36 Times Around the Sun

Today is my birthday! 36 rides around the sun.

To celebrate, I went out for a ride, intending to hit the 40 mile mark. Within the first 10 miles, however, I knew I should have just turned around and went back. I was NOT feeling it...

I spent most of the morning just putzing around, taking an hour to change an inner tube, finish some leftovers from a few nights before and then get dressed. I applied a healthy dose of sunblock and finally got going around 1 or 2 pm... Whenever. Obviously, I was stalling because I was not in the mood for this ride. But, I did it anyway.

I was just outside Wilkes-Barre, heading through Plains when I felt I was making a big mistake -- I was exhausted. I couldn't get enough air, my legs were burning, I was already cutting into my glycogen reserves. In short, I was in bad shape, and it was only going to get worse.

"Whatever... just power through it," I thought. "I'll regret quitting more than I'll regret the pain I'll be in."

I could blame the estrogen and the testosterone blocker, because that would be easy. For one, the testosterone blocker is keeping me from building muscle. Every stroke of the pedals rips another fiber, raises the heart rate and burns calories and glucose. As we know from athletic medicine, the body will consume muscle if it can't get anything else. Every time I push hard, I'm consuming more muscle mass. But there's a way to counter that... It's called "eating right," which I definitely did not do this morning.

I had about 3 or 4 ounces of leftover steak from dinner a few nights before and what was left of a baked potato -- mostly just the skin. That's like, what, 200-300 calories? That's not enough, especially when you're riding a distance that normally burns through 1300 to 1400 calories. Yeah, I felt awful.

So, the moral of the story is, eat a healthy breakfast that consists of the right foods and bring something along to keep your glycogen levels up, or you will be sorry. How sorry? Well, muscle cramps and spasms are not fun, I can tell you that. Generally speaking, if you're not feeling good in the first 10 miles, the next 30 are not going to be any better, and you are going to be in sorry-ass shape long after you get back. Believe me... I've had a nap, eaten some good food, done everything I can to recover in the hours since I got back. I still feel awful.

One last moral: UV radiation ain't nothin' to mess wit'. The estrogen has done WONDERFUL things for my skin. I no longer get breakouts on my face, I'm soft, my skin is light and pale... it almost glows. It also gets damaged by the sun in the blink of an eye.

I used to go for hours and hours without sunblock. I would burn a little, but nothing that ever seemed overly serious. Now... heck, 1 hour is enough to turn me red and burn me pretty badly. It's not good, so I've become very rightly concerned and now use SPF 100 sun screen. Even if you're not on hormone replacement therapy, wear sunblock. Skin cancer is serious business.

In closing, happy birthday to me! As I said on Facebook, I really didn't think I was going to make it to 36 -- it got THAT bad before I realized I HAD to come out and live as my authentic self.
Since then, however, coming out and transitioning has been the best thing I have ever done for myself. It really did save my life. I would not be here, otherwise. As they say, it gets better, and it definitely did! Here's to another 36!

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On A Training Ride for the American Cancer Society's 2015 Endure for the Cure

This morning, I woke to the sound of rain. It had been raining all night, but the forecast called for a mostly dry day. I remained confident that it would be.

I pulled my Giant Defy 5 out of the closet and began doing maintenance -- degrease/lube the chain, remove the rack and change out the tubes. The tubes were nearly 2 years old; It's been a while. Once I was satisfied with the work and pre-flight inspections, it was time to taker her out. Well, not yet; it was still raining.

Finally, right around 10 am, the sky cleared and the rain stopped. Wow! An accurate forecast? Cool. Time to fly...

My goal for the day was to get in at least 30 miles. It's been a while since I've done a stretch like that. Last year, when I was trying to kill myself, I was doing 2 loops of the levee system -- one in the morning, one in the afternoon -- for a total of about 28 miles or so every day for a few weeks. Then I slowed down and spent more time enjoying the ride rather than trying to get hit by traffic. It was a nice change, but it also mean that I was riding a lot less. A couple times a week, here and there, whenever I felt like it.

