I used to be a Mormon, a good ol' Mormon too

Relentlessly Forward (January 2021)

 My transition has been long and not at all traditional. For many, it’s a process that takes two years or less. I first started taking hormones way back in early 2009. Christmas 2007, my ex and I were at her parents for the holidays. Our corgi drowned the day after Christmas. I still get tearful thinking about our “Pookie”. His official name was Romney Trystan. He was a beautiful dog. Our human baby was six months old, and Romney vigilantly watched over him. Conlan has always loved dogs ever since Romney. I took Romney’s death very hard and blamed myself. I had let him out so that he could chase the cats. I went to check on him and saw his body floating in the pool. I yelled for help, and we tried resuscitating him. 

His death was the spark for the beginning of my transition. Life was good and the feelings from my childhood and teenage years were tightly sealed and deeply suppressed. But the grief process brought out those feelings. And my addiction raged. And I started researching how to tuck my penis, how to feminize my body, how to get hormones, etc. I tried herbs like saw palmetto and fenugreek. It wasn’t enough, so I ordered hormones from the Internet and used a pseudonym for the recipient’s name. I wasn't home when the package was delivered, and not recognizing the name, my ex refused the package. So I picked it up from the post office. I remember getting so nervous and excited all at the same time. And scared that I would have to show id or that it had already been returned to the sender. But I did get the package. Around this time, I had gone across the border into Mexico and bought spironolactone. I hid it all from my wife, from everyone. For subsequent orders, I got a PO Box in a nearby town.

This went on for a few years. I would take hormones for a few months and stop for a little bit. Once I dressed up and went out to the mall. I didn’t pass at all; teenagers snickered. But I felt so high and jubilant. It was wonderful!!!! But my wife did not like any of it, not the hiding, lying, pills, clothes, not any of it. I had stopped taking hormones, sacrificing myself in an attempt to save the marriage. It didn’t work, and she divorced me anyway. I was devastated. I got back on DIY hormones and then found a clinic and endocrinologist where I could get hormones without waiting a year of living full time. My first appointment there was so amazing. The specialist asked a bunch of questions and finished the interview with “you are trans”. It was so affrming to hear that, to have proof that I wasn’t crazy, that this wasn’t just another part of my addiction.

I started dating my now-wife. After two weeks of dating, I told her that I am transgender. She responded with love wanting to learn more. I was floored! True, unconditional love. I had never felt that from someone before. Complete acceptance. It was so foreign.

I came out at work. Then I changed jobs and socially detransitioned reverting to male mode in public. I was taking hormones off and on. But I was a mess. I came out at work again (at the new job) and in the running world. And I’ve been on hormones pretty much since then.

I never thought I’d get to the surgery step. From the time that I decided to transition, there were three things that I identified keeping me from having surgery: I thought I would lose my family, the cost was just too much, and I would likely get excommunicated from my church. All three of those pillars have fallen, one by one. My ex divorced me anyway, and I eventually got custody of the kids. Many insurances now cover surgery, partly due to Obamacare. And now I’m leaving the LDS Church.

Last spring sometime I heard about the NYU Langone Center and was very impressed. So I made an appointment for a consult, but the wait time for just the consult was eight months. Those eight months are now up, and my appointment is next week! Wahoo!!

 Hearing others talk about dilation scared me.

Western States Journey (August 2019)

WOW!!!! Just WOW!!!!

Western States was an amazing experience.  And it isn't finished, even now over a month after the race to Placer High School. It began much earlier than 5 AM on June 29, 2019.  As far back as when I was in seventh grade.  But for now, we'll go back to July 2012.

July 2012. On Friday the 13th, my ex filed for divorce, and I signed for the papers that afternoon right before heading to run my first ultra, the Cuyamaca 50k.  It was only a couple hours west of where I lived in Yuma, AZ on the way to San Diego.  I had no idea what I was doing.  It was hard.  I got lost towards the end.  It was hot.  It took over five and a half hours!!!  I was covered in dust/dirt with the infamous dirt tan line above my ankles. But I had so much fun. I WAS HOOKED.  With nowhere to go, I stuck around after the race to eat pizza and met other runners. As is expected from me, I had more than my fair share of pizza.  It was almost as fun as the race itself.  I was hurting and needed that community.  They were there for me in ways they'll never know.  I camped another night there and woke up to a neighbor camper talking in Hungarian.  That was AWESOME.  Another neighbor camper came over sometime over the weekend, and we got talking.  He and his wife were so kind.  He had just started running long distances, but hadn't run an ultra yet.  We agreed to meet up later that week since I was going to be in San Diego for training for work anyway.  Even though I was beyond sore, I had a blast just a few days later running some trails with him and some of his friends.  They invited me yet again to another workout that week.  So I went and had more fun doing a track workout.  This week was crucial for my mental health.  My world was changing, drastically.  With the pending divorce, we were also going to move to Virginia a month later for a new job.  Some of the racers and this camper and his friend helped me move forward.  Running helped me move forward, and it kept me alive.

My new job in Virginia was a nice break from the 60+ hour work weeks in Yuma, but the bosses quickly made my already-hellish life even more hellish.  Somehow though, I just kept going forward.  I found another 50k race a few hours away.  I ran the New River 50k in a smoking fast 3:37 finishing in second place.  That weekend further lifted my spirits.  Throughout this difficult time, nightmares were common.  It was hard to focus.  But somehow I managed to find sobriety through running and frequent 12-step meetings.  I connected with other addicts and runners, with church leaders.  I found support groups for both the addiction and for transgender.  I found a therapist and started hormone treatment.  All of that support somehow got me through.

