True Confessions of a Female Motorcyclist

<div id="attachment_1502" class="wp-caption alignleft" style="width: 310px"><a href="http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/image.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-1502" alt="The guardrail I t-boned." src="http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/image.jpg?w=300&h=225" width="300" height="225" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">The guardrail I t-boned.</p></div>

<p>Every motorcyclist knows it’s not a question of if, but when you will have your first accident. Not something anyone likes to think about, but it doesn’t make it any less of a reality. Friday, July 19th, while I was on my way home after working half day at the office, I experienced mine.</p>

<p>The ride home was going normally, light traffic for an early Friday afternoon, high heat, and no rain. Great conditions. I exited off Washington Blvd. and turned onto Columbia Pike and then moved to the left lane. A white SUV slightly ahead of me in the right lane, slowly began to cross the dotted white line. So I beeped my horn and slowed down. The SUV continued it’s path without crossing into my lane any further which led me to believe he had heard/seen me so I decided it was safe to pass him. When we were even, the driver turned the SUV hard into my line, as if he was making a left turn from the right lane to get onto I-395.</p>

<p>With nowhere else to go, I hit the front, right side of the car with my bike and went careening across the oncoming traffic lanes. (Thank god there was no traffic.) Then I hit a triangular median that divides those lanes from the two I-395 on ramp lanes. Again, very grateful no one was coming. It ended by t-boning the guardrail and flying over the handlebars into the grass. My bike wedged itself under the guardrail, engine still running and digging its way toward me.</p>

<p>In the grass, I was rolling around in agony, my right foot in so much pain. From the heat and probably shock, I was burning up and wanted to strip down. So I pulled off my rowing polo shirt, leaving on my white t-shirt. A construction worker who ran over helped me unhook my helmet and take off my messenger bag so I could lay on my back. The driver of the other vehicle asked if I wanted an ambulance and I said I did. Ironically, I worried I was overreacting by wanting one, but I couldn’t get up and I figured it was better to be safe than sorry. I could already see the bruise swelling up on my left hand and my inability to move my right foot. I’d never been in an accident of this caliber and had no idea what type of wreck constituted an ambulance.</p>

<div id="attachment_1503" class="wp-caption alignright" style="width: 235px"><a href="http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/image1.jpg"><img class="size-medium wp-image-1503" alt="$6,000 worth of damage to the front of the bike which totaled it. " src="http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/08/image1.jpg?w=225&h=300" width="225" height="300" /></a><p class="wp-caption-text">$6,000 worth of damage to the front of the bike which totaled it.</p></div>

<p>A plain clothed officer who arrived first came over and began taking my statement, digging in my bag (with permission) for my drivers license. Additional construction workers who came over began blocking the sun. One of them even offered me his cellphone so I could call my mom and give her the news of her worst nightmare. (There’s nothing worse than calling your mother and telling her that her worst fear had been realized.)</p>

<p>Within minutes, the ambulance arrived and one of the paramedics immediately immobilized my neck. Two of them slip a neck brace on and before I knew it I was strapped to a backboard. Four men lifted me and carried me to the stretcher and then loaded me into the back of the truck. Another made sure my helmet and messenger bag came, too.</p>

<p>AJ, the paramedic, informed me that the first step would be to cut off my clothes so they could examine me. My first thought was, “oh god, what if they think I’m weird for wearing boxer briefs, but that fear quickly passed as they snipped away, only commenting on my bruises instead. I realized they’d probably seen worse and all they cared about was my survival than my style changes. He gave me pain medicine through an IV he’d started and inspected my body for sensitive areas. Immediately, they were afraid I’d broken my femur, the impact point where my body had hit the guard rail.</p>

<p>In addition to them judging me for my boxers, my biggest fear was about my trip to Europe. My long awaited trip to the OutGames and compete with DC Strokes and then see all of the sights I’d been dreaming of seeing for decades. In route to the hospital, I asked AJ if he thought I’d still be able to go. He told me it depended on my breaks so I remained hopeful.</p>

<p>Once in the trauma room at George Washington Hospital, I was swarmed by doctors all performing separate tasks in tandem to identify critical injuries, cut off the rest of my clothes, scan for internal bleeding, place another IV, etc. I swear, they checked everywhere for injuries. There wasn’t even time to be embarrassed.</p>

