me my name, everyone started celebrating, crying, and smiling. I had all my supporters and I just felt complete. I felt like a piece of me was missing and there it was.Have these names influenced your identity in any way? They make me feel more powerful. More connected to my culture. Being able to say these names—it just creates this really good feeling. A feeling that gives me strength and I just want to pass that strength to everyone. What does it mean to find yourself? There was a point in my life where I felt lost. But I realized that in order to find what I was made of and who I was, I needed to step out of my comfort zone and try new things. Once I did that, I realized that I should never set limits for myself. I learned I was stronger than I thought I was, more independent, and a lot more fierce. I found myself by persevering through hard times and loving myself no matter the outcome. "I realized that in order to find what I was made of and who I was, I needed to step out of my comfort zone and try new things.” What is the significance of the colours you chose for this collection?   I chose these blues and golds because they remind me of the sunsets on the reserve. When I’m there and I go outside, the sky is always this beautiful ombre blue that turns gold. When I see those colours, I think, this is home. Written by Carter Selinger

“Cycling has helped me accept my vision loss. I’m at peace with it now.” Carla Shibley is pedaling hard. Seated at the back of the tandem bike she shares with teammate Meghan Brown, she pumps her legs relentlessly, trying to catch up to the pair of riders she knows must be just around the bend. It’s the 2019 Canadian National Road Race. She and Meghan have a shot of winning—if they make up some ground. Her legs burn; sweat pours.  But something feels off to Carla. Where is the leading team? Given how fast she and Meghan have been riding, shouldn’t they be caught up by now? Carla doesn’t let this thought distract her too much. She continues pedaling and follows Meghan’s instructions. Harder, let’s go, keep pushing. She recites the team mantra internally. The pain is temporary.  Meanwhile, Meghan is keeping a secret: she and Carla aren’t chasing the leader; they are the leader. The reason Carla doesn’t know this is because she has only two per cent central vision. At ten years old, Carla was diagnosed with juvenile macular degeneration, and ever since then, a large black spot has been growing in her line of sight, eclipsing her vision. “I don’t know when the lights are gonna go out,” she says. But she does know it will happen eventually.  Which means Meghan is much more than an ordinary teammate or tandem pilot. On the road, she is Carla’s eyes. Not only does Meghan steer the bike, but she also instructs Carla on how to prepare and respond to the terrain. Is there a hill coming up? A steep corner to ease up for? Meghan relays this information verbally—sometimes using code words if they’re in competition—or through a sort of leg-language. “I’ll ease off on the pedals a tiny bit and Carla knows right away to ease off. It’s almost like she can read my mind.” And while Carla is usually able to judge her and Meghan’s race position by counting the competitors they have or have not passed (she still has partial peripheral vision) she has miscalculated in this particular race. “We made an attack and got away really early in the race,” Meghan recalls. “We kept pushing to increase that gap. But Carla thought we were chasing.” When they cross the finish line—first—Carla doesn’t know they’ve won. Meghan tries to tell her the good news, but Carla thinks it’s a joke. “I was so dumbfounded. It didn’t sink in.”  Carla’s shock lasts until she’s on top of the podium—top centre. “My hands were shaking. I was like, what? Is this a joke? Am I being pranked?’” As cameras click and fans cheer, Carla and Meghan raise their arms high, trophies in hands, medals shining.  It is definitely not a prank. “I’ll ease off on the pedals a tiny bit and Carla knows right away to ease off. It’s almost like she can read my mind.” Two months later, they’re back on the podium—again, top centre. They’re in Lima, Peru, having just finished their final event at the 2019 Parapan Am Games, an international, multi-sport event that only occurs once every four years, similar to the Olympics or Paralympics. It’s Carla and Meghan’s fourth time on the podium this year in Lima. They’ve won two golds, a silver, and a bronze. They’ll return to Canada with much heavier bags.  