Then I met Heather.  I wasn't looking for romance.  I just wanted to have fun dating, get my mind off the hell I was going through with my ex and her fiancé.  But Heather and I instantly connected.  As corny as it sounds, fate brought us together.

But what does all of this have to do with Western States?  Well, those two runners from San Diego talked about one day running Western States together.  I thought the idea was crazy.  I had read "Born to Run" and had no desire to run 100 miles.  And I didn't know what this "Western States" race was all about anyway.  But then, I happened to run a 50-mile race that was a qualifier for Western States.  The race was the weekend before our wedding in early June 2013.  But since it was a qualifier for States, I put my name in the lottery anyway later that year.

The next year, they removed all the 50-mile qualifier races since they had so many runners entering the lottery.  So, I bit the bullet, and ran a 100-mile race, the Massanutten Mountain Trails 100 Mile Run in May 2014, a month after I ran Boston for the first time setting a PR of 2:52:10 that still stands (it was a BLAST!!).  I finished the 100-mile race.  Not finishing never even occurred to me.  So the last 30-40 miles were a slogfest, a death march to the extreme.  At the half-way mark, I was on pace to finish in about 20 hours.  But then after mile 60-ish, I pretty much died and walked most of the last 40 miles.  My pacer was super patient, gently nudging me along.

. . . to be continued . . . (I hope)

Farewell to a "Deer" Friend

Reflections of Grace, part 179.

Almost two months ago, I hit a deer. I felt so awful - he didn't survive the untimely encounter. I'm very careful about deer and know where they usually are along our road. This one and his friend surprised me at a new spot. I now drive much slower going down that hill.  I was quite shaken up and very nervous while driving the rest of that week.

Anyway, I took the car to the repair shop a few weeks ago since the headlights stopped working; otherwise I would have kept driving it for a few more years. Ignorant of insurance policies and procedures for cars nearing their ultimate end of life, I tried filing the repair with insurance. But since the damage was more than their estimated cash value of the car (it had almost 200,000 miles), they declared it a total loss. I was devastated.

That car has taken me lots of places. I lived out of it for a few months, sleeping in random parking lots and getting woken up a couple times by police. I learned how to fix lots of things on it including regapping the valve clearances, fixed the brakes multiple times, changed the spark plugs at least twice, changed the oil always by myself, vacuumed crumbs and dirt not often enough, upgraded the radio so I could have a CD player AND Bluetooth, and simply took good care of it. Heather learned to drive stick in it, and I just loved the control and efficiency from the manual transmission. It didn't hurt that I averaged about 42 mpg over the seven years and approximately 140,000 miles that I owned it. Until recently, it "fit" our entire family. It never got a name besides "the Fit" or "the Blue car"; it seemed sacrilegious to name it  "Blueberry", but we loved it nonetheless. It was a great fit for our family.

With a heavy heart, we decided to let the insurance take it and send it to auction. Sure, the best thing financially would be to fix the headlights and essential cosmetics, and then run it even further into the ground for at least another seven years. I'm sure the engine and transmission would have lasted at least another hundred thousand miles. And I was eager to learn how to do a little body work.  But we figured we'd never get as much from it for selling it as the insurance was offering.

So we started looking for cars. Ideally an economical small car that seats seven, or at least six. I remembered seeing ads a few years ago that the prius had a minivan version. So I researched and was disheartened to learn that the seven seater was available only in Europe because of US regulations.  Any small SUV that I could find, with theoretically better gas mileage, had seats for only five people. It's a conspiracy I tell you! Toyota can't bring the seven seater to the US, and so buyers are forced to buy larger vehicles such as the Sienna, Odyssey, or some large SUV, and thus use more fuel. What happened to all the station wagons with third-row seating? I think there is a Mazda model that fit the criteria, but I'm wary of the brand and just couldn't find a decent used one in our price range. And of course, the Tesla X with a third row was an option, especially since it can tow more than our Sienna. But alas, it's definitely too expensive, even after factoring in mostly-free electricity/fuel for ten years. So we gave up and decided to get a small car again that wouldn't fit the entire family and hope that our sienna would last a lot longer (it's been having issues, but I think I fixed the main problem - courtesy of YouTube).

So I spent a few days online looking for an economical used car and decided on a Prius. I was no-doubt excited at the prospect of having a hybrid, as I've always liked the Prius. I also test drove an electric, the Nissan Leaf. But since it's range was not quite enough at about 80 miles, we went with a prius. The one we ended up buying wasn't the trim level I wanted (dealer incorrectly listed it as the higher trim), but it was relatively cheap and in great shape.

Yesterday, the salvage company picked up the Honda Fit. I was sad to see it go.

I used as much of the last tank as possible.430 miles is probably a record!

Throughout this entire process, I've reflected a lot. Why am I so attached to this car, an inanimate object? Sure, it had lots of memories (good and bad) associated with it and was only "my" second car. And the new car is great, but I've realized, I guess, that it's just a car. Driving it home last week was rather anticlimactic. "Meh, it's a car." Having the latest technology, the shiny trinkets, etc. just doesn't appeal to me as much anymore. As long as it has cruise control - the only drawback of the Fit.

Growing up, my brothers and I were car fanatics, dreaming about various models. Our dad, patiently and lovingly, took us to dealerships to try out various cars. It was fun and cost him nothing. Even better when the dealer enticed us with free food, even if it wasn't the healthiest. We could identify almost any car from afar without seeing any identifying model symbols, just from the shape and sound.