<p>After a full round in radiology with cat-scans and x-rays, I learned I had four broken bones in my left foot, one in my right, and a fractured wrist among the bruises. I was lucky to be alive, but Europe was vanishing before my eyes. No coxing at the OutGames, no Neuschwanstein, no Vatican, no Cliffs of Moher, all of it, gone.</p>

<p>I spent the entire weekend in the hospital, another first, with my mom by my side. Doped up on vicodin, morphine, and other types of anti nausea medicine, the time slowly passed. There’s no sleeping in hospitals, no rest.</p>

<p>I don’t blame my motorcycle nor do I feel that riding motorcycles are evil. Yes, they’re dangerous, but so are a lot of things. If I’d been thrown from a horse, everyone would encourage me to get back up there. I don’t see riding a motorcycle as any different. With a horse, you don’t know what it will do or cause it to panic in the same way, I cannot control the traffic around me, but I can try to make smart decisions and be the best defensive driver. Some idiot on the road who decided to make an illegal turn isn’t going to take that away from me.</p>

<p>So now I’m home trying to heal with surgery still an option. And it’s painful to see life going on around me. It’s painful to miss things I’ve been looking forward to, such as weddings, trips, rowing practices, work, etc. Healing is a process, both emotional and physical and I’m working on it. I’m hanging in.</p>

<p>It’s never if but when bad things will happen. And it’s how we recover that defines who we are during these difficult times. It’s okay to mourn the losses. It’s okay to feel pain and anger from what was taken. But the important thing is to do it with grace, with your head up, and to know that no matter what, no one can take away who you are.</p>

<br /> <a rel="nofollow" href="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/gocomments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1500/"><img alt="" border="0" src="http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1500/" /></a> <img alt="" border="0" src="http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1500&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1" width="1" height="1" />

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/airplane-flying.jpg?w=300&h=199My bags aren’t packed, but I’m ready to go. Twelve days until I leave on my European adventure, a trip that even a year earlier felt like a pipe dream. Now, it’s on the horizon and I have this feeling it’s going to reshape how I perceive and interact with the world.

For years, I’ve compiled a list of places I’d love to visit if and when I ever got the chance. Neuschwanstein, Dachau, the Colosseum, and the Cliffs of Moher, just to name a few. I’m 32 (practically) and I’ve barely begun to experience the world.

Over the past month, I’ve been adding to my packing list. Undecided if it needs trimming or if I’m leaving off important items. And although I’ve got six spreadsheets to ensure I’ve properly planned, night after night I wake up terrified that I’ll arrive at the airport without my passport. Believe you me, that sucker is going to be the first item I pack when the time comes. Socks, I can forget, but not my passport.

My first stop is Belgium for the OutGames with DC Strokes. I doubt I’ll get to see too much of the country, but that’s okay. Over four days, I’ll be staying in Ghent, racing on the water. While I know I won’t get to see much of the country, I’m sure I’ll be ready for a change of scenery after the Opening Ceremonies, practice day, and two race days. But the experience I have on the water will make up for the lack of tours. But Belgium beer is definitely on my list.

My second stop is the one I’m looking forward to the most, Munich, Germany. There, I’ll tour Neuschwanstein, Dachau, and Munich. Neuschwanstein has always been on my list. Studying German in high school, specifically Mad King Ludwig and the origins of the castle, I became obsessed. I learned everything I could about the man as well as the architectural structure. I’d always said if I ever left the country, this castle would be my first stop.

People have questioned my desire to tour a concentration camp, but I can’t imagine being there and passing it by. I don’t necessarily expect the experience to be uplifting, but it seems to me a way of paying my respects to the lives lost. They deserve to be remembered, their stories told, and someone there to listen.

After a 12 hour overnight train ride, my next stop is Rome, Italy where I will tour the Vatican and the Colosseum. I’m excited that my hotel is walking distance to both locations. From there, I will catch a train to Florence. The first day, I’ve signed up for a horseback riding wine tour. This might be my number two most anticipated part of my trip since it combines my love of wine with my love of horses and I’ll get to see the beautiful countryside.