No doubt their performance has edged them closer to making Team Canada and heading to Tokyo for the Paralympic Games, now being held in 2021. “But we’re hopefuls, not shoe-ins,” says Meghan. “The selection process is still being finalized and will depend on some races next year.” But they certainly look like Team Canada material. Watching Meghan and Carla ride—legs churning exactly in-sync, heads bowed at identical angles—it’s easy to assume they’ve been riding together since childhood. But it’s only been two years. After meeting at a cycling club in Calgary, they began training together upon the suggestion of a mutual friend. “I was terrified at first,” Meghan admits. “Tandem bikes are very big and very fast. It’s not like riding a road bike by yourself at all.”  Carla had almost no fear at all. At the time, she was willing to ride the bike with pretty much anyone. “I can teach you to ride in two minutes!” she’d say to prospective partners, downplaying the steep learning curve. “I think it really scared a lot of people.” “The more you ask for help, the more you’ll see that people are willing to give it.”  Meghan was able to keep her initial fears in check by taking a slow and steady approach to learning. That easing-in turned out to be crucial for establishing a solid, sustainable partnership. “I’ve had a few different pilots,” Carla says. “But the difference with Meghan was her conservative approach. It allowed us to build a foundation.”  Now, their sense of trust is iron-clad. “I can be on the back of the bike with Meghan and not feel any sense of anxiety,” says Carla.  Sports haven't always been a source of calm or joy for Carla. After her childhood diagnosis, athletics were an outlet for anger but also a huge source of that anger. Her vision loss made participation in sport either difficult or impossible. At 18, she had to give up running because she was constantly near-missing running into things—most notably, small children and deer on the road. She constantly wrestled feelings of why me?, especially since her sisters were both provincial-level athletes. A wrestler and a gymnast, they derived a sense of identity from sport that Carla craved but couldn’t access. She resorted to self-deprecating humor, joking that she was “just the blind girl.” “I used jokes to stuff away my feelings about my vision loss,” she says. Wanting to help, her sister suggested she try goalball, a team sport played exclusively by people who are visually impaired. But playing goalball was a bit like trying on a pair of jeans that was designed to fit but didn’t. “The atmosphere wasn’t for me.”  Then a coach told her about Para cycling—the possibility of zooming down hills and powering up slopes with a sighted guide. “I was like, woah, a tandem exists?”  She felt hopeful. Her family felt...concerned. The fact that Carla wanted to ride a bike—without seeing the road—seemed reckless. “Everyone thought it was crazy!” she laughs. It didn’t stop her. “To this day, my mom says her heart just pounds [when she watches me ride] and I’m like, why? This is so much fun!’” "The para community I’ve been exposed to in Canada—they’re such incredible, hardworking, humble people. It’s quite powerful. I enjoy working with Carla and being a part of something bigger than just myself.” It’s been more than just fun. “Cycling has helped me accept my vision loss. I’m at peace with it now.” If she’s having a bad day, Carla will get on the bike with Meghan or her good friend Janelle and think, “ah, that felt good.” Like Carla, Meghan discovered cycling as a result of physical challenges. A multi-talented athlete and former competitive soccer player, Meghan’s sports career took a turn after a series of knee injuries led to a frank conversation with her orthopedic surgeon. To avoid further injury, the surgeon advised Meghan give up soccer and try cycling. “The week after, I went and bought a road bike. And that was that.”  But it wasn’t quite that. Her true sporting breakthrough didn’t come until she discovered tandem cycling—and specifically, a tandem teamdom with Carla. “I enjoy Para cycling and being a part of that community more than any solo cycling I’ve ever done,” Meghan says. When asked how she feels to be accepted into the Para sport community as an able-bodied person, Meghan pauses to reflect. “It’s hard to put into words, honestly. The para community I’ve been exposed to in Canada—they’re such incredible, hardworking, humble people. It’s quite powerful. I enjoy working with Carla and being a part of something bigger than just myself.” Their friendship outside of cycling carries its own power. They say they’re like sisters—unafraid to communicate their qualms but more unified because of it. They also just have a good time together. Meghan comes over for Middle Eastern dinners at Carla’s house, and they love to have those no one else would get this but us-type conversations. Chats along the lines of “what kind of mascara works best for when you have to sweat on a bike and then potentially appear on camera?” keep things light and fun between strenuous training sessions. “Finding makeup that we can wear while racing on a bike is a challenge we’ve been working on for a long time,” Meghan laughs. As for their ten year age gap? They hardly notice it. “Carla has an old soul! She surprises me with her wisdom.”  