The Gym, The Appointment, and The Trannies

On Saturday, November 21st Athens Boys Choir - a trans spoken word artist named Harvey Katz - came to Salt Lake City to a small little independent cafe on the west side of the tracks. I grew up on that side of the tracks and hadn't been there for some time since packing up my bags and hopping over to the more bicycle-friendly east, but I was very pleasantly surprised by how vegan friendly and cozy and neat this little Mestizo Cafe was. A fan, instantly.

It also helped that the place was packed with gender variance and transtastic'ness galore.

Harvey Katz was excellent. He did his spoken word thang, then his singing song let's dance thang. During the spoken word portion I was a little caught off guard by the audience finger snapping during certain parts or bursting out with orgasmic sounding "Mmmms!". See, I haven't been exposed to the spoken word culture and the audience's behavior was completely bizarre and distracting for me to witness. And so, to remedy my what-the-hell, I looked into it and discovered that I'm not alone in wondering what this is all aboot.

After one person asked on a forum why people snap during poetry sessions, one feller responded, "I don't know why. I felt stupid not doing when everybody else was. Then I felt real stupid when I did it. I probably shoulda asked somebody.", and someone else replied, "people still snap their fingers?" and finally, at last, someone had a response with some potential substance to it!, "In the fifties, and perhaps in the forties, small clubs in Greenwich Village that featured poetry readings were located in basements of residential buildings. The scaled-down applause kept the clubs from being evicted as public nuisances."

Ah ha! Was this true? Even if it's faux subtance, instead of digging further, I decided that this explanation was good enough and I'd leave it at that.

Moving on.

The gym has become more... interesting, lately. I've decided to opt out of both the locker rooms these past couple of weeks. After reactions became increasingly more threatened and shocked by my presence in the womens locker room I've stopped going in there. And since I haven't had top surgery yet and refuse to tightly bind for a hardcore sweaty slathery workout session, the mens locker room isn't quite an option yet either.

Or is it?

After perusing around for potential options, I stumbled across a binder from Underworks that advertises itself as,

They see a perfectly fitted soft to the skin cotton spandex knit muscle shirt that stretches and recoils as your body moves but on the inside are powerful layers of nylon spandex knit binding your chest, flattening your belly and pressing against your back in support. Wear it to workout or down the street, the compression is a secret between you and your shirt. A chest binder breakthrough!

Wear it to workout, you say? Oooo!

Sold from the oh-so-comfortable description, I decided to fall for it and fork over the precious pennies to acquire this thing. And about a week ago I received it: The Cotton Concealer Compression Muscle Shirt, Style 974 from Underworks. I got a large, 40-43. And guess what? I can actually work out in it!

It's a tiny, itty bit more difficult than the sports bra I'd been wearing, but a gazillion x's more comfortable than the discomfort of having gelatinous bounce in my chest.

The first time I worked out in it was on chest/tricep day, which was admittedly a bad idea. Due to the not-as-tight-as-it-could-be chest compression, the right area of my chest did ache a small bit (I suspect this is due to it being larger than the left side. So more to compress. Boo.)

However, I've worn it to the gym every time since and I haven't had any aches or pains. I have to exert myself a bit more on the cardio machines, but not a significant amount or enough that I'm concerned about my health or physical well-being. PLUS, even though it doesn't bind as efficiently as what I wear when not at the gym, it does a good enough job that I -may- be able to navigate the mens locker room long enough to trickle in the loo or stuff my junk in a locker.

Assuming I get over being so nervous about it.

I want to wait to pack on some more muscly fatty man mass beforehand, or ... well, I'm also nervous about the staff there, including the inquisitive knows-my-name-and-runs-around-the-gym manager. He's a nice guy, but I'm wondering if I should just be forward with him and say, "Alright, so here's the deal. I'm a transgender guy who's currently transitioning and I'm going to start using the mens locker room in the near future here." , or something. See where that goes. I'm not sure. I think I might. But I'm waiting, biding my time, building up the nerve.

My current no-locker-room-give-crap-to-gym-buddy-and-pee-beforehand strategy is working out okay thus far.

It's clear already that there's a measure of curiosity going on with the staff who have seen me going in since months before I'd started transitioning. For the first time earlier this week, in addition to my nifty new binder, I also opted to wear basketball shorts vs. the long track pants I usually go in. This was a new move for me, seeing as my body hair is MUCH more abundant than it was, especially on my legs. But, dag nabbit, those basketball shorts are so comfy and breathable I'm going to wear them! And that's that with that.

In other news, I have an appointment with my hormone doctor December 7th! I've been nervous about it for some time now since becoming uninsured, but last Thursday I injected the last remaining droplets of testosterone from my previous prescription and have no choice but to go in and have my hormone levels checked, update the dosage I'm taking and get a new prescription. Good news: she has a flat rate for uninsured patients: $50. And then she bills for whatever tests are being done, which I can make monthly, incremental payments on. So this will work. Bit by bit. Over time.

And then December 11th is my ONE YEAR TRANSITIONING ANNIVERSARY! Woo! I may have a little phallic par-tay of some sort to celebrate. I should, anyway. Then it's a tricky way of duping my loved ones into giving me two birthdays a year instead of just one. Sucka foo's.

p.s. an adorable cisgender female clearly tranny lovin' friend of mine went and bought a t-shirt from Original Plumbing that says "NOBODY KNOWS I'M A TRANSSEXUAL". How adorable is that!? Not only is it adorable that she's going to strut around with this awesome shirt, but she also snagged it before I even knew Original Plumbing had shirts.

p.s.s. Which reminds me of the time I went to my parents home a few years back and my mom had a local drag king calendar plastered on the front room wall. And when I asked, "Mom! Where did you get this calendar? What is this!?", it was the first time a.) I'd even heard of a local drag king troupe and b.) knew that there was a calendar. And she replied, "Oh, your father and I bought it from the Utah Pride Center. Aren't they cute?"