So, in conclusion, my unsolicited advice is to buy a cheap car for cash, take care of it, and drive it as long as possible. But if it dies sooner than expected, just get another (if you really need it). Life goes on, and it doesn't matter whether you drive a ten year old beater or the newest Lexus, Rolls Royce, Jaguar, Aston Martin, Mercedes, etc, or even a Chevy, Toyota, etc.(definitely not a Ford, lol). Better yet, either live somewhere that you can use public transit or bike /walk everywhere and don't need a car, or become totally self sufficient so that you don't need to go anywhere.

Poignant Lessons of Life

 I often reflect on lessons I've learned. Sometimes a specific lecture or lesson from a professor or elementary teacher stands out. And that lesson sucks with me throughout my life. Here are a few that have stuck.

My eleventh grade history/literature teacher had us read Kurt Vonnegut's "Cat's Cradle" together. After each lesson, he would talk about it. One day he got on his proverbial soap box and talked about how we as humans try to put everything in a box, make everything in straight lines. We defy nature, and therefore God. As I've been learning more and more about gardening, ecology, and permaculture, I see this over and over. We think we know so much, but in reality we know very little. The more we attempt to take nature and claim grind, the more havoc we wreak. Bees don't fly in straight lines from flower to flower. We think that making things as efficient and compact and industrialized as possible saves money, but it only creates other, more costly problems. Monocrop planting is like a huge billboard for pests and diseases. So we think the solution is chemicals, which only briefly work and are harmful to us and the environment. When nature already has a solution: diversity and attracting beneficial hugs. We fight against nature instead of working with it, as it is. We fight nature and therefore God. #rantover I promise, lol.

My fourth grade teacher was new to teaching. So new that my third-grade teacher was also her third-grade teacher. But she taught me a lot. Two, scratch that, THREE lessons stand out from her.

1. She cultivated a love of science in all of her students, especially in me. One day she had a bunch of test tubes standing next to each other and poured water into each of them and then some other water also. The result was a rainbow of test tubes. Our task was to figure out how she did it. "There was powder in the tubes" was one guess. Another was that she put dye in each of them without us seeing. Neither suggestion was correct. I silently thought about it, and in my contemplation probably missed the explanation that she gave. For years I puzzled over that object lesson and could never figure it out. Recently, my sister-in-law was teaching at the same school as her, right as my teacher was about to retire. So I asked how she had done it. Surprised that I remembered it, she revealed that the multiple containers of water were not actually water but various chemicals. My assumptions were at fault. When the transparent liquids were combined, a chemical reaction produced the various colors, based on which chemicals were combined.
2. Once she wrote on my quarterly report card that I often pout and give up when confronted with difficult problems that I can't easily solve. I remember being angry and furious at her for writing that, cause I was a perfect student. Or so I felt.  In the years since, the image of that sentence printed at the bottom of the dot-matrix paper has stuck with me. Especially when I am working on a difficult problem and throw a tantrum.  I then calm down and realize that I can do hard things.  It may take a long while and a significant amount of elbow grease, but I can do it
3. She started the Young Astronaut's program in our school. One day per week we met either in the gym or her classroom and did science stuff. We planted beans in milk cartons, learned about photovoltaic cells, contraction of eye pupils to regulate light, and many other fascinating things about the world around us. We even tried dehydrated space food - my favorite was the ice cream.
4. Okay, I lied, FOUR. Once she kept me late because I refused to write. That day we had learned about the haiku. I could not think of anything to come up with for my haiku. So I just sat there. Just three lines and seventeen syllables. But I couldn't do it. And I continued to sit trying to come up with something, but even after school I still stubbornly refused to write anything until I had something perfect. This incident, the one time that I ever faced any level of detention is probably what inspired her to write her criticism on that report card. I hated writing for many years, especially creative writing. I was okay with writing a report, but not a story or expression of my thoughts and feelings on a subject. Sometime in high school, I started a journal which I dutifully wrote in every day until sometime in college after my mission when the addiction took over my life. That's another story entirely. Long story short, I used writing to help get out of that addiction and to stay sober even now. Thankfully, writing and I are on much better terms. It has become a healthy outlet for my emotions and a way of sorting out things.

As a sophomore in college, I really struggled with the abstract side of math. Computational math was a breeze, with or without a calculator. I remember sitting with a fellow student in our professor's office. This was the second time I had him, first for Math 4710, Probability, the previous semester, and now for Math 4210, Fundamentals of Analysis. He basically told us to try and to keep working at it.  He compared proofs and problems with using a hammer. At first, the muscles are weak, and the body not very-well coordinated. With practice, the muscles strengthen and better swing the hammer. The brain and body become more accurate and hit the nail, not the poor thumb. With time, diligence, and persistence the proof muscles did get stronger. I learned the tools and techniques to solve theorems and other problems.

In group therapy, our therapist compared addiction to being stuck at the bottom of a well. Even if someone tossed us a shovel, how would we get out. I've imagined this many times and tried picturing how I could get out. He didn't give us the solution. And it continues to puzzle me. Maybe it relates to the infamous first and second steps of recovery. That we are powerless and need help from a higher being. For God could surely pluck us out of that well just add he did me from the addiction. I think the imagery combined with the problem had helped solidify this lesson in my thoughts. And the same for all of these lessons. I remember them well either because they were an object lesson or I imagined them intensely with great detail. I bet there's a study out there about the permanence of memories and lessons.