Well, since getting on board to ride in the ACS Endure, I've switched from a moderate, "casual" pace, to something a bit more crazy. I'm riding to beat the devil, as they say, but I'm not racing against myself, I'm racing to get into shape for this 62 mile ride I'll be doing in August. So far? I think I got this.

I didn't bring a bottle of water, food or anything -- which was incredibly foolish, I admit. But the course I rode is pretty flat -- relatively speaking -- so it was really just up to keeping my stamina up. I needed to know how far I could go before I got into trouble. Had the estrogen changed my body chemistry so much that I couldn't ride at least 30 miles? Had the lack of testosterone sapped my strength? The answer is, "No." It clearly hasn't. I felt just as strong and able as ever.

By the time I got home, I actually considered going a little further, just to see if I could push the total even higher. But I backed out. I didn't want to exceed myself, especially since I no longer knew where my wall was. Besides, I can always save that challenge for another time, and there will absolutely be another time.

Eventually, my goal is to ride this route again but include the ride up the Coxton hill. Everyone hates Coxton. It's sick. By the time I reach the top, I want to vomit. This mass of twists and turns of almost vertical roadway is extremely well-known throughout the cycling community. It's the mountain everyone wants to be king (or queen!) of, simply because of its legendary difficulty. At some point, if I'm serious about training for this, I'm going to have to Coxton. I just don't know when. Maybe next Saturday? We'll see...

https://www.strava.com/activities/305743228

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In Memory of A Friend Who Lost Her Life to Breast Cancer

This morning, I was a little later than usual in getting started on my morning routine.

Going through personal issues, financial problems, car trouble, relationship issues... wondering what it's all about... It's just been a rough week. The most distressing thing, though, was learning of a friend's passing last night, after a long, painful battle with cancer.

What's the point of it all? Why do we even bother? We struggle so hard for so little, only to have it all taken away. Why? I don't know; I don't have the answers. So I just sat there. I've been knocked down before, but this time, I really didn't want to get back up.

And then I did.

I got up for all the reasons I've gotten up before. I got up because it's a new day, with new challenges, and another chance to continue the fight. And I guess I just enjoy the fight too much. Besides, I'm kind of a sore loser. But, really, I got up because I was inspired by another's strength to keep fighting against the odds. I was inspired by a very powerful figure in my life who's gone now.

Sherry Buller was a very good friend of my mother -- they grew up together in Swissvale, PA -- so she knew me before I was born, in a way. She was kind and sweet, and so strong. A true inspiration. The last time I saw her was in April, just about 4 weeks ago. We had a nice chat; we talked about my father's passing in March, we talked about my transition, and we talked about life. She never once judged me, and had nothing but positive things to say, but I knew she was in pain. I knew how tired she was. I'm thankful that I had one last moment to spend with her before saying goodbye and never seeing her again.

I cherish every moment that I had to spend with her and her loving husband, Paul, and their daughter, Jenny, who is a talented coder working on some amazing things in Arlington, Virginia. They are strong, independent people who never stopped loving each other. Inspiring to the end. And that's how I felt, this morning, when I picked myself up and decided to try again. I felt inspired to do something on her behalf.

Cycling has been a life-saver, for me. Sometimes, I'll be climbing a steep incline, shifted into the lowest gear and just slogging along at a grueling pace. For a moment, I entertain the idea of giving up and turning around, or getting off the bike and walking. But I don't. No matter how much my legs burn, no matter how much my body begs me to stop, I just keep going.

I know that even a snail's pace is faster than not moving at all. I know it's not about speed but about endurance. It's about knowing you can get to the top, if you just stick with it. Ease up, take your time. Have patience. But don't stop. Don't ever stop. You may feel like you'll never reach the top, but if you stop moving, you never will. Just keep pedaling; just keep pedaling.