They both cite remaining positive as integral to their partnership. This optimism has been especially crucial for Carla personally, as she doesn’t know how long her partial-sightedness will last. “I’m going blind and I’m looking forward to it,” she says. “That might sound bad, but it is what it is.” She says becoming less stubborn and learning to ask for help have been essential to her acceptance. “The more you ask for help, the more you’ll see that people are willing to give it.” Her advice for anyone facing unique challenges, especially physical ones, is to find some sort of outlet, to quit making excuses for yourself, and to let negativity fall away from you like water. “We have to be waterfalls,” she says. “Especially now.”  "It’s about the experience. It’s about enjoying whatever comes at me, with Meghan.” As for competing at the 2021 Paralympic Games, Carla and Meghan say that’s definitely their goal—it would be a huge honour to represent their country at that level—but making Team Canada isn’t some kind of shining end point. “I’ve been asked before, ‘what if you don’t make it?,’” Carla says. “But it’s about the experience. It’s about enjoying whatever comes at me, with Meghan.” Writer: Mica LemiskiPhotos: Provided

Over her twenty-year career as a professional ballet dancer, Tara Birtwhistle has seen many high-points. And while “high points” may be quite common in ballet—an art form marked by its fair share of tip-toes—Birtwhistle’s own peaks have placed her among royals. Literally. She has danced in front of Her Majesty the Queen, who awarded her with a Golden Jubilee Medal in 2002 and a Diamond Jubilee Medal in 2012. She has performed alongside Julie Andrews (also royalty, if you ask me), Christopher Plummer, and opera powerhouse Andrea Bocelli. She has even won a Gemini Award—Canada’s version of an Emmy—for her stand-out performance in the film adaptation of The Magic Flute (2005). “Dance was a calling to me, but I had kind of a love-hate relationship with it because I loved rehearsing but it was hard to go onstage.” Watching her dance, those accolades aren’t hard to believe. In the CBC film Dracula: Pages From A Virgin’s Diary, Birtwhistle sails across the set on pointed toe, cutting through fog, seemingly unaffected by gravity. She is strong, feminine, a goddess in chiffon. It’s no wonder Maclean’s once named her “One of 100 Young Canadians to Watch in the New Millennium.” Birtwhistle has since retired from the stage, but as the Associate Artistic Director of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet—a company she’s been with for over 30 years—her passion for dance and the RWB remains unwavering. “In the international ballet world, we’re considered one of the top-tier companies.” She adds that the RWB, which will celebrate its 80th anniversary next year, is the oldest continually running company in North America. “We’re compact, and we’ve built [our ballets] so that we can bring them on tour. We’re ambassadors of Canada.” The RWB is also a leader in women’s empowerment. “We have many women directors within our organization. Everyone communicates. Because of the atmosphere we create here, everyone moves together, in the same direction.” In other words, smooth choreography is a must. They’re dancers, after all. “In the dance world, you get to work with so many great people! Choreographers, musicians, costume designers—all of these people are part of the tapestry of who I am.” In terms of her origin story, Birtwhistle says she was “born and bred” in the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. “I moved here when I was 14 years old to train with the Professional School. Then I went right into the company when I was 19.” She was promoted to soloist in 1995 and became a principal dancer in 2000. “I’ve had a huge career. I’ve travelled all over the world. [Professional dancing] is a very fulfilling career, but it’s very challenging. It’s competitive. You tackle a lot.” Helping her tackle those high barres—literal and figurative—was prima ballerina Evelyn Hart. Birtwhistle went from looking up to Hart as a student, to working directly with her as a dancer. “She really mentored me