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.