Sunday Dispatch: My Queer Reflections on My Bodybuilding/BodyMod Experiment

...thus far!

In my early 20s I spent a considerable amount of time bodybuilding, and even more time practicing and teaching martial arts. Living in LA at the time (near Venice Beach–a bodybuilding Mecca in the early ‘90s), I was asked by friends and strangers alike whether I was working toward competitive bodybuilding.

I considered it. However, my resistance got in the way: I didn’t want to give up pizza and beer. I had misgivings about the highly gendered and heteronormative presentation requirements of the sport. And worse, while working at a health food restaurant in Brentwood, I had seen how those coaches treated their team members. One day I was at the counter when a group of superbly built female bodybuilders came in with their male coach. One of the bodybuilders was starting to order, and the coach stepped in and ordered for her. She started full-on crying, tears streaming down her cheeks, right then and there. 

It was such a shocking moment for me that all these decades later I even remember the order he made for her: an egg white omelet, hold the cheese. 

That interaction sealed my decision not to engage in an industry that seemed to me too fraught, controlling, and abusive. What I wasn’t fully aware of was that I was allowing this asshole coach to define the whole culture to some extent.

While some of my resistance was rooted in trauma, and some was rooted in youthful rebellion, the resistance was for the most part reasonable—and in all cases it was protective. So I chose, probably wisely, not to compete at that time. 

Yet, the idea never went away entirely. Thus, a long-term bucket-list item was born. Even when I wasn’t actively training, the idea of competition sat in the background of my thoughts and goals, sometimes as a disappointment for opportunities that felt lost to time, and at others as a strange and shiny bauble in an array of more grounded, pragmatic goals.

Now, thirty years later, while I still harbor (and find myself needing to work through) some of the same misgivings, I’ve decided to give competition bodybuilding a go. There’s no time like the present to tackle life goals–no matter how seemingly out of character. And while post-menopausal bodybuilding is for sure not easy, age brings some advantages; I don’t drink (beer or otherwise) anymore. I know enough about myself at this point in my life to know that having a big goal, and a deadline, is a huge motivator for me. Oh, and I found out I can still eat pizza while I prep if I want to—as long as it fits my macros! 

And this goal no longer feels or seems frivolous to me; it’s grounded into some Big Whys for me regarding life goals and desired outcomes. (And even if it were frivolous, it would still be a valid choice and commitment—we all deserve to pursue our joy, in whatever way that manifests, as long as everyone involved is consenting.)

In the process of working toward this now very serious and occasionally grueling—yet joy invoking and sometimes silly—goal, I’m learning a lot about myself. I’m learning things about my personal values, about my gender identity, about how I want to age and who I want to be, and about what it means to truly take care of my body.

Training for competitive bodybuilding brings with it a seven days a week training schedule — one or two of those days are recovery days, but it’s still an overall, full time commitment. Keeping myself going to the gym five-six days a week is not always easy (see Lesson Three), but it’s always worthwhile. 

Today I present to you some reflections on my process thus far. I would love to hear how these “lessons” land for you. Are they relatable? Do they resonate? Please comment if you feel so inspired, and let’s have a conversation! 

Lesson One: Chronic Pain and Choosing Movement

I’ve lived with a fairly severe chronic pain condition since my late 20s. As a “Chronic Pain Warrior,” one of my long-time, ongoing personal mottoes is; “I’m gonna hurt whether I move or not, so I might as well move.” I’ve been experiencing chronic pain for decades now, and this seemingly blea—yet truly empowering—frame has turned out to be the most resourceful place I can usually stand with my condition. 

To give context, at times the pain has gotten the best of me. For a few years in my early to mid 40s I was intermittently, yet persistently, bedridden. (Thanks, perimenopause!) I walked with a walking aid on more occasions than not. I tracked steps to stay under a certain count (4000) to make sure I would have enough energy left for needed daily tasks, like eating and brushing my teeth. 

During this time, due to lack of capacity, I had to forgo many things that bought me pleasure. I experienced ongoing suicidal ideation resultant from the combination of day-to-day pain levels, and the lack of ability to engage with things that made my soul at peace. These things included solo travel, regular exercise, and creative pursuits.

And, with the help of appropriate chemical interventions and a huge level of commitment to constructing and sticking to a personal wellness plan, I overcame (and continue to overcome) the limitations on my ability to move. Nearly a decade into recovery from the most intense levels of disability that I’ve weathered yet, I’m grateful every day that I prioritize mobility, and that it is within my ability to choose it. 

I know not everyone can choose mobility. I know also that there’s a lot of complicated shit for most of us, queer and nonqueer alike, around things like body appearance (and the politics of HAES, and feminism, and fat acceptance), capacity (spoons, and the need to spend them wisely), going to the gym (and basic safety, let alone whether we’ll be welcomed there or not), and so much more having to do with physical capacity. 

I have faced down all these specters on multiple occasions. And I know I will do so again and again. And again and again, I choose to move my body, because my health and wellbeing depends upon it. 

