Me and the "mud pail" are now inseparableWhat a difference a few weeks can make. In February of this year, I was investigating solar panels and other low impact environmental solutions. Now just a few months later, I am helping to retrofit NYC buildings. How did that happen? A lot of early mornings and a great environmental construction training program gave me the jump start that I needed. I dove in head first and dedicated myself to my 'learn by doing it' philosophy.
It is a seemingly long jump from evening research in the NY Public Library to 5am alarm clock settings, stamina training and OSHA certification. But murals are in my opinion the most creative end of construction, so I felt confidant that my past field experience would help me to move ahead. I also wanted to find a way to include my environmental leanings as well as my educator background. I was ready for a bold move that only a boot camp-esque experience could deliver.
But before I get into that, we must look at why women would need their own training programs.
Women in construction are often looked at with disdain. We are seen as job stealer's that should be employed behind a desk, not on a scaffold. I have been hissed at and sneered at by other independent contractors, especially painting contractors who cannot and do not do murals. It seems like a strange fight to pick, but even today, other crews attempt to bully women off the work site. Women make excellent construction workers, but they are about 10% of the workers here in the city. Sad, but true.
So before I launched into the intimidating world of murals in NYC, I decided to transform myself from an office employee back into a career that is part blue, white and green collar. I wanted to leave my mark on NYC by literally making it a little bit better. I wanted to help to reset the city's consciousness. I also wanted clear results that could be measured. In other words, I wanted it all.
Enter boot camp...I got into the program by exhibiting competency in math and English, and two interviews. The process was quick and before you knew it, I was searching for women's steel toes and Carhartt pants. I was prepping by watching the E2 PBS series, desperate to get my environmental game on.
Within the classroom, I was on the surface perhaps out matched by a couple of tables of women who were fresh out of the police and/or military. They were powerhouses of strength and it appeared that nothing was going to intimidate them. Enter pale, lanky me whose childhood name was "rickets." I was kinda bony and looked like I wouldn't make it through the first week. I even had a slight limp from my leg surgery the week prior. I looked like wounded prey. What I had going for me was a hunger for change and a mind that liked a good challenge. Plus, I never give up without one heck of a fight. Those things were well hidden within my protruding rib cage.
So in I walked and sat down like I was a little tornado of construction know how, crossing my leg and twirling my steel toes around like I was born to wear them. Did it intimidate my class? not really, but it was worth a shot.
Little did any of us know that I could learn to lift 1/2 my body weight and still manage a smile. I embraced my inner number cruncher that had been dormant and perhaps shadowed a bit by my math genius Brother. I was a desperate to do well, but not at the expense of my peers. I became a team player, a tutor, and tried to limit my complaining and bruise comparisons to short but meaningful outbursts. We became well bruised from running the stairs with anything and everything, from 63lb mud pails, to ladders, plywood and any other heavy/obnoxious piece of construction equipment that we had laying around. I was sleep deprived, along with being dairy, wheat and coffee free, which is a bad combo. This seemed like an insane time to stay true to my dietary pledge, but I did. I whined at times, and was wimpy at other times, but never gave up.
I grew new muscles and learned a new language of sorts. Now able to speak of voltage drops and Rip saw cuts with comfort and interest. I can now identify an unsafe scaffold a block away, and can cut a mitre box with precision.
On the inside I changed a lot and on the outside I changed a little bit, including the addition of a sparkly white hard hat. The hard hat was awarded for getting up in all weather and arriving in any of three boroughs before the sun rose everyday for six weeks. It symbolized not giving in to the temptations of comfy beds and snooze tag. Making your body move even when every muscle ached. The hat though made of plastic was worth it's weight in gold at our graduation ceremony, for it was a prize that was granted for nothing short of stubborn determination. Since stubborn determination seems to be my thing, it is no surprise that the hard hat now thumps against my thigh as I catch my predawn subway ride. It garners a lot of concerned looks from male construction workers and a lot of small nods from women on the train. It symbolizes so much more than my own personal battle to make a change in my own life, it speaks of a much larger battle to make a change in others lives as well, namely a change towards equality.
I am proud to be able to be able to move ahead into unknown situations and explore emerging employment fields. I think we as women are success stories every time we step on a subway dressed in a way that nobody expects. I like that my steel toes ruffle a few feathers and my paint stained clothes make children smile. I am happy when 20 something workforce trainees say that they want a hard hat just like mine. It is a small symbol of moving forward with strength and courage, like every single member of my class did.
So I think of all of those women in my class, on my work site, and those in my family who were influential in shaping my idea that we can do any job that we care to. Sometimes I smile when I think of my once lanky Mother climbing into a giant grain truck and plopping me down on the seat next to her. My legs swung a foot above the floor as we bounced and laughed our way along country highways never thinking that we were doing anything out of the ordinary. We were mavericks to the core and remain that way to this day. On a final note, thank you as well to all the other renegades who cheered for me these past few weeks. I tip my hard hat to all of you.
It is a seemingly long jump from evening research in the NY Public Library to 5am alarm clock settings, stamina training and OSHA certification. But murals are in my opinion the most creative end of construction, so I felt confidant that my past field experience would help me to move ahead. I also wanted to find a way to include my environmental leanings as well as my educator background. I was ready for a bold move that only a boot camp-esque experience could deliver.