Mission Reflections

I realized today that it's been a little over nineteen years since I started a two-year mission to Hungary for my church. I was just over nineteen years old at the time and thought that I knew so much. I was so sure of where my future was headed. It's been anything but what I imagined, and I'm grateful for that! Three houses bought, four trips to Europe, three beautiful sons with a fourth on the way, a divorce, two education degrees, a bunch of cross-country road trips, thousands of miles on foot, various certifications including Master Gardener, four dogs (I still get teary now eleven years after "Pookie" passed), five (5 too many lol) indoor cats, countless friends from church and running from all around the world, many tears, many smiles and laughs, many mountain peaks, countless gorgeous vistas, and so on.

I like to think I've learned a thing or two on this journey that is, statistically speaking, only halfway done. I hope I'm less judgemental of others. That I listen more than I talk. That I'm more empathetic and understanding of others. That it always gets better in the end, and if it's not getting better, it's not the end yet. That's it's better to let it out than to keep it in. That Mother Nature is a way better Gardener than I'll ever be. To embrace the suck and the mundane and to enjoy the present. That stuff doesn't really matter cause it just comes and goes, but memories of time spent with family and friends, those stay forever. That it all comes down to love.

#nostalgia #lifeisgood #T-I-M-E #ultrarunner #ultrarunninglife

Gracetől való gondolkodások
Másnap észre vettem hogy tizenkilenc éve van azóta hogy missziómra indultam. Akkor csak tizenkilenc éves voltam és azt hittem hogy sokat tudtam. Olyan biztos is voltam arról hogy mit hozna nekem a jövő. Egyáltalán nem volt olyan amilyet képzeltem és nagyon hálás vagyok érte.

WHY

"Why do you dance?"
"Because it's always been a part of my life. It was there with my mom when I was a baby, and it's here now thanks to Odette. It allows me to live, to be myself." - Felicie in “Leap”

And this is part of why I run. Ever since coach Mason cnvinced me to join the summer track club while I was in Junior High and gave his full support and confidence in me.  He believed in me and gave me the nickname “Studmuffin.”  Then Coach Garn took note of the tiny, gawky freshman and taught me the basics about cross country running and shared fascinating stories of his adventures in running.  Mitch was a senior and was super friendly to me.  Later that year he won the state title but still took time for me.  And now Coach Roche has taken that support to the absolute, unconditional level with loads of excitement, contagious positivity, the playfulness of a puppy, and unbounded encouragement.

I run because it is a part of me, always has been.  I run because it allows me to live, to be myself.  When I am out on a run, it's just me and nature bonding ever more with each step. Left foot, right foot. Over and over again. The rhythm and predictability bring peace and calm to my otherwise frantic, dysphoric mind and body. The fascinating and natural beauty all around brings gratitude to my heart. I run for love.  Love of my family.  Love of other runners and fellow human beings, each with their unique challenges and fascinating journeys. Love of Mother Earth.  Love of myself.

Thorn in my Flesh

7 And lest I should be exalted above measure through the abundance of the revelations, there was given to me a thorn in the flesh, the messenger of Satan to buffet me, lest I should be exalted above measure.

8 For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me.

9 And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness. Most gladly therefore will I rather glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may rest upon me.

10 Therefore I take pleasure in infirmities, in reproaches, in necessities, in persecutions, in distresses for Christ’s sake: for when I am weak, then am I strong. - Paul, 2 Corinthians 12:7-10  

The stake president and I met today. It was hard. In order for me to go to the "next level",  he wants me to teach and to be an example of the doctrine. Apparently what he terms crossdressing goes against that. I've always hated that term. There's no cross about it. Except maybe when I'm wearing a suit and tie at Church, then yes, I'm crossdressing. We read from the For the Strength of the Youth  pamphlet about modesty. He talked about deacons passing the Sacrament and about elders on their missions. They keep their hair short and wear a tie and white shirt when possible. Basically, long hair doesn't conjur the image of worthy priesthood holder, of someone teaching the Gospel. Nor does  having pierced ears. And these things won't keep one out of the temple, but . . .

I shared with him what dysphoria is like. The every-day struggle. The dissonance between mind and body. The almost-nightly attacks. How for thirty years I fought this part of me, tried hiding it, pushing it away, ignoring it, feeling intense shame for it, and praying it away until it drove me crazy and into suicidal ideations and took away my family. Only when I faced it, accepted and embraced it, and started to learn self love by taking steps of transition did I find true peace. And that peace wasn't the quelling of carnal or sexual cravings and desires but a lasting joy accompanied by approval of the Spirit and a pervasive feeling of calmness I had never before felt. Finally, I knew and accepted who I am! And every step I have taken in my transition since then has been after much pondering, careful consideration, quiet contemplation, and confirmation from the Spirit through prayer. Starting hormones. Changing my name. Running as female. And even something as trivial as getting my ears pierced!

Every single bloody day I want nothing more than SRS and to simply have the right sex body with all the correct parts and cycles. To be comfortable around anyone who knows. To not get weird looks in public. To feel safe to empty my bladder. To get an entire night of sleep without having an attack. To not have anxiety about going to bed because of said attacks. If this is my thorn, my infirmity, then so be it. Somehow his grace will continue to give me strength. It is through His grace that I am here, and I am grateful for it and for His perfect, unconditional love.

Vermont 100 - 2017

One hour ten minutes! Four thousand two hundred seconds. Four thousand nine hundred heart beats (average resting heart rate). A space shuttle takes approximately 90 minutes to orbit earth.

That's how much faster I ran the Vermont 100 race this year compared to last year. 

The race director had challenged me to finish under twenty hours.  AND I DID IT. I CAN DO HARD THINGS!!!