Cycling has taught me some important lessons about life, and about how much strength I really have. That's why I'm riding the 2015 ACS Endure PA in her honor. I've chosen the 62 mile course -- a metric century, in the parlance of riders. It's a long, long distance, but I'm confident I can do it. I have plenty of inspiration to get me there, and I'll be training for it at every chance I get.

Now here's where you come in: I want to raise at least $250 in Sherry Buller's name and donate it in her place, but I need your help to get there. If you feel inspired to give, please do. Follow the link below -- any amount will help. I have just under 90 days to collect the amount I've pledged to raise. Help me keep fighting. Help me to help others keep fighting.

You may not have met Sherry, but I hope you understand how much she meant to me and my family. Cancer sucks. It kills and will likely continue to kill. It killed my grandmother 30 years ago and still ravages the lives of people around us. With the advances we've made in technology, procedures and vaccines to prevent cancer, maybe we'll actually manage to stop it... but only if we keep fighting. Advances are slow, but still so much faster than doing nothing at all. Just keep fighting; just keep fighting. We'll get to the top of this hill, yet.

Please donate by clicking the link below:
http://main.acsevents.org/goto/deeculp

In memory of Sherry Buller.

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Because Girls Ride Bikes

Every now and then, someone will ask me if I'm still riding my bike. "Hey, you still riding your bike?" Yep, still riding.

Usually, they follow that question up with, "Oh. Even though, you're like... you know, since... you know?" And I just stare at them like they're insane.

Of course I still ride my bike. Women definitely ride bikes. And no, they're not all riding in the slow lane, taking it easy while shooting selfies. They're racing downhill at breakneck speed, charging up mountainous hills, dipping and swerving through the pack on a curvy stretch of roadway, and much more. They're riding a hell of a lot better than I can, and a hell of a lot better than most of the guys out there who don't think women ride bikes.

Besides, even if they are taking it easy and enjoying the ride instead of slogging through a sufferfest, what business is it of yours? They're riding their bikes. So, yeah, I still ride. Even though... you know...

Of course, most of the people I talk to aren't putting it that way. They're not shocked by women riders, and my being transgender isn't really the problem, either. They're just connecting with me on a level they understand. It's a bike thing; we speak bike. They're aware that I'm going through a major life change, and they want to know how I'm doing. I'm doing quite well, thank you.

Quite well, that is, until yesterday's ride. About a quarter of a mile from my apartment I slipped on some rotting leaves and got thrown to the ground.

Fortunately, I was able to roll into the fall and cushion the impact. My right wrist took most of the damage while my left leg got a nasty scrape. There's a bruise on my right knee, but both of them hurt, for some reason. Aside from my wrist, which is kinda messed up now, all of these are minor and easy to ignore. What I couldn't ignore was the searing pain shooting through my right breast.

I'm into my 5th month of hormone replacement therapy, which means breast development is definitely underway. The area just below the surface of the areola is tender to the touch on a good day, but can get achy on bad days. This was an ok day; barely noticeable. I wasn't wearing any kind of sports bra, just a compression shirt to keep some even pressure and support them on the bumps. But landing directly on my chest, putting almost my full body weight on top of it, crushing the soft, spongy tissue and the developing bud in my right breast was more pain than I could take in that moment. I looked myself over, checked for any major injuries, and then scooted myself over to the curb to cry for a few moments. It hurt that much.

I've fallen before, and it's usually not a big deal. This fall, again, was not a big deal. But I've got these new, extremely sensitive areas that I'm not used to protecting. I haven't gained the instinct to protect them, yet. And so, I paid the price. It still hurts even now, nearly 24 hours later.

I haven't been checked out by a physician, but from the conversations I've had with friends, I should be ok. Several friends assured me that they've fallen many times while developing as teenagers, and I should be able to continue developing just fine. It hurts like hell, but it's part of growing up and getting used to protecting sensitive areas.

