For the good of society
“I will keep men out of women’s sports.”
“Let me state this clearly, there are only two genders, and we are made in God’s image.”
“Protecting transgender rights is an attack on family values and parental rights.”
November 5, 2024
I just ran a marathon. Two days ago, I crossed the finish line of a 26.2 mile distance and felt the world melt from my shoulders. That moment of seeing the sixteen weeks of training rush past you as you see a medal put around your neck. The tears welling in my eyes realizing my body is capable of so much more than I realized. The flood of emotions realizing three years ago I didn’t think I would ever run because I couldn’t afford top surgery and refused to run in a binder. Those seconds felt like a lifetime. Crossing that finish line made me feel powerful. It reflected in that mile walk with my fellow marathoners. Our legs were moving infinitely slower than they had been for 26.2 miles, but our minds were celebrating the feat that we had just experienced. The mountain we had just conquered.
Today is the day we will conquer another mountain. I have hope. Hope for the future. The hope I am feeling has a mixture of fear and nausea, but when hasn’t my anxiety touched every joyful emotion I feel? I refuse to let that little voice in the back of my head lead. If I can run a marathon, I can continue to hold onto the hope that I will wake up to a female president tomorrow.
Pulling myself out of bed today wasn’t simple. It took every muscle in my body not to collapse, feeling my knee pop as I bent it. But today is important. Today feels remotely like 2016 but thank goodness it isn’t. I refuse to go back to 2016 Finn. Finn didn’t even exist. So instead, I roll out of bed and head over to the polling station a block away at 7am before it gets busy since I’m remote today at work.
Tears. So many tears. Similar tears to two days ago crossing the finish line. There are people of all ages working in the elementary school set up for voting. The older woman wears her Harris Waltz camo hat with a proud smile on her face as she takes a selfie with her “I voted” sticker. A younger man walks in holding hands with his mom as she tells the volunteer at the table it is his first-time voting. A woman around my age looks at me with a hopeful smile as I recognize her “Childless Cat Lady” shirt. I feel hope. Tomorrow is going to make this week one of the best weeks of my life. A marathon and a female president; how can it get better?
Today is moving so slowly. My husband and I are ready to see the poling results as we turn the TV on at 7pm recognizing it is too early in the race to put our mental energy towards something we can’t control. We voted. We advocated for my rights as a transgender person. My friends realize how important their vote is. People in my running community saw my race and see how important I am to their lives. All we can do is wait.
At 10pm, my heart starts to race as the TV glows with ABC news playing in the background. At 10:26pm, I tell him I need to go to our bedroom and lay down. My head is spinning. Today is supposed to be a good day for tomorrow’s great day. The screen illuminates more red than blue. I lay with the thought that tomorrow may be a different beginning than what we thought. And just like that, I fade to sleep with the spiraling belief that the world is more in favor of my existence than against.
November 6, 2024
3:06am. My lock screen illuminates a photo of my husband and I holding hands. We eloped in August. 3:07am. A Google search, “2024 presidential results”. 3:08am. A different type of tears start streaming down my cheeks. They start as shock, then turn to anxious, then turn to anger. By 3:11am, I’m numb. Roll over, go back to bed.
I’m awake staring at my husband by 6:02am. I have to go into work today. I’m confused. What happened? I ran the marathon three days ago. Truth. I voted yesterday. Truth. A female didn’t become president. Truth.
I roll out of bed similarly to yesterday, but today there isn’t hope. Today there is fear. Fear in realizing that over half of the nation supports the idea that my husband and I don’t deserve rights. That my female counterparts don’t deserve a say in their body. The world is crueler than I thought and I’m mad.
It was silent at work. I could feel the fear from my peers. I could also feel the excitement from some.
I came home to a husband ready to make plans for me. Ready to be twelve steps ahead. We have relocated once for safety, and we can do it again. But the first thought in my brain when I got home was this, “I’m unstoppable. I’m resilient. I just ran a marathon.”
For sixteen weeks I had a time goal of 4 hours and 25 minutes taped onto my ceiling. For sixteen weeks I had a voice in the back of my head wondering how I would get to the finish line. For sixteen weeks I had “you are resilient” on my mirror when I got ready in the morning. When I hit my marathon wall at mile 23, I thought, “being transgender is a superpower.” I’ve already done so much; I can speed up for three more miles.
The day after the marathon I wiped away “you are resilient”. I thought, I don’t need that reminder. I did the race. I conquered the mountain. I know how amazing and strong I am.
Yet at the same time, I feel like someone took my finisher medal out of my hands or slapped me across the face with it. I’m undecided in which feeling I feel or both at the same time. I recognize that over half of the country is against me and not for me. It’s easier to spiral then it is to fight against the emotions of hopelessness. I know that. I’ve been doing that throughout marathon training daily.
So instead, I run. I’m going to run daily. I’m going to control what I can control. I’m going to pivot more than ever. I’m going to write down how we hold hands together more than ever. I’m going to plan. I’m going to look forward to the next thing. And I’m going to write it all down because, truthfully, I don’t know what’s coming. But I know if I’ve conquered one finish line, I can do another and another and another.
For the good of society, I think I’m going to stay around. For the good of society, you’re not going to eradicate me. I guess it’s time to run a couple more marathons in the next four years.