Furthermore, as I continue to age I witness folx a generation or two ahead of me, and see the impact of sedentary living on quality of life in one’s older years. I also witness the converse: the gifts that an active lifestyle bestows. I remind myself that this commitment I have to moving is a commitment to living an ideally long and healthy life. 

Even on the days I don't want to move, unless I’m under doctor’s or coach’s orders not to, I know that I must.

Takeaway: I choose movement for what it gives me: a sense of self-efficacy (more on this below) and increased capacity, mental health benefits, better energy levels, opportunities for presence and mindfulness, and overall, a better quality of life. 

Lesson Two: The Joy of Self-Efficacy

I’m someone who relies greatly on their independence. Interdependence also, but independence is my personal lodestone. 

And yes, I know that reliance on independence is a trauma response. I’m well aware. We choose our battles! There are things I’d rather fight myself on than a tendency toward independence.

I spend a lot of time caregiving in a variety of ways and spaces. And my most reliable way to let off steam is to hit the road; just me, the steering wheel, and the horizon. I love a good solo road trip, solo camping time, solo hikes, solo long-distance travel. I love spending time with myself and the earth around me, unmediated by the needs of others. I love sitting, present and still, in the dusk and dawn, the liminal times, with nothing but my practice and presence to define the moment. 

Solo journeys are an integral part of the fabric of who I am. They’ve been a central element of my safety-seeking and wellness strategies since I was in my late teens. Being able to participate in these pursuits makes me a happier, healthier, more well adjusted person. I come home from these journeys renewed, more rested, and more centered.  

This is one of my Big Whys for prioritizing training. I’m committed to remaining capable of lugging my gear, setting up my tent, getting down on the ground and inflating my camping mattress, and sleeping in the elements until I’m very old. Ideally, as I see it now, I’d love to be able to continue these solo endeavors until I die. (Whenever that might be, hopefully still decades off.) 

I realize that I do not have ultimate say over whether I will remain capable of lifting and hauling and moving like this into my old age, but I know that, this being a goal, the best advantage I can give myself is a rigorous and dedicated training schedule. The best chance I have of maintaining the capacity to engage in and enjoy these pursuits is to build these muscles, keep my bones strong, and stay active as I age. 

Takeaway: Maintaining self-efficacy is a major goal for me. No matter how old I get, I deeply want to continue to be that intrepid genderqueer rambler out there ranging toward the horizon, inhaling new experiences and learning more about who I am in the moment as it arises. 

Lesson Three: Dedication is More Important than Desire

Some days, as I stated above in Lesson One, training is the last thing I want to do. The newest addition to my set of personal mottoes is, “Dedication is more important than desire.” As it turns out, upon further reflection, this has been a huge life lesson for me. 

On the days where I would rather sit and write (or read, or scroll, or otherwise busy myself) instead of getting up and moving, I say this phrase out loud to myself. Recently I was engaging in this activity, and my spouse was like, “What?” 

I repeated the sentiment; “Dedication is more important than desire.” 

He looked a little shocked, and told me I sounded like a Drill Sargent. And, it kicked off a day of interesting conversation back and forth between us. 

No matter the task or devotion, sometimes desire just doesn’t pull us through to the finish line. When desire flags, dedication can step in and save the day. Dedication, that old work mule, can carry us toward goals that desire has lost its luster for. 

To be honest, dedication is more often than not the motivation that gets my tennies on my feet and my feet out the door. It primes the pump and gets me to the gym, or the stairs (or even the bedroom, but that’s a topic for another essay). Once there, desire will likely join the party—because honestly, movement is mostly joyful—or even take over. 

Takeaway: Those days when desire is slow to rouse, or even MIA? Dedication, when truly engaged in, will get me through to the finish line. 

Lesson Four: Training Can Uncover Trauma

Thankfully, I have found an amazing, compassionate, trauma-informed, feminist coach who cares for her athletes on a holistic and personal level. Early on in our coaching relationship, as we were working on building my calories up from where I started (yes, my coach wanted me eating more than I was eating when I started) a memory of that asshole coach in Brentwood resurfaced, and I realized, Wow, I’ve given that loser a lot of power for a long time. As I claim my relationship with food as fuel (with some fun thrown in for good measure and sustainability) I’m healing that part of me that was impacted by the dynamic, and the vicarious pain.

Some days training brings up other trauma—perhaps because, as I believe (as do many others), memory lives in our bodies. Sometimes that trauma resurfaces as physical pain or discomfort. Or sometimes it comes up as emotional resistance. Sometimes it arises as resurfaced memories.

Regardless of how it manifests, my coach and I treat trauma awareness as a real part of the training experience. Sometimes I can work though these resurfaced traumas just by moving. Sometimes I bring them to Coach Tracy. Sometimes I bring them to my therapist. 

Takeaway: The main thing I can do is try my best to stay with the process, and not let it stop me from moving forward. Trauma recovery is part of the process of reclaiming my body. 

Lesson Five: Learning Limits

Sometimes training means facing my limits.