In the meantime, it's supposed to reach the lower 70s today, and that's prime riding weather for me. I'm not going to let this stop me. Girls definitely ride bikes -- even transgender girls.

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And Makes Some Observations Regarding HRT and Athletic Performance

Lo and behold, the sun peeked out from behind the clouds and it warmed up to about 70 degrees, today! Perfect for a bike ride.

I took to the usual bike path along the river, and was pleasantly surprised to see that all the snow was finally gone. Also, all of the dog shit was gone. Seriously, dog walkers, that's disgusting.

I wanted to ride the loop I did most of last year, across the Carey Ave bridge and going up Route 11 and cutting back onto the back path. The path then runs under the Market St and Pierce St bridges before terminating in a parking lot. I do a 180 and then pedal back to cross the Pierce St bridge and then onto the path on the Wilkes Barre side of the river, going under Market Street and then popping up onto River Street to head home. It's a decent run, mostly flat with a few steep inclines that aren't very long. 14.5 miles, total.

What kept from doing the full loop this time was Route 11. Last time I rode it, about 2 weeks ago, they were doing construction on one of the smaller bridges, and I'm not comfortable with cutting through that kind of traffic with sun setting and no lights. So, I cut the trip in half and called it a day. 7.8 miles in 36 minutes.

Couple of observations:

No. 1) The hormone therapy doesn't seem to have robbed any of the strength in my legs/lower body. Spironolactone is an anti-androgen -- it blocks the effects of testosterone. I can expect to lose up to 30% of my muscle mass, but most, if not all, of that is upper body. Actually, I was rapidly losing upper-body strength before I even saw any loss of mass. I don't really miss it, though. I might not be able to lift anything over 50 pounds anymore, but I can still crank the hell out of my single speed.

I'm not concerned about any of this, to be honest. I'm a casual rider, I ride to have fun and stay in shape. If I wanted to train harder and build some muscle mass on my legs, I probably could. One of my good friends is a pro rider, a cis female who makes no excuses and leaves most cis males in the dust. I figure, she's my inspiration. That and the fact that I seem to still have a decent bit of stamina, despite being out of shape. Give it a few weeks, and I'll be right back where I was last year, I'm sure.

No. 2) People still haven't figured out how to not stand in the middle of the bike/walking path like a bunch of doltish cows. They just stare at you like a dumb ass as you roll right up and over them. Idiots.

No. 3) Seeing a dad teach his son how to pitch a ball was kind of cute, until the dad started bawling the kid out. "That was TERRIBLE, what's wrong with you? You have to follow through, don't let go of the ball until..." Blah blah blah. Oh, male bonding.

That kind of stuff used to roll right off my back, though. I hated baseball, soccer, football... and I made it obvious. A coach would yell at me and I'd put up with it until it was time to go home, and then not come back. It wasn't important enough to me to be verbally abused by some jerk. Besides, I could get all the verbal abuse I wanted back home; didn't need more.

No. 4) The river is pretty high. A lot of the lower lying areas were covered. At least there aren't a lot of bugs. Also, doesn't smell all that bad, yet. Give it a chance.

No. 5) I might want to think about a sports bra, soon. I'm not quite there, yet, but there was some jiggle going on; some of those bumps were a little rough, and it was not a pleasant feeling. As my bust increases in size, though, it's gonna get worse, I'm sure. In the meantime, it's nice that "boy mode" seems to be fading away. I have to wear a hat to hide my hair loss, but I can see huge differences in my face that should get more defined in the coming months.

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Dale Rides HER Bike

According to the archives, I haven't posted since April 5, 2014. In that span of time, so much has changed. This blog has been seen by THOUSANDS of people (current metrics put it at about 100 unique visitors per day). But that number has troubled me. It's not the tiny little blog that no one read or noticed like when I first started. With each passing month, as it grew and grew, I knew that eventually I would have to come clean about something that happened to me about 8 months ago, right around June - July 2014, and that's a lot of people to tell at once.

