Take Your Chair Bestie

I like On shoes versus Nike shoes.

That’s just the type of person I am.

But two years ago, I made a video talking about how much I hated On shoes. A week later I got an email from Emily at On sharing she would love to send me product to see if I just wasn’t wearing the right thing for my feet or if I actually hated the brand.

Needless to say - I became a loyal fan and friend of hers swiftly after that email.

A lot can change in two years.

I currently run in almost only On or Tracksmith items because of the way they have lifted me up.

Imagine what can change in five or ten or, wait for it, twenty seven years.

I started transitioning “late” by the cisgendered society standards that have, more than ever, decided what is and isn’t acceptable in transitioning. I was twenty three, identifying as nonbinary, when I was handed my first dosage of testosterone after socially transitioning for eight months during COVID.

Since then, I came out as a trans man. I came out as queer versus lesbian. I came out as gay instead of queer. And I went back to feeling more comfortable as nonbinary trans masc.

Just like the way we decide if we prefer Garmin or Apple Watches for running (it’s Garmin everyone) or if On shoes are better than Nike (I’m biased), our opinions change. We are more similar than different.

Now hear me out. I know comparing my gender experience to my shoe decisions is a bold move. Maybe I’m reaching. But the truth is, we are people that constantly change our opinions on brands, celebrities, and influencers.

Which makes me think…

Why do I feel so alone?

I am surrounded by community. I have a husband who knows I’m trans. I have a run club of friends that know I’m trans. I have coworkers that know I’m trans. I have a family that knows I’m trans. Why do I feel lonely? What is there to be sad about?

Four months ago, our cat Fran was over grooming. Now when I say overgrooming, I mean a black cat with GREY patches all over her body. We took her to the vet, we did blood tests, and we changed her diet. For the life of my husband and I, we had no idea what was going on. Nothing we did seemed to be working. And then our vet mentioned a word that caught us by surprise - lonely.

How could a cat with a fellow cat sister and dog brother be lonely? She has us. She has other animals around her. And guess what. We put her on depression medication and within two months, she stopped over grooming.

And it got us thinking - our initial reaction was, “what is there to be lonely about”, just like I ask myself constantly. Yet, we gave her medication without thinking and she feels better.

Even with a community around her, she felt alone. It was a not so subtle reminder that sometimes, we all just need an extra boost of support.

The loneliness I experience comes from the constant grief. I’ve had to rebuild myself more times than I can count. I don’t resent or regret my transition for a second, but I do recognize how it could be “easier” if I stayed as the girl I was in high school. Granted, she was suicidal with an eating disorder. And yet, that still would have been “easier”, because society would have perceived me as what I was assigned at birth, female.

When you start medically transitioning, a doctor sits with you and hands you a piece of paper. They explain the changes that your body is going to experience. No doctor sits you down to explain the grief you will experience or the isolation that you will endure.

I grew up for twenty-two years as a female. And although I felt like I was in the wrong body since the age of three (Peter Pan was my idol), I loved girlhood. I loved doing my makeup. I loved the musical theater roles I got to sing and audition as (nbd just casual perfect pitch). I loved being a camp counselor to girlies. I loved joining my sorority. Oh, and I loved the girls bathroom. Trust me, if I had a nickel for every toilet seat I have to clean in the men’s bathroom now. Besides the point - I was socialized as a female.

And as I started transitioning, I jumped into the world of men and patriarchy because I was so scared of not passing and being hurt in the state of Florida. I threw out the nail polish and makeup. I stopped practicing my songs as a tenor and gave up with my voice changing. I got pushed away from the YMCA camp alumni events because they didn’t know how to handle me. I got an email from my sorority alumni chapter saying I was kicked out. I gave so much up. I knew I was going to and yet, I still transitioned.

I don’t regret my choices. I’m happier in this body. But this body isn’t the body society knew for twenty-two years. It’s only five years old.

My story has pivoted depending who I’m with. Sometimes I was in a fraternity instead of sorority. Sometimes I say I sang tenor in high school. Sometimes I only talk about  being good at makeup because I do drag. It’s not dishonest, it’s a constant pulse check on my safety.

I’m five in transgender years. Do you like the same things you did when you were five? Heck, On shoes weren’t even a thing when I was five.

As a nonbinary runner, I see the conversations happening around me like I’m not there. I see the world and social media shifting, forgetting that running is political and built on community.

When you feel alone, remember there’s a place for you here. When you’re standing in a group of people and still confused why you’re lonely, you’re not the only one. You deserve a chair at this table.

We have to stick together. Please for the love of everything, lift your peers up. We have more commonalities than differences - although if you run with an Apple Watch and Nike shoes we may not be able to see eye to eye on that one.

In the wise words of Matthew Myer, TAKE YOUR CHAIR BESTIE. (Which is ironic because I have a chair tattoo) and to my badass female presenting friends - happy international women’s day. It’s been a pleasure to have been a part of your community and I’ll keep lifting you all up.