It was a great weekend.  The whole family came.  We brought the popup trailer and stayed at a nearby campground.  It was nice having them there.  I stayed solo, meaning I ran without crew and without a pacer.  So the family could cheer me on only at a couple spectator locations, not at any of the aid stations. I never saw them, not until after I finished.  I finished so much faster this year, that my wife didn't think I'd finish so soon.  I had had a great day.  And it was super nice to sleep on a bed, and sleep with my whole family.

Can This be Me

Lately, I've been feeling off.  I haven't been "passing" as easily lately and have been getting misgendered a lot more often.  Usually it doesn't bother me, and I can easily brush it off.

At races, there are always rumors about me.  There has been a bunch of debate in online social groups about transgender runners.  Comments get heated, and often the post gets deleted.  But it hurts.

Around Boston this year, someone interviewed me about the safety aspect of being a transgender runner.  Many popular races offer live tracking, and some even predict arrival times at various points along the course.  It's public data, anyone can access it.  Transgender women know all too well about the need to hide to stay safe.  I had never even considered the possibility.  I told the reporter that I hadn't felt that in the trail- and ultra- running community.  I felt safe.  I felt that if someone were out to get me, fellow runners would help protect me.  I even felt that way about Boston, that complete strangers would have my back.

Maybe I'm naive.  Not long after that interview, I read some of those debates, in a trail-running group.  I was heartbroken.  The ultra community is special.  We come from all different backgrounds.  Some are recovering addicts.  Some are doctors.  Some are plumbers.  All walks of life.  But we have something in common: the love of the trails and that we'll help each other no matter what.  It's a tight, beautiful community.  We build each other up on and off the trails.  But many of the comments really tore me up inside.  I retreated a little, at least internally.

Many in my church congregation know I'm transgender (I present as female everywhere else), and they seem mostly supportive.  Which coming from a bunch of Mormons is a welcome surprise.  But when I'm out around town and run into some that don't know, it's very awkward.  And even if they do know, it still feels awkward.

I'm tired.  I'm tired of hiding who I am at church.  I'm tired of not passing, of not being seen simply for who I am, of not being a complete woman.  Sure, I know my kids wouldn't be here if I hadn't contributed my genetic material.  I know that only I could be their father.  I'm tired though of being seen as a pervert or as a mental case or as a runner taking advantage of the system or as anything but a woman.  I'm tired of being transgender.  I wish I could be simply male or simply female, as long as I didn't have to deal with the trans issue.  Cause it really sucks sometimes.  I just want to be me.

I am not a stranger to the dark
Hide away, they say
'Cause we don't want your broken parts
I've learned to be ashamed of all my scars
Run away, they say
No one'll love you as you are

But I won't let them break me down to dust
I know that there's a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I'm meant to be, this is me
Look out 'cause here I come
And I'm marching on to the beat I drum
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

[Chorus]

Another round of bullets hits my skin
Well, fire away 'cause today, I won't let the shame sink in
We are bursting through the barricades and
Reaching for the sun (we are warriors)
Yeah, that's what we've become (yeah, that's what we've become)

I won't let them break me down to dust
I know that there's a place for us
For we are glorious

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I am brave, I am bruised
I am who I'm meant to be, this is me
Look out 'cause here I come
And I'm marching on to the beat I drum
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

[Chorus]
This is me

and I know that I deserve your love
(Oh-oh-oh-oh) 'cause there's nothing I'm not worthy of
(Oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh-oh-oh, oh, oh)
When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
This is brave, this is proof
This is who I'm meant to be, this is me

Look out 'cause here I come (look out 'cause here I come)
And I'm marching on to the beat I drum (marching on, marching, marching on)
I'm not scared to be seen
I make no apologies, this is me

When the sharpest words wanna cut me down
I'm gonna send a flood, gonna drown them out
I'm gonna send a flood
Gonna drown them out
Oh
This is me

Songwriters: Justin Paul / Benj Pasek

Out There

I had the wonderful opportunity to run with an acquaintance for a few miles at Vermont 100 this year. We first met two years ago. She passed me around mile 90. I was defeated. I had been in second place all day only to drop to fifth place between miles 80 and 90. But I knew there was a tough hill the last few miles, and up hills are my strength. So after getting some water before the hill, I surged.  By the top of the hill I had reclaimed second place.  There I stayed through the short hill down to the finish. Runners second through fifth finished within ten minutes, which is very tight for a 100 miler. We won't talk about the female winner - she's amazingly fast and later that year broke the 100-mile world record. She easily beat the rest of us.

Last year, this friend of mine didn't run but was there cheering her husband. And we talked for a little bit. I couldn't remember her very well, definitely not her name. But she knew me. (I get that a lot, people remember me and know who I am even if we've only seen each other once before. And I rarely  know them or remember them). This year though, after such kindness from her and her husband last year and from talking quite a bit, I actually remembered not only her face but her name too, and her husband's.

As we were running, we chatted about a lot of things. I was in no rush since it was pretty early in the race, and I was going faster than I planned but feeling real good.  Anyway, she thanked me.  She thanked me for putting myself out there.  She works with young adults, and having my story has helped her with them.  I don't know the particulars.  Maybe one of them is transgender.  Who knows.  But I never thought this little blog reached anyone.  Much less that it helps someone.  So I will continue.  Ramblings, thoughts, struggles, triumphs.  Here they come, and they'll keep coming.

Heartbreak at Boston Number Five

Leading up to my fifth consecutive running of the Boston Marathon, I received a lot of national attention. Since I'm transgender and Boston confirmed it's policy on transgender runners, basically that they follow USATF rules and recommendations, there been a lot of hype around me. Runners World interviewed me and even used my picture as the article's cover photo! Moneyish magazine also did a great article and included some of my comments. As expected, it is a very controversial topic and everyone has their opinion. Thankfully, I had the good sense to stay, mostly, away from the negative comments and discussions.