The next day, I’ll spend my time in Pisa, as you guessed, seeing the Leaning Tower of Pisa, although I’ve heard a lot of buildings there are leaning due to the foundation weakening over the years.

From Florence, I will take off on Lufthansa, to Dublin, Ireland where I will get to see St. Patrick’s Cathedral, The Cliffs of Moher, tour the Guiness Factory, and experience Temple Bar. My grandmother would be proud Ireland was on my list, but how could it not be given my Irish heritage. In addition to picking up postcards for my collection, I have to find a Celtic souvenir from Ireland to bring home. Probably not a nice Celtic girl, even though DOMA has been repealed and I could get her a spousal visa. Don’t worry, I’m not taking a U-Haul to Ireland.

I’ll return to Brussels, Belgium for one last night before my long flight home.  My hotel is located in the heart of the city so I could at least experience a little of what Belgium has to offer. Chocolate and beer, that’s really all I know.

People have commented that I’m insane to embark on the majority of this trip alone, but I say why wait. After all, that’s what I’d been doing most of my life. I kept waiting for someone to go with, yet everyone I dated set off on their own European adventures while we were dating, without me. Now, I’m excited about this trip being mine. I’ll never try to forget it due to a painful break up. It’s mine and I can be selfish about it. I can’t wait for someone else to start my life. I know I’m not old, but there’s still no sense in waiting either.

Come July 31st, I’m sure my fears regarding my passport will be unfounded. With the help and suggestions from friends, I will have successfully paired down my list to only the essentials. Now if only I could figure out how I’m going to shower after a 12 hour overnight train ride?

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1497/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1497&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/me-coxing.jpg?w=300&h=300Sometimes, no matter how much you practice or simulate the experience, nothing will prepare you for the adrenaline rush you will experience on race day. Last Saturday, my novice team and I competed in our first sprint race, Capital Sprints Regatta. 1000 meters. 130 strokes (ish) strokes from start to finish.

Having coxed 1000 meters for my team’s competitive team, I thought I was prepared. I’d seen the course, even been down it 3 times prior that day. But coxing a race and rowing a race are drastically different.

Our race, the Women’s Novice 8, was at 3:33, which means we launched at 3. I was hot seating from coxing the comp team’s Men’s Master’s 8. We’d come in second. All of us, or so it seemed, were disheartened. But I tried to suck it up and shake off the loss as best as I could, jump on with my boat, and head back out with a positive attitude. After all, we weren’t out to win, though a medal would have been nice. Our goal was to finish, to prove to ourselves what we were capable of.

Down the warm-up lane we took off just like we did during practice, pick drill, power 10, and then a paddle ten. Under the 11th St. Bridge and then circled back to the starting line. Deep breaths. We could do this. Stay calm.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/07/womens-8.jpg?w=300&h=225During our practices, from the start I’d popped the stroke rating up to 26 or 28, yet our race pace was 24. As the flag went up I told myself– 24, 24, 24. “Attention! Row!” We were off. Our starting five, but by stroke six we were already up to a 28. No matter how much I told myself to slow my slide, to lengthen out, we stayed at a 28 for the first 300 meters.

Around 400 meters, I couldn’t believe we hadn’t reached the halfway point, a large tree off to our starboard side. But novice teams row slower than the comp team and it would make sense that we hadn’t reached it. However, my body was already screaming for the finish line. (It should be noted, if we’d/I’d maintained a 24 stroke rating, then we wouldn’t have been as tired so early into the course.) But just like running, the voice inside of me that said kept going overtook the one that said, you can’t go any further. I never gave up. With every power 10 our coxswain called, I willed myself to put everything I had into each stroke.

At the 750 meter mark, I new we were closing in on the finish line. From the shore, I could hear our teammates screaming, “Go Strokes!” This and our coxswain willed me and the rest of the boat across the finish line. Tired and spent at the end, I collapsed in my seat, gasping for breath. I couldn’t feel my legs. Everything I had went on to the course. And while I could have done it better, I also know I didn’t hold anything back. We finished 4th out of 5 boats and were happy with the results.

There are many takeaways for me from this race.

1. If you screw up, keep going. I caught many crabs and made some bad calls, but the important thing is to pick yourself up, brush it off, and continue down the course.
   
