Yesterday, I had one of the loveliest and most wonderful celebratory moments of my life. At the crag. A dream of decades come true: I climbed totally bare-chested amidst several other people, without hiding anything. And I didn’t do it discretely: I did it loud and proud — heck, yeah!
After eight weeks of no climbing at all (& seven weeks of no real physical exercise), yesterday I went climbing outdoors again with one of my best climbing buddies: someone with whom I climb regularly, whom I trust fully, and who really gets me (he’s also one of my closest and most affirming cis-male friends).
I was excited but also a little anxious or worried, uncertain of what my body (especially my upper body) could do, still feeling vulnerable: both physically vulnerable because the forced rest to recover from top-surgery has weakened my upper-body but also emotionally/mentally vulnerable because it truly isn’t easy — it’s actually terribly hard & scary — to be a trans person in this world.
My buddy & I got t the crag, which was quite crowded because of it being one of the few that are exposed to sunshine. We found a spot towards the end of the main wall and started warming up on a couple of easier routes, to help get me back into things, and we sort of spontaneously fell into some casual conversation with the people (a mixed group of about half a dozen persons) climbing next to us. During this time one of the girls said a couple things that seemed referred to me using “she” pronouns. Although I was quite certain she was referring to me, I wasn’t one hundred percent sure and we weren’t interacting directly so I decided to let it go, at least for the moment. Then, this group next to us was having trouble retrieving their climbing gear from a 5.11b (i.e. very hard) route and asked if we might be willing to help — which, of course, we were, as all climbers are always willing to help each other, especially outdoors. So my buddy got on this route and after several attempts at the initial roof, which was really hard and probably the crux, he eventually made it all the way to the top and cleaned the route for them.
[When the girl from the other group once again referred to me with “she” pronouns (now unmistakably referring to me), I turned around to them and said, politely but firmly, “I am not a woman. I use ‘they’ pronouns”.]
By this time, the caution and almost fear I was feeling on the first routes that morning was gone: this route that my buddy had just cleaned was exactly my style (I adore roofs and overhangs) and I felt an irresistible desire to climb it. I said to myself I would just attempt it and if I couldn’t get over that initial roof, it would be okay, this was my first day climbing after surgery, after all. But deep inside me I could already feel that irresistible desire of actually DOING IT, i.e. of getting over that roof and getting all the way to the top. So I got on the route, wearing my three layers of clothing because of the cold, and started tackling the roof. It was hard, really hard, but the more I tried, the more I could feel the energy coming back to me, my physical energy but also my mental energy, that fire in me, that will-power that is one of the strongest drives I have. The physical exertion warmed me up so I removed the top layer and after a couple more attempts, I finally got over the roof. At that point, I made a couple more moves to get myself into a relatively comfy position where I could rest momentarily and then I knew it: I would get to the top of this route and I would do so with my bare chest. To celebrate it, to bring this boy’s chest of mine into the world, to bring it to the top of a hard route, to show it the view and to show it to the world. So I told my buddy to keep the tension in the rope for a moment longer and I stripped: I removed my helmet so I could get the long-sleeved T-shirts over my head; I got one off; and then, finally, there was the last layer between my chest and the world. And when that was removed, I didn’t do it discretely. I did it loud and proud: I took it off, twirled it in the air, and then launched it off to the ground with a cheerful “Woohoo!”. Probably the whole crag heard and saw me but I didn’t care. In a sense, I wanted them all to see. Either way, at that point I was at some other level of consciousness. I had a full, clear, and powerful awareness of the strength but also of the extreme vulnerability of my body, and of my upper-body in particular. At that point, there was both a sense of pride (my Ego?) but also a sense of vulnerability in getting to the top of this route clean, i.e. without falling or slipping: because in that moment, more than ever before, slipping and scraping my still-delicate boy’s chest on the rock wall would have been extremely painful (& maybe even somewhat dangerous). In some ways, I was extremely self-conscious and aware of my body, of its exposure, of several eyes down below looking up at me; but in other ways, I was also just in that magical state of consciousness that comes over us when we climb outdoors, of being totally in the flow of the moment. In any case, this was a new me, the real me, in the flow of the moment. The real me climbing bare-chested, at last.
When I got back to the ground (after a clean rest of the climb to the top), I was so happy, I was besides myself with joy — beaming, glowing. And of course, I got my buddy to take a photo of my naked “boy’s chest”.
I couldn’t contain my joy, and I didn’t. I told my buddy out loud, “Let’s take a picture of this boy’s chest!” I cheered out loud about this being my first time climbing again after surgery. And I ignored the slightly embarrassed looks on the faces of some of the other climbers (in the other group).
Fortunately, their embarrassment seemed short-lived but it definitely was there, as it was when earlier I had stated firmly, “I am not a woman. I use ‘they’ pronouns”.
But it’s not up to us (trans/queer/non-binary etc.) persons to take on extra burdens to try and alleviate the embarrassment or “uncomfortableness” that cis people, in their privilege, might feel around us, around our “weird” bodies. And so I let that roll right off me yesterday and I reveled in my joy. In the joy of another liberation, of one of my greatest and most profound dreams coming true at last. And I even said it out loud: when one of the guys who had been there during my “striptease” and celebration later mentioned my celebration again and asked me in a nice friendly tone, “So, you’ve just started climbing again after surgery?” I replied, “Yes, but it wasn’t just the climbing after eight weeks that I was celebrating: my celebration was for something that I’ve been waiting to do my whole life”. Which is the truth.
My entire life I’ve been wanting to live like a boy, to be a boy — for the world to see me like a boy. And although I am painfully aware that most of the world will never see me or treat me as a boy, and there are plenty of people who will actually see me and treat me as a “freak” or as someone who doesn’t have the right to be, I am also profoundly happy and, as my good climbing buddy said yesterday, “more connected to my body now than ever”.
My “striptease” at the crag yesterday was a wonderful, liberating moment of celebration for me — one of the best in my life. But it was also a statement, a political act, especially in this moment when so many people in my community are under attack, risking their lives or not allowed to be, to live as their authentic selves. Like I wasn’t for decades, either, with my own family ostracizing me. And somehow, having had my gender-affirming top-surgery on the day of my sister’s birthday and my liberating striptease at the crag yesterday on the day of my mother’s birthday feels even more significant and empowering to me, since they are among the people who have most ostracized me and the boy I’ve always been.
But this boy is alive. He’s alive and strong and brave — and grateful to all the supportive people on his path.
Yesterday was one of the most beautiful days of my life and I’m going to revel in this joy as long as I can — and hopefully be able to use it to improve the world around me and life for other people, too.
The Little Prince and the Fox 