My training suffered leading up to the race and was pretty pathetic. Since August, I struggled to find motivation. I rarely ran above forty miles per week. Those long Saturday runs happened maybe three times in the last six months. I tried getting a coach, expecting a miracle of sorts to break my lack of motivation. I'm still working on getting a coach, still naively hopeful it will solve all my problems. I did have one solid block of  four weeks of intense, focused training, but it was nowhere near enough

I've considered exiting the running scene. I'm just not passionate about it like I once was. It takes SO MUCH TIME just to train. And race fees eat into our grocery budget. My time is precious with a family to take care of, a homestead to run, a full-time job, and now Master Gardener duties. For the past few months, I often had to squeeze in my workout during my lunch break. I even went on short half-hour runs, which I NEVER do. And I never seem to get enough sleep. I used to get by with six hours of sleep but now struggle when I get eight. Maybe it's because I am aging. My body is definitely not the one from high school or even from five years ago. But despite all these complaints, after every run I feel better and am grateful I took that first step out the door, or rather that first step out of bed.

So I knew I'd be nowhere near my PR, but I was hoping to get under three hours again, or at the very least run faster than last year. That did not happen. Five minutes slower than last year. I had done a lot of speed work, well a lot more in relation to my total mileage than what I usually do. So I knew that would help.

I don't do well in rain. My first 100-mile DNF was at MMT. It was a hot day. Then it rained in the late afternoon. And again later that evening. A lot! I was fine in the hot weather but quickly lost my mental grit in the rain and in the dark. So I dropped at mile 70, even though I had plenty of time to basically walk thirty miles to the finish. A night of rain and darkness just got me down. At Boston in 2015, I had my worst, now second-worst, marathon. I also spent a good hour in the medical tent warming up after rain and wind along the entire course.

This year, it completely puzzled me how the other runners were running. Hardly any of them ran the tangents, instead sticking to the middle of the road, or even the outside of the curves. I mostly ran the tangents unless it was extra windy, in which case, I used other runners as a wind block. Usually my watch records an extra half mile or so. This year I don't know how much further I ran since my watch discarded my activity. I'm a little lot pissed about that. #GarminFail I wish I could look at the data, look into when I slowed down, what my heart rate was, how I did on the hills, etc. But I can't, cause my watch lost it all! Yet another thing to grieve about and find resolve. :( #thanksGarmin #not

Normally with such a poor performance, I quickly spiral. I jump into the drama triangle and blame everything and everyone except myself that I can. I get super depressed. And it takes a couple months to come out of it.

After the race, I was content, almost okay. But deep down, a wound was forming. Questions swirled around in my head. Did I do my best? My quads were sore like never before, but I could have pushed through, right? Why didn't I 'dig deep'? I could have pushed through the pain and cold and rain and self pity, couldn't I? I wanted to curl up inside a sleeping bag and hide from my family and from the world in general.

All this while I was laying on a cot in the medical tent at the finish getting warmed up from a body temperature of 93 degrees and afterwards on the bus and drive back to the campground.

The rain was an excellent reflection of my mood: dreary, miserable, and relentless.

So how do I get through the stages of grief? How do I get back on the proverbial wagon. I feel it's like when people set New Year's resolutions or when the addict resolves to do better after yet another relapse. False hope. Resolve that lasts a couple weeks or a month, tops.  Instead of getting all gung ho and setting new goals, I'm taking a more meditative approach. It happened. Nothing I do can change the past. No matter how hard I work for the next year, yesterday's time will still be there. So I run for fun. I run, not to meet some arbitrary time, but to get outside, to get the heart pumping, to feel the meditative rhythm of my feet carrying me over mountains and across streams, to simply be in the present. No more multitasking while I run by listening to podcasts to catch up on my unlistened list, or thinking about tasks around the house or at work that need done. Just run. Slow down. Make the morning last. Savor.

Closing Out 2017

The last few months have been hard for my running. In August I was on track to surpass the total miles ran of any previous year. Instead, 2017 is my lowest mileage years. The feelings pervaded all aspects of my life. I avoided social media, even removing apps from my phone. I turned off notifications for all running-related groups. I apologize for not being there for so many good friends. I just couldn't and needed a break. But I had a pretty good year of racing. I improved my time at Vermont 100 by over an hour and placed third. I ran Boston for the fourth year in a row. It was my SLOWEST marathon ever, but I really enjoyed it, more so even than my marathon PR when I first ran from Hopkinton to Bolyston street. And I even made it out west for a race. Miwok 100k near San Francisco in the Marin Headlands was amazing! The views were gorgeous. I didn't finish as fast as I wanted (perhaps I wasn't fully recovered from Boston two weeks prior) but managed to place tenth and have the time of my life. This 100k is definitely my favorite, far better than the difficult, foot-trashing and toe-crushing Ring and Reverse Ring. While we were on our trip out west in September and October, I let go of my goals and tried to enjoy running again. I had missed out on running a few favorite races (The Ring, Women's Half Marathon, TWOT, PB&J 50k, Quest for the Crest 50k, and a couple others) and was scared to race. In Utah, Arizona, and New Mexico, I found some beautiful trails and had fun running up mountains. Also in Arizona, I ran a race that was a memorial to a girl who had died of cancer. This was the tenth and final running of the Run for Rachel that was initially a fundraiser to help with medical bills and get her needed treatment. Winning it outright and beating the young high school kids was definitely satisfying and encouraging.  Running ten miles to the start line was also a huge bragging point. In California, I took pleasure in shattering a few Strava segment records claiming Queen of the Hill whenever and wherever I could. As we finally returned home, the local routes held little appeal. So I focused on gardening and getting our yard and garden ready for the fast-approaching winter. This helped me stay in shape to a small degree, but more importantly, it gave me some needed therapy, fresh-air, and time playing in the dirt.  Pacing a dear friend at her first attempt at the 100-mile distance gave me the opportunity to un-isolate myself and reconnect with dear friends. So now, I feel I am ready. I've signed up for a few races next year that will keep me busy. Boston and Vermont are a given. I need a Hardrock qualifier, so I chose Cruel Jewel - I like me a good challenge. ;) The Yeti 100 sounds awesome, and the sub-24 hour buckle looks amazing! Maybe I'll grab a few "Fat Ass" runs along the way and run those races I've been wanting to for the past few years.