2. It’s difficult to transition from coxswain to rower. For the past six months, I’ve become accustomed to making the calls for the rowers to follow, which means I have to at least act like I know the right solution and execute it. As a rower/stroke seat, my job is instead to offer occasional feedback, but let the coxswain do their job.
   
3. The first race is always the hardest. While you’ve practiced it, race day feels different. There’s adrenaline, other boats, and the desire/pressure to do well. Crossing the finish line that first time will forever be a reminder that no matter how difficult it gets, it’s possible to go the distance.
   

As one of our coaches said, rowing is a sport where it takes years to perfect the skill sets required to do well on the water. There’s so much to think about, from handle heights, pushing with your legs first, feathering the oar with your inside hand, lean into the rigger, slow your slide for that 2 to 4 beat ratio, follow the person in front of you, keep your head in the boat, etc.

Overtime, this will get easier for all of us. We have head season to look forward to, 5000 meter courses. Though it will be longer, we will have trained and we will again have the confidence to go the distance. And while I could spend my time beating myself up for the bad calls I made, catching a few crabs, or any other number of mistakes, instead, I’m going to focus on my successes and use those as my foundation.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1492/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1492&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/crawl-walk-run-fly.png?w=300&h=190It’s life’s challenges that define and shape who we are, remind us we can trust after a broken heart or stand up after a fall. It’s a task that seemed impossible or a note we didn’t think we could play. But (perfect) practice makes perfect. Perseverance. Accepting that you have to fail before you’ll succeed. No one ever does anything perfect on their first try.

Last night, one of my rowing coaches reminded us it will take about 2-3 years to develop the muscle memory of a rower. As someone who likes to stick my nose to the grind and try try again until I succeed, 2 years seems like a long time. But then I remember previous challenges. Like learning how to tromp across a football field while playing my trumpet.

I have to ask, what sick person decided it was a good idea to have musicians march around a field to entertain crowds during halftime? I might have a bone to pick with them regarding the number of fat lips I received from my mouthpiece until I learned how to march in step and not run into a color guard flag.

But if I’m being really honest, marching band made high school fun. It’s what I remember the most from those four years. Yes, band camp was long, hot, and tiring. The wool uniforms weren’t overly stylish, especially with their empire waists and sequin sashes. Yet it was band that enabled me to travel to New York City to march in the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day Parade. And it was also band that took me to Pasadena, CA to march in the Tournament of Roses Parade.

Music’s footprints will forever be on my soul. Rowing has begun to leave the same mark. Just like it took me at least a year or two to feel fully confident on the football field, it’s going to take the same amount of dedication, work, and time on the water. As impatient as I can be, I understand. There are no shortcuts.

The other thing I’ve learned is that nothing is truly isolated from anything else if you love it. While in the boat, music has resurfaced. My internal metronome ticks in my head as I count through my drive and then my recovery. (Lengthen the recovery time, I have to remind myself. Slow the slide.) It’s all about rhythm. It’s all about learning to perform together as one, knowing each other so well that we can anticipate the other’s movement.

Like the coach said, that all takes time. You have to crawl before you can walk. There’s no skipping steps if you want to do it right, if you want to be successful.

As I mentioned in a previous post, this past year has presented me with plenty of challenges and each one has shaped the person I am today. Each one was worth it if for no other reason than I really like the person I’ve become. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.

In July, my novice team will compete in Capital Sprints on the Anacostia. This will be my first race as a rower. Our goal will be to win, but the definition of winning doesn’t have to be a medal. Yes, a medal will be nice. But my definition of winning will consist of 8 rowers, rowing together for 1000 meters, pushing each other, listening to our coxswain, and quieting that voice that tells us we’re tired and it’s too far to the finish line. Winning will be all of us learning we can.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1483/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1483&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

As a Friends fanatic, sometimes it’s impossible not to make a references to this show. For one, it’s timeless. But in Season 1, Episode 1, Joey encourages Ross to “grab a spoon,” because life will go on after divorce and the right woman is out there. Well, I think his exact point was there are my flavors of women out there which in turn makes it impossible to settle on one. But this is Joey. Ross, however, can’t seem to see past the recent heartache of losing his wife to another woman to envision any woman filling this role. This is my story of grabbing a spoon.