throughout my career. I was very lucky.” Birtwhistle is also very grateful to André Lewis, Artistic Director and CEO of the Royal Winnipeg Ballet. “I’ve been working with him for 30 years. He has really supported me in all of my endeavors.” Birtwhistle acknowledges the difference it made, having people around who lifted her up. “I never felt like I was ‘destined’ to do things; the pathways just opened.” She adds that her daily “lifts”—those boosts of confidence from her surrounding community—enabled her to take those pathways. “In the dance world, you get to work with so many great people! Choreographers, musicians, costume designers—all of these people are part of the tapestry of who I am.” Birtwhistle’s career didn’t come without significant challenges, including a struggle with stage fright. “Dance was a calling to me, but I had kind of a love-hate relationship with it because I loved rehearsing but it was hard to go onstage.” Her simultaneous love and fear of performance led to a cognitive spiral: knowing the audience had come specifically to see her only ramped up her fear of failure, making it harder and harder to take those first, featherlike steps in front of the crowd. She became depressed. “It was a few years of not feeling good about myself.” Ever proactive, she gathered a support system of people close to her and worked with a sports psychologist. “We did a lot of meditation, and mantra meditation,” she says, and although Birtwhistle never outright conquered her stage fright (like most afflictions, stage fright is managed, not mastered) she was able to make peace with it. “Almost like once I saw the stage fright as not the enemy any more, I was able to handle it better.” “If you’re trying to be someone you’re not, that is disempowering. I feel most empowered when I am myself.” Motherhood brought challenges, too. After having her first child, Birtwhistle realized she could no longer dance at a level she found satisfying. “By this time, I was closer to 40. My body wasn’t repairing as fast.” There were mental hurdles, too. Parenting drained her energy to the point where life on stage just wasn’t an option. She decided to retire. “The saying goes that ‘a dancer dies twice’ because when you step off the stage, you lose your identity. Oftentimes, people grieve about it.” But Birtwhistle found a new way to incorporate dance into her identity: “I told my director that I was going to retire, and that I wanted to take on more artistic coaching.” Her proactive approach allowed her to plan her final performances, something that few professional dancers get to do. “Because of my choice, I felt really good about stepping off the stage. I was ready, and I felt very fulfilled.” “I want [my children] to know that they can pursue what they love to do, and you don’t have to give up everything to do that.” Birtwhistle chose the ballet The Ecstasy of Rita Joe for her farewell performance. From Alison Mayes, of the Winnipeg Free Press: “By choosing to bow out with Rita Joe, Birtwhistle is paying tribute to RWB’s long history of cultural significance. She has also chosen not to pirouette through a fairy tale, but to play a human being whose tragedy is universal. In that sense, she is leaving the stage by reminding us of ballet’s potential.” Ballet’s potential, of course, is not limited to its artistic value. As a pursuit, dancing demands tremendous work ethic, and Birtwhistle draws parallels between training as a dancer and becoming a leader. “For our Professional School, a lot of students leave home to start training. They have to be in charge of whatever they’re doing, so they can perform at their best,” she says. This early independence means that, even if dancers don’t make it professionally, they will still develop skills that other kids may not, such as self-care and ownership of their education and career. “If you can hire a ballet dancer, you should! Their work ethic is leaps and bounds ahead of everyone. Even if you’re at the top of your game, you’re constantly working at your craft.” As for Birtwhistle, her stand-out qualities aren’t limited to a fierce work ethic. She is wonderfully self-assured, curating her life according to what she likes as opposed to what’s popular. “I was always an individual. I always had short hair. I had tattoos before tattoos were a thing,” she says. Birtwhistle also hasn’t let the competitive nature of ballet mold her into an aggressive or conflict-driven person. “I don’t like competition at all! I hate it!” she says, adding that “you be you” is a mantra she’d like young dancers to internalize. “Be generous in your spirit, your physicality, your character, but remember that it’s you