Why Living the Gospel Brings Prosperity and Happiness

The past few months, I've pondered this subject a lot. Often it's during episodes of the Rich Roll podcast. He interviews many interesting, thought-provoking, and fascinating people. And his wife Julie casts a unique perspective on things. Sometimes I wonder if she was Mormon in a previous life because so much of her beliefs line up with mine, except for the reincarnation part anyway.

Anyway, when we think of living the Gospel, and the benefits it brings into our lives, we usually default to the Word of Wisdom. But I believe there are many more blessings that God showers upon us from following his commandments, living our lives according to the tenets of the Gospel, and hearkening to the words of our leaders. When I was frequently attending group therapy, our therapist would have us start each session by checking in. This amounted to sharing how we were feeling physically, emotionally, spiritually, and sexually. These aspects together define the overall, total health of an individual. One could exercise every day with great intensity but by not exercising other aspects of health would eventually become sick, unhappy, depressed. Unbalanced.

Physical Health
Let's start with the Word of Wisdom, but really get into it and not just the alcohol, coffee, and drugs parts. Must discussions skip over the counsel to not eat corn and oats. Or the gun-toting hunters conveniently skip over the part about eating meat sparingly and in winter time.

"What Made [Gracie] Run"

The past few months I've been struggling and haven't felt much like running. In August, I figured out I needed to average 70 miles per week to reach my goal of 3,000 for the year. And I was gung ho and doing it. But then something happened. I don't know what. I just didn't have that spark anymore, I didn't feel like running. Getting up early was impossible - I could never get enough sleep. Sometimes I'd prepare my clothes the night before but still didn't run.

So I gave up on my goal. That alone was a huge relief. But running still pricked at my heart. I turned off all notifications on Facebook that were running related. I removed all running groups from showing up in my news feed. This all helped and continues to help.

I read the book, "What Made Maddy Run" by Kate Fagan.  It chronicles the life and death of an amazing, super-talented track star and soccer athlete.  Maddy played soccer since she was small and was on track to play in college on a scholarship.  Then the last couple years of high school, she tried out track too and excelled.  She committed to playing soccer for a prestigious college but changed her mind and ran for Penn State.  She was excited to start college.
But the excitement didn't last.  She barely made it through the first semester.  She was depressed and unhappy.  She reached out for help with the school's counselors but didn't get what she was needing.  Not long after the second semester, and after much debate with herself and with her family about transferring to another school, she gave up on life and ran off a parking garage.  It was planned and surprised her family and friends.

To Life

Life is interesting. The paths our lives take are interesting. I like pondering how I got to where I am. The many decisions that were made, either by myself or by others that brought me to this very point. So many times at church I have felt the Spirit confirming to me that I am where I am supposed to be. Despite being ignored by our Bishop and made to feel like I'm invisible and a follower of Satan for affirming that I am transgender, this is where I'm supposed to be. This is where I and my family are supposed to be; the hand of God brought us here. Here to this small town in rural America surrounded by gun-totin', evangelical Trump supporters.  The media would, and does, tell us that these people are ignorant, mean, bad people. But as I get to know more and more of our neighbours and fellow members in our church congregation, and they get to know me, I am astounded at their love and acceptance. Their faith, righteousness, charity, love, and desire to follow God inspires me to be a better person. And this is not merely about finding acceptance for being myself, for being transgender, but about the opportunities for each member of our family. We have all thrived here. Things have come together as if by magic to improve our health and happiness. We are closer to the Lord.

2016 in Review

2016. What a year!

Here are the races I ran:
Jan 1, Red Eye Fat Ass (50k), Virginia, 2nd place, 4:40
Reverse Ring (71 mile), 2nd Place, 19:30
April, Boston Marathon, 2:58
July , Vermont 100, 2nd place, 20:
September , Ring, 2nd place, 17:51
October

Father, my Greatest Calling

The past couple weeks I've been seriously considering taking a break from church. Our Bishop ignores me, won't give me a calling or even let me speak or pray. And after he asked me to serve as Sunday school president, he never asked the ward to sustain me in sacrament and called someone else. And yet, in our previous ward, I had my temple recommend, but he won't even meet with me for an interview to renew my temple recommend. He's lied to me and ignored me, and I can't take it anymore. I really feel useless and unwanted. I am out to most of the ward members, and they are mostly accepting. Anyway, I was resolute that I would stay home today, but the deaf sister in our ward accepted my Facebook friend request yesterday and messaged me that she'd see me at church. So I went. And that sister beautifully bore her testimony today. Then the last testimony was from a former bishop of our ward, now a stake presidency counselor, from Samoa. I could really feel his love and Christ's love through him. Then his father-in-law, also a former bishop of the ward, gave the closing prayer, and it felt that he was praying solely for me.