Don't worry; I wasn't in an accident or suddenly discovered the joy and freedom of rollerblading. I'm alive and well and still riding my bike (although, not so much in the dead of Winter). Instead, I had a powerful, life-altering experience. ...for the better!

Let me start at the beginning...

From a young age, I knew something about me was different, but I didn't really know what until, back when I was still in my single-digits, I came across an article in (of all places) The Weekly World News.

In between pictures 3-foot-long grasshoppers, pictures of "bat boy" and Bigfoot, I came across the news that Christine Jorgensen had died.

Christine Jorgensen was the famous "Ex-GI" who became a "Blonde Beauty" back in the 50s. It was the first time I'd ever heard of a man becoming a woman, and the very idea set my mind on fire. Reading her story began triggering waves of questions that continue to this day.

Although I have some earlier memories of gender dysphoria, from that day on, I just KNEW that some day, I was going to become a woman. (Although, technically/medically, we don't refer to it as "becoming" a woman; it's simply affirming what we feel we were born as.)
I just knew it was something I had to do.

And then life happened.

I grew up. I learned a little bit more about how the world works and feels about people like me. I realized how expensive surgery can be, and that I'd have to see a therapist if I ever wanted to start hormones -- and seeing a therapist would mean admitting that I had a "problem" that would make me different and leave me with a mark that society would judge me by for the rest of my life. It was too much to ask of teenage me, so I waited.

On into my 20s, the thoughts and feelings had settled and made me much less desperate to change myself. Or, maybe it was more that I knew how difficult it would be, and feared becoming ostracized by my friends and family. From time to time, I'd forget about it, until the occasional dream where I would be in the "correct" gender, leaving me emotionally crushed when I'd wake up and see my body as it really was.

On into my 30s, after working a miserable office job where I would babysit servers for hours on end and escape into my fantasies to pass the time, I decided I couldn't take that kind of life, any longer. In response, I moved 3000 miles away, to Seattle, WA, where I tried to find myself with a better job and new friends. I was miserable; I forced everyone out of my life. I had nothing left to lose. But, in the end, it solved nothing. I knew there was a deeper problem, but I couldn't face it. Not yet.
I moved back home, defeated. If there were ever time I wanted to kill myself, this was it. I never felt so worthless.

Eventually, after trying to kickstart a career in journalism (which burned out after 3 years) and scraping by as a dishwasher/factory worker/whatever I could find, I answered a tweet from a friend on Twitter who needed help at his computer shop. I started part-time and quickly proved myself invaluable; then things started happening and getting better.

After a year or so, I got a significant raise and realized my dreams of moving away from Hazleton were a possible reality. So, I jumped at the first opportunity and settled down in Wilkes-Barre, PA. Then I got sick, hurt my back, moved back to Hazleton for 2 months before getting back on my feet and finding a new apartment in Wilkes-Barre, ready to try again. As of late May 2014, everything was looking up and up. I couldn't be happier! Or so I thought.

Into the Present

Living on my own, away from family members, and without the need to hide from roommates, I realized I was finally in the position to live my life however I wanted. And there it was, plain as day. The very first thing I thought about doing was living as a woman.

The door kicked wide open. The feelings returned, stronger than ever. After about two weeks in the new apartment, right around my 35th birthday, I was sacked by feelings so primal and deep that I cried for an entire weekend.

I was no man. Everything I had done in my life was an overcompensation for that fact. Pushing myself beyond my limits, trying to "prove" myself to the world. I couldn't face a mirror for about a week, realizing that all this "getting into shape stuff" was me trying to find a way to make myself less ugly, more acceptable to my own eyes. Nothing worked. No matter how thin, how clean-shaven and groomed I could make myself, I only saw an ugly, balding blur of a face in the mirror. It was horrible. I looked like a man, and it went against the way I felt inside. It nearly killed me until I realized the truth of what I had always known; I am not a man. I was never a man.