onstage. Every single dancer in this company has something special to add to the Royal Winnipeg Ballet,” she says, emphasizing that good things can happen when dancers choose to focus on developing their artistry as opposed to blindly chasing lead roles. “In Cinderella, for instance, I played the Wicked Stepmother. It was a 50’s theme and we kept my short hair!” Her trademark cropped ‘do set a new trend: when the Royal Winnipeg Ballet performs Cinderella these days, a short, pixie-cut wig is standard for the role—proof that individuality inspires. “I was always an individual. I always had short hair. I had tattoos before tattoos were a thing.” Since retiring from the stage, Birtwhistle has discovered a love of running. Marathons, even. Along with the community benefits and meditative aspects of the sport, Birtwhistle also loves that, unlike ballet, completing a marathon is an accomplishment that belongs solely to her and not the public. “As a dancer you always leave a bit of yourself on the stage for the audience. With running, it’s just me and the pavement.” In terms of how she “does it all”—as in, how she allocates time between work, family, and running literally hundreds of kilometres—Birtwhistle doesn’t exactly believe in “balance,” and she’s wary of falling into the mom-guilt trap. “My husband is a principal dancer with the Royal Winnipeg Ballet, so we travel away from our children. For me, I don’t call it balance. I can’t give equal time to my children, and to work. It’s never quite balanced. What works for me is being ok with the imbalance.” She recognizes a give and take: sometimes she can spend more time with her children and less at work, and vice versa. “I want [my children] to know that they can pursue what they love to do, and you don’t have to give up everything to do that.” “Be generous in your spirit, your physicality, your character, but remember that it’s you onstage.” Through her life and career, Birtwhistle has gleaned empowerment through kindness, good listenership, and resistance to conformity. “If you’re trying to be someone you’re not, that is disempowering. I feel most empowered when I am myself.” Writing: Stacy McIntosh Editing: Mica Lemiski Images: Supplied

Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. September 2016. Katarina Roxon emerges and walks towards the edge of the pool at the Rio Olympic Aquatics Stadium. You can barely see her face – her hood is up, swim goggles securely over her eyes – but she radiates cool and calm as she gives the crowd a wave. She unzips her long jacket and sheds the layers of clothing keeping her muscles warm, flashing the camera a big smile. A moment of total silence, and then the horn – eight women surge into the pool, impossibly fast and graceful, driven by strength, preparation, and hunger for the podium. The women’s SB8 100-metre breaststroke at the 2016 Summer Paralympics is underway. The road to Rio started in Kippens-Stephenville, a small community on the west coast of Newfoundland. “My parents thought swimming was a good life skill for me and my sister to have,” says Roxon. “At first, I absolutely hated the water. Not a fan. But over time it got to a point where they couldn’t get me out.” Roxon and her sister later joined the swim team: “It wasn’t just a team, it was a family. Everything started from there.” Her connection to Newfoundland and Labrador runs deep. She speaks proudly of her hometown as the place that accepted her wholly and pushed her past her limits to great success. “It’s a small town, so everyone grew up with me and knew who I was. They didn’t see me as the girl with one arm, they just saw me as me.” Roxon was born with her left arm missing below her elbow. “People often ask me how it feels to have one arm – well, how does it feel to have two arms?!” she says laughing. “It’s normal, just the way it is.” Although she felt comfortable in her community, “I was shy with my arm growing up,” she remembers. “I did get bullied a little bit. If I wasn’t wearing my prosthetic, I’d cover my arm up. But I always had an amazing family and great friends by my side, so I got out of that habit.” Early in her swimming career, leaving her home and support system to travel for tournaments was difficult, but her love of competing kept her motivated. “I’ve always been very determined. My mom called me pretty stubborn,” she laughs. “I sat on our porch for hours until I learned how to tie my shoelaces. I like to do things by myself – for Para athletes, we’re often dependent on someone or something, so we like that feeling of independence. And I like to prove people wrong. I think I get that from my dad. When someone says he can’t do something