I usually drag myself to priesthood, but today I just sat in the foyer. About halfway through the third hour, a sister from primary brought me our oldest, autistic son. So I kept him with me for a little bit. I heard the primary singing and decided to take him back in and just enjoy the presence of spiritual giants in small bodies beautifully singing. We have another deaf member in our ward, and he missed the primary program from a couple weeks ago (we missed it too since we were gallivanting about all around the country) so they were performing it for him. For every single song, they had one of the older kids signing it for him. That alone broke open the tear ducts. Their last song was one that they all helped write, and the wonderful primary chorister put it to music. It was about feeling the Spirit and loving each other. Truly beautiful. There was no holding back the tears after that! After they finished and had prayer, I thanked the chorister and told her it was beautiful. Then she told me about the song that they wrote, that Gavin (our middle child) had contributed one of the chorus' main lines, to love each other "no matter what". Yeah, a flood of tears upon hearing that...

Throughout my journey and from my many supplications, the Spirit has told me that I was given this male body for the sole purpose of bringing our three boys into this world. For some reason, they needed my DNA as their father. So today, that was reaffirmed in a way. I need to go to Primary with our oldest to help with him. And anyway, RS and priesthood and Sunday school are boring - primary is where it's at. :P That is my calling, whether or not the bishop extends it and has me sustained. That is where I am needed and am supposed to be. That is where I will stand and where I will lift.

It's There, Always There

From the time I wake up in the morning until I go to bed at night it's there, always there.
When I get out of bed it's there.
When I use the bathroom it's there.
When I change clothes it's there.
It's there the entire morning, always there.
It's always reminding me what I am and what I am not.

When I'm brushing my teeeth,
eating a meal,
washing my hands,
playing with my kids,
going on a run,
working on the house or in the garden,
talking with friends,
driving to work,
watching a show,
at the grocery store,
or winding down for the night.
It's there, always there.

Like the oil stain on the driveway,
It's always been there
No amount of scrubbing or tugging makes it go away.
Cause it's there, permanently and inexorably there. Always there

Like the puppy vying for attention,
yelping for love and comfort and play and food.
No amount of love, cuddling,  and nourishment satiates it.
Cause it's there, always there.

Oh, that I could free myself from it!
Break free from it's presence,
from it's constant enslavement.
That is my dream, that it's not there, never there.
Cause it shouldn't be there.

November Project at Lincoln Memorial

My name is Grace. I'm one of those crazy runners who runs ultra marathons (that's any distance beyond the iconic 26.2 miles). I've run 100 miles in under 24 hours. I've also run a few marathons and a bunch of 10 km road races too. Most of my runs and races have been on trails all across this beautiful nation. I've had the immeasurable pleasure of running in the deserts of Arizona, the forests of southern California, the mountains of Utah, national parks and forests of Virginia, the Talladega National Forest in Alabama, and so many more places. Running has shaped a lot of who I am.

I grew up out west and spent more time camping during the summer than not. From Boy Scout camps all over Utah, California, Arizona, Wyoming, Idaho, and Colorado to church camps and family adventures all over the western United States, I spent a lot of my young life outside and treasure our nation's protected parks and forests. I earned my Eagle award and am a Vigil Honor recipient in the Order of the Arrow, scouting's honor society of camping.

In school, I learned about our nation and its history. In elementary, I wrote a report about one of our nation's greatest leaders, Abraham Lincoln. In junior high, I competed on the school's Constitution Bowl team and had the entire Bill of Rights and most of the other Amendments to the Constitution memorized. In high school, I had the opportunity to do an internship with my local state congressman. In freshman English at college, we thoroughly analyzed and discussed Reverend King's infamous speech. How I yearned to go to DC someday to see the Lincoln Memorial, the White House, the Capitol, and so many more of the great landmarks scattered across the district and the general region that I had learned about in school.

After college, I got a job in Arizona working for the US Army. I loved it there and thought I'd never leave but got a job at Fort Belvoir six years later. I couldn't believe it, I was 15 miles from the nation's capital! But I rarely came into the district because of traffic and the hoards of people. My western roots vied for more space.

Then I got a job in DC. I had heard of this group called November Project but was skeptical.  As an ultra runner, I felt that I needed to run at least ten miles a day, and I usually preferred to run alone for personal quiet time. Then a dear ultra runner friend invited me to join about the same time that I started commuting into DC. How could a short half-hour workout help my training!? I came anyway and don't regret the decision. I am a better person and runner because of this group.

I had struggled to find a safe place where people accepted my gender identity without reservation. This amazing group though, did just that. Without batting an eye, they took me in with open arms and a warm embrace, literally. They are living and promoting the Reverend's dream.

In a nation that is struggling to find itself, struggling to connect peaceably with each other, we need more community. In a nation where communities live in fear of being gunned down, we need more open and respectful discussion. In a nation where guns are flying off the shelves in fear, we need more human connection, more hugs, more excitement, more positivity.

For nearly three years, this group has met in the shadows of President Lincoln and also run past the inscription that memorializes where Reverend King stood on that momentous day over fifty three years ago.  

That inscription reads "I have a dream. Martin Luther King, Jr. The march on Washington for jobs and freedom. August 28, 1963." At November Project workouts, everyone is welcome. Everyone gets a hug. Everyone holds hands. Regardless of skin color, religion, age, sex, fitness level, political views, sexual preference or gender identity. Everyone watches the sun as it slowly rises above Washington Monument.  This is November Project!

In the words of Reverend King we invite you to join us, "We cannot walk alone. And as we walk, we must make the pledge that we shall always march ahead. We cannot turn back."