My Bike, My Salvation, My True Self

All last Summer, I rode my bike as fast and as hard as I could, running scared from every dark thought in my head. 100 - 200 miles a week; sometimes more. I would ride about 10-15 miles around 6 am, then come home from work and do the same route at around 6 pm. On the weekends, I'd take off into unexplored country and get as lost as possible. Occasionally, I'd meet up with friends and go on a group ride, but I was always alone, inside my head, going over all these feelings and doubts and questions, trying to find an answer as to how I could transition and stay alive.

How could I explain it to my family, my friends and my boss? What if they rejected me? How much danger was I in if someone found out? I'd be out of a job, out of my apartment, and out of a home. God, wouldn't it just be so much easier if I got hit by a car, run over and killed? I had to stop thinking about things like that. There was so much fear to overcome.

Day by day, I found the answers I needed, out there, out on the road. I began to slow down a little. I put the energy I was spending on riding my bike into making plans for the future and working up the courage I needed to come out of the closet. I set goals for my transition and started seeing a therapist. I was a woman on a mission. The demons didn't scare me anymore. I could enjoy riding my bike at a leisurely pace, again. I could enjoy life, again. The bicycle had saved me, as it had so many times in the past. It allowed me to explore the hidden places of the world while my mind explored the hidden parts of me.

I knew what I had to do, and I accepted it. I cried, again, but these were tears of joy. I knew it would be difficult; I knew it would be scary. But if you've followed my blog up until now, you know how I respond to a challenge: I faced it head on.

I read about celebrities like Laverne Cox (although I never saw and still haven't seen Orange is the new Black), and Laura Jane Grace from the band Against Me!. I felt that the time was right; the world was ready to start accepting people like me. But could I make that change? Could I actually live in this world as a woman? I realized quickly that I would have to. It was becoming abundantly clear that I wasn't getting a choice in this. One thing we know in the transgender community is that once Pandora's Box is open, you can never close it. It was either survive and thrive, or destroy myself.

Within weeks, sensing how miserable and paranoid I was becoming, my boss asked what was wrong. Friends and family were wondering. TOTAL STRANGERS were asking me if something was wrong. It was so obvious, but I couldn't tell a soul as I delved into some kind of secretive, double-agent role: Who knows? Who doesn't know? Who can I trust? Has anyone noticed my shaved legs? Cyclists shave their legs, so it's cool. But how do I explain the makeup? Have they noticed I'm dressing more feminine? Do they know?

I knew I had to come out, and by the end of the Summer, my boss knew, my mom knew, my friends knew. And it was ok. It was totally ok. In fact, as time went on, people were more ok with it than I ever could have imagined. Instead of asking, "What's wrong?" people were telling me that I seemed much happier and open instead of being upset and reclusive, as I was for most of my life. My worst fears were put to rest, so I forged ahead.

By the end of Autumn, somewhere around the end of October, I was out, full-time. Wearing women's clothing, a wig and makeup. I bought dresses and skirts that I loved and wore them everywhere, every day. I used and preferred female pronouns, and even came out on Twitter and Facebook. No more hiding. I soon realized, I had nothing to be ashamed of. This is me, now. And, for the most part, I'm not all that concerned with changing my name. (It's a unisex name, and I've worked hard towards building it up and getting it out there. So, changing now would just be difficult and expensive.) However, I do usually just go by Dee, these days. (Get it? It's my first initial.)

So, here we are. February fading into March. 15 degrees but it feels like 2. Snow is everywhere. I've faced some of the most incredibly dark moments I've ever faced in my life and come out on the other side bursting with joy. I can finally be who I am. I'm free. I'm not just living as my true self, I'm thriving. I'm happy, for once in my life. I really, actually feel happy and contented.
Now, if only it would warm up a little. Bring on Spring, I wanna ride my bike!

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