But before I get into that, we must look at why women would need their own training programs.
Women in construction are often looked at with disdain. We are seen as job stealer's that should be employed behind a desk, not on a scaffold. I have been hissed at and sneered at by other independent contractors, especially painting contractors who cannot and do not do murals. It seems like a strange fight to pick, but even today, other crews attempt to bully women off the work site. Women make excellent construction workers, but they are about 10% of the workers here in the city. Sad, but true.
So before I launched into the intimidating world of murals in NYC, I decided to transform myself from an office employee back into a career that is part blue, white and green collar. I wanted to leave my mark on NYC by literally making it a little bit better. I wanted to help to reset the city's consciousness. I also wanted clear results that could be measured. In other words, I wanted it all.
Enter boot camp...I got into the program by exhibiting competency in math and English, and two interviews. The process was quick and before you knew it, I was searching for women's steel toes and Carhartt pants. I was prepping by watching the E2 PBS series, desperate to get my environmental game on.
Within the classroom, I was on the surface perhaps out matched by a couple of tables of women who were fresh out of the police and/or military. They were powerhouses of strength and it appeared that nothing was going to intimidate them. Enter pale, lanky me whose childhood name was "rickets." I was kinda bony and looked like I wouldn't make it through the first week. I even had a slight limp from my leg surgery the week prior. I looked like wounded prey. What I had going for me was a hunger for change and a mind that liked a good challenge. Plus, I never give up without one heck of a fight. Those things were well hidden within my protruding rib cage.
So in I walked and sat down like I was a little tornado of construction know how, crossing my leg and twirling my steel toes around like I was born to wear them. Did it intimidate my class? not really, but it was worth a shot.
Little did any of us know that I could learn to lift 1/2 my body weight and still manage a smile. I embraced my inner number cruncher that had been dormant and perhaps shadowed a bit by my math genius Brother. I was a desperate to do well, but not at the expense of my peers. I became a team player, a tutor, and tried to limit my complaining and bruise comparisons to short but meaningful outbursts. We became well bruised from running the stairs with anything and everything, from 63lb mud pails, to ladders, plywood and any other heavy/obnoxious piece of construction equipment that we had laying around. I was sleep deprived, along with being dairy, wheat and coffee free, which is a bad combo. This seemed like an insane time to stay true to my dietary pledge, but I did. I whined at times, and was wimpy at other times, but never gave up.
I grew new muscles and learned a new language of sorts. Now able to speak of voltage drops and Rip saw cuts with comfort and interest. I can now identify an unsafe scaffold a block away, and can cut a mitre box with precision.
On the inside I changed a lot and on the outside I changed a little bit, including the addition of a sparkly white hard hat. The hard hat was awarded for getting up in all weather and arriving in any of three boroughs before the sun rose everyday for six weeks. It symbolized not giving in to the temptations of comfy beds and snooze tag. Making your body move even when every muscle ached. The hat though made of plastic was worth it's weight in gold at our graduation ceremony, for it was a prize that was granted for nothing short of stubborn determination. Since stubborn determination seems to be my thing, it is no surprise that the hard hat now thumps against my thigh as I catch my predawn subway ride. It garners a lot of concerned looks from male construction workers and a lot of small nods from women on the train. It symbolizes so much more than my own personal battle to make a change in my own life, it speaks of a much larger battle to make a change in others lives as well, namely a change towards equality.
I am proud to be able to be able to move ahead into unknown situations and explore emerging employment fields. I think we as women are success stories every time we step on a subway dressed in a way that nobody expects. I like that my steel toes ruffle a few feathers and my paint stained clothes make children smile. I am happy when 20 something workforce trainees say that they want a hard hat just like mine. It is a small symbol of moving forward with strength and courage, like every single member of my class did.
So I think of all of those women in my class, on my work site, and those in my family who were influential in shaping my idea that we can do any job that we care to. Sometimes I smile when I think of my once lanky Mother climbing into a giant grain truck and plopping me down on the seat next to her. My legs swung a foot above the floor as we bounced and laughed our way along country highways never thinking that we were doing anything out of the ordinary. We were mavericks to the core and remain that way to this day. On a final note, thank you as well to all the other renegades who cheered for me these past few weeks. I tip my hard hat to all of you.
1 comment:
Hi Anna,
I've not visited you for far too long. What a thrill to read this totally inspiring post. I think I've stayed away because it aches a bit to see you living the life I wish I was living, but it is also wonderful, and gives me hope for what is out there to achieve when I don't have M.E. anymore.
Well done on all that you did to earn your hard had. And thank you for being out there showing that women can, and have every right to do these things. I know how much stick I get just from local handyman types when they see me with a drill in hand, I think they'd pass out to see a woman in construction of any sort. Despite the M.E. I've spent the last 2 months slowly but surely fixing the hideous bodge job a joiner did on my best friend's house and doing it cleaner, cheaper and better with 50yrs less training but 50 x more common sense and determination.
If I forget to return have a great Christmas, and a fabulous New Year dip in the icy water (if you are still doing that)- you brave soul!
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