it’s like, ‘OK, just watch me.’” Roxon’s father eventually became her swim coach. “He’s the kind of person that likes to push people to be the best that they are,” she says. Roxon appreciates having someone to keep her on target: “There are days I don’t want to swim, like everybody else. But he sees the bigger picture, he knows where we’re going and what I need to achieve in order to get to the next step. He and my mom always told me I could do anything I wanted to do.” At 15 years old, Roxon competed in her first Paralympics in Beijing as the youngest Canadian swimmer on the team. She loved the atmosphere, the people, the pool, and her first experience in the athletes’ village: “Everyone was from different countries for different sports, but they were all there to win a medal at the games and be the best that they could be. It was inspiring to see all these Para athletes get in the water and swim their hearts out.” After placing 12th at the games, she revamped her training, making it more challenging to prepare for London 2012. “I definitely put more pressure on myself to perform well. I wanted to get on the podium so bad.” In London, she placed 5th: “For me, it was a disappointment. I knew that I had a lot more in me.” Back to the drawing board. It was a shift both physically and mentally – reflecting on London, Roxon recognizes the amount of pressure she put on herself didn’t serve her well. She learned to let go a little and enjoy herself more: “Everything started falling into place,” she says. “How I was feeling, how I was moving through the water.” In 2015, she collected six medals at the Parapan American Games in Toronto. “Having the home crowd and my family there was so exciting. I knew that I was on the right track.” Which brings us to Rio. Before the 100-metre breaststroke, she remembers feeling unusually calm. As she climbed up onto her block, “I looked over the pool and said to myself, ‘God, take care of my giants for me.’ For me, my giants weren’t my competitors, my giant was the pool. I had to conquer this 100 metres. That set the tone for me.” Diving in, she only thought of swimming – what her arms were going to do, what her legs were going to do, the position of her head. She kept her eyes closed, so she wasn’t aware of where her competitors were in relation to her. “I went for it and I knew I had to leave everything in the pool,” she says. In the final stretch of the race, Roxon jets forward. “As I was coming in, I opened my eyes, took 2 strokes, and touched the wall. It was the perfect, perfect finish. I thought, ‘I’ll take whatever the result is and I’ll be happy with that.’” She takes a beat to catch her breath and search for her time on the board, at first not quite registering the “1” next to her name. Then, suddenly, her face crumples into tears. She clinched the gold medal. “It was very emotional for me, it felt like a weight off my shoulders. I’ve never swum any race as close to perfect as that. And I was so happy for the other girls who medaled and how well they did.” Like Ellen Keane of Ireland, who received the bronze and met Roxon at the rope between their lanes for a long hug and happy-cry, the two women realizing they achieved their dream. “When I watch the race back, I can feel every single stroke,” she says. “I still have to hold my breath a little.” When Roxon finally got to the podium, she told herself she wouldn’t cry – but as soon as the national anthem began to play, she broke down. “This medal wasn’t just for me, it was for all the people who helped me get there,” she says. “My family, my friends, my teammates, my community. This one was coming back to Newfoundland and Labrador.” Roxon was met with the love and support of the entire country coming home to Canada. “It’s such a high, a roller coaster year,” says Roxon. She admits settling back into everyday life after Rio was “a little tough, mentally, physically,” but her eye is always on the prize. “Tokyo is my goal – to get there, to podium again,” she says, speaking of the 2020 Summer Paralympics in Tokyo. “I’m going to give it my all. The training will be intense for the next year and a half, but it’ll definitely be worth it.” She’s on the right track – last year, she won a gold, a silver, and a bronze medal at the 2018 Pan Pacific Para Swimming Championships in Cairns, Australia. Throughout her life, Roxon has learned that true empowerment comes from within. “You need to love and accept yourself first if you want other people to be accepting of you,” she says. She uses her platform to motivate and inspire others, serving on the Provincial Council for Persons with Disabilities and as a representative for The War Amps of Canada, advocating for the power of sport, perseverance, and having big goals. Roxon’s mantra: “There’s always a way.” She conquers giants by owning and learning from her past and never giving up or settling for anything less than her full potential. “I’m living proof that it doesn’t matter where you grew up and what you do or don’t have,” says Roxon. “Anything is possible if you have determination, a support system, and dream really big.” Writing: Stephanie Chipperfield