I’ve never been the person who crosses the bar to make initial contact with a girl I think is cute. As the President of the Washington, D.C. Chapter of Dykes on Bikes, riding my motorcycle, Norma Gene, and Capital Pride, gave me an extra boost of confidence the day.

I’d picked out a tank top to show off my tattoo (which clearly I’m proud of), black jeans, and my motorcycle boots. What could be sexier? At least that’s what I assured myself as I walked out the door.

Bike after bike fell in rank at the starting line and Norma Gene in the front. This was the first year I was riding solo. Moreover, this was the first year I’d been single during the festivities.

My best friend has a lot more girl savvy than I. So as I prepared for the kick off, while filming segments for our It Gets Better video, I tried to channel her inner swag. I’d wanted to see if I could invite a girl from the crowd to join me for the ride.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/me-on-the-bike.jpg?w=300&h=179Ten minutes late, the parade stepped off and I led the charge. This was my moment to prove to myself I could do it, that I could be bold. After all, girls clearly find a motorcycle sexy. But as we made our way through the first couple of blocks, I couldn’t find anyone… well, that’s not true. I couldn’t seem to muster up the courage.

To my surprise, in the middle of Dupont Circle, a beautiful brunette signaled from the crowd, asking to hop on. I waved her over, as if I’d planned this all along, and positioned my bike along the fence. She quickly hopped over and climbed on behind me. The crowd around us went insane and I knew my best friend would be proud.

Yes, she made the first move, but we rode the rest of the way together. I’m not corny enough to say into the sunset. But we did ride to the bar where we exchanged numbers and ended the evening with a kiss.

Tonight, we’ll see each other again. You know, the stereotypical “catch a movie” type date. I promise not to do the lame move of yawning, stretching, and putting my arm around her, because I guarantee, that move would not earn me another kiss at the end of the evening. Clearly, that’s my goal.

Ten years later, Ross ends up with the woman of his dreams. And not to sound too corny, but it’s because Ross is the eternal relationship optimist of the group. Look at how many times he got married… and divorced. But he grabbed a spoon. Life went on. Life is going on for me and I’m happy.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1477/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1477&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/future.jpg?w=500Two years ago I got my first and thus far only tattoo. It’s a Celtic knot that connects around my right bicep, or what has been more commonly referred to as my “dyke-band.” And while some have considered my motivation for getting it part of my “freak out” for turning 30, I argue it was a carefully thought out decision that was years in the making.

The significance aspects of the tattoo is threefold.

1. I’m very proud of my Irish heritage. Therefore, I wanted an emblem that was significant to my family’s history.
   
2. It’s a Celtic knot that has no beginning and no end. For me, this represents a truth: that every ending is a new beginning.
   
3. The band is around my bicep to remind me that every new beginning has made me stronger.
   

This past year has been filled with lots of new beginnings, however some of them I admit have been more challenging than others. Doors closing are painful, especially if it feels as if they were slammed in your face without a care or concern in the world.

Part of life is learning how to pick yourself up off the floor, brush off the dust, and continue on. It’s a skill I believe I’ve mastered over the past (almost) 32 years. Possibly, it’s a jaded perspective, but I’ve come to expect that people (friends, lovers, family members) will screw you over in the end. And while I can’t anticipate it, nor do I want to close myself off, because not everyone in my life has ill intentions, is selfish, or immature, the Ace I have in my back pocket is I will survive if it does.

From these doors closing, wonderful things have come into my life, such as moving to Washington, D.C., riding my motorcycle, coxing and rowing with DC Strokes, writing for a variety of blogs, as well as meeting all kinds of new and interesting people.

Allowing new doors to open gave me the opportunity to get to know a lot of the guys on DC Strokes while spending a weekend together at Rehoboth Beach. It also taught me that I can train myself to wake up at 4:30 every morning as well as be willing to go to bed by 9 PM. I’ve gotten to meet all kinds of amazing women who ride with Dykes on Bikes; women who helped make this past Saturday’s Capital Pride special.

What doesn’t kill me makes me stronger. Yes, that’s a bit extreme. Doors closing, or being slammed, won’t kill me. But losing people you’re close with certainly knocks you to the floor. But I’m still standing and will remain standing. I’m stronger than I yet know.

Every