Again, as a Chronic Pain Warrior, a huge part of relearning my physical capacity is rebuilding awareness of the difference between pain that is validly telling me to stop doing what I’m doing, and pain that it’s ok to push against and work through. 

This also is a bigger life lesson than being solely linked to training. It’s easy to feel pain and find myself thinking, Get away—as quickly as you can! But sometimes pain is telling me something else. Maybe there are adjustments that can be made rather than the “all or nothing” panick of “get away quick!” 

Takeaway: Not all pain means run!

Lesson Six: All or Some Instead of All or None

I was recently working with a very smart physical therapist (who specialized in pelvic floor health—again a stor for another essay!). They were nonbinary like me, which I loved (especially since they were addressing my intimate parts). 

They found that I was having a hard time relaxing my body, and were working to help me through it. We talked a lot about training. When I told them I was not perfect about stretching post-exercise, they said, “I’m not encouraging perfection.” 

Wow. That in itself was revolutionary. I needed to be reminded that perfection was not the goal; practice was. 

Lisa, my PT, helped me immensely with a simple reframe. My striving for perfection was actually part of the problem. “Your adhereance to all or none mentality is probably getting in the way,” they admonished gently. “How about,” they said, “you work with the idea of all or some?” 

All or some has not only become a huge part of my practice, it’s also a frame I now reliably employ with my own coaching clients, to great effect. 

Takeaway: Some is better than none.

Lesson Seven: …The Rest is Drag

My gender is flexible and fluid, and my closet proves this point. Hopefully folx are aware by now that presentation does not indicate identity, even in the case of binary identification. But for those of us who need a primer, clothing has no gender.

And, that said, I love playing with my look. And I’m admittedly an inveterate clothes horse. (Or, as some might say, a clothes whore.) On a given day you can find me wearing a cargo maxi skirt, carhartt coveralls, a bodycon minidress, my Dickies trousers and an a-shirt, or a full Wildfang suit if the occasion calls for it.

To quote a problematic fave, Grand Dame Ru: “We’re born naked. The rest is drag.” 

In competition bodybuilding I get to be a genderqueer person playing in the fields of high femme. Minus time spent working in the sex industry, high femme has rarely been my space of gender expression. 

And yes, I think it’s abjectly shitty that the requirement for high femme presentation exists in bodybuilding for AFAB folx. That there is a history of less traditionally “female” appearing folx losing competitions based on their more “masc”-leaning presentation or appearance. I think it sucks that the world of bodybuilding (much like most gendered sports) is notoriously het-centering and transphobic. 

And, as a trans-identified competitor, I’m going to get my toe in the door in the ways that I can. If that means wearing a sparkly bikini and pleasers, well, here I go.

An upside: I get to push my comfort and get bodyproud on a level I have never gone to before. 

Takeaway: Clothing has no gender. 

Lesson Eight: If it Makes You Happy

Movement is joyful. Bodies want to move. The endorphins and other chemicals released when we move are happy chemicals. And if you haven’t heard yet, physical activity is, depending on the study, at least as effective as—if not more so than—medication in treating depression. 

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not telling you to get active and abandon your pharmaceuticals; I’m a both/and type. I exercise my heart out, and I take my meds. I also protect my sleep, eat the rainbow (and I don’t mean skittles—I mean veggies), practice gratitude and mindfulness, and go to therapy. 

Our bodies evolved with an orientation to movement. While meds are an essential element of a treatment plan (and often a necessary foundation), there is nothing that is going to stand in for physical movement in regards to mood improvement. 

All of that said, sometimes when in deep depression, getting the body moving can be a real challenge. Which is where I loop back to Lesson Three: Dedication can be that quick spray of starter fluid to the carburetor. Once the engine is chugging, and the endorphins pumping, and the sense of accomplishment starts to take hold, I nearly always find a smile stealing over my lips. 

Takeaway: moving can increase happiness on the physiological level. 

Lesson Nine: Staying Present in the Journey

Sometimes, with a goal like getting my body and mind “competition ready,” I can get too fixated on the goal. When this happens, I may get injured from pushing too hard at the gym. I can get overly obsessed with whether my leaning phase (aka cut) is going to have the outcomes that my coach and I are looking for. I can get overly fixated on how my body looks, and forget to ground into how it feels. 

Staying present in the process is the way to get the most out of anything. The journey is the bulk of the thing. The destination is minutes to hours; the journey is years (indeed, a lifetime). 

As I reflect on my process, it’s brought home again: the journey is where the value is. The destination is, at best, icing on the cake. 

Takeaway: Don’t get lost in rumination about possible outcomes. Stay with the process. 

In Conclusion…

As I bring this essay to a close, I find myself truly grateful for the opportunity to write this all out. It’s given me an opportunity to contemplate what nearly a year now of dedicated training has yielded for me. And my increased capacity, and sexy muscles, are the least of it. 

The biggest win so far is the yield of the process. 

Thank you for reading! And again, I’d love to hear how this landed for you. Comment if that works for you, or feel free to DM me. I look forward to hearing your thoughts.