Olympic Gold Medalist, Meaghan Mikkelson, gives us a peek into the world of women's hockey As a player for the CWHL's Calgary Inferno, Meaghan Mikkelson is immersed in the busy world of competitive hockey. We sat down with her to gain some insight into women's hockey, and how she manages her work/life balance as a new mom. How long have you been playing hockey? I’ve been skating since I was 4 years old and playing hockey since I was 6 years old. Why did you want to play hockey? I actually started off playing ringette when I was 5 years old. I went to the outdoor rink with my younger brother, Brendan, and his hockey team, and I decided that I wanted to play hockey too. Hockey is in my family as well. My great uncle Jim McFadden played for the Detroit Red Wings, winning a Stanley Cup and the Calder Trophy for Rookie of the Year and my dad Bill Mikkelson played for the Washington Capitals and New York Islanders. Can you give a quick “day-in-the-life” on a game day? I wake up with my son Calder, who is a very good sleeper, knock on wood, and sleeps until around 8 am, have coffee and we both have breakfast. We relax around the house, play, do laundry and get pre-game meal organized—with a few diaper changes mixed in there of course! After lunch, my husband Scott normally takes Calder out for an hour or two so I can have some time to rest and mentally prepare for the game that night. Once they come home, we put Calder down for a nap, have pre-game meal, and then we head to the game. With my husband Scott being the head coach of the Inferno, we rely on family or our babysitter to watch Calder while we are at the rink. Was it a hard decision to continue to play competitively after you had your son? It was a hard decision because I wanted to be the best mother to my son that I could be, and I didn’t want to do anything that would compromise that, but I also knew that I wasn’t ready to retire competitively. The hardest part about it was knowing how hard and challenging the process of coming back after pregnancy and delivering my son would be, not only physically, but also in balancing the demands of being an elite athlete and a mother. Luckily, I have had the greatest support network in my husband, my family, friends, and teammates. They knew that I was up for the challenge, and they have been there for me every step of the way! What have been the challenges you’ve faced being a woman playing hockey? The greatest challenge I have faced has been taking the time off during my pregnancy, having my son, making a comeback, and the day-to-day challenges and stress in balancing being a mother and a female hockey player. I came back to playing 3 months after my son, and faced a series of strains, pulls, and minor injuries as my body worked to recover from my pregnancy and giving birth. You hear about NHL players having new babies, and while I sympathize with the sleepless days/nights and challenges that come along with being a new parent, being a breastfeeding mother playing hockey at an elite level along with the sleepless days/nights and challenges that come along with being a new parent is a whole new ballgame! What do you think needs to be done to put women’s hockey on a level playing field with men’s? I think that people need to see women’s hockey for what it is, and that is a different product than the men’s game. I am not sure what the future for women’s hockey holds, but I am very optimistic as I continue to see the growth and popularity of the game. There are so many people that are working tirelessly to increase the visibility and credibility of our game, and I don’t think it is a matter of “if” the game will take off, but rather a matter of “when”. Our game has a very promising future. What advice do you have for girls who want to play hockey? I would tell them to find what you are passionate about and set goals for yourself. There are so many opportunities out there for young female hockey players, whether it is traveling to play, getting a scholarship to a University, or simply learning skills that transfer into the real world, hockey has so much to offer. I would also tell them that they are strong and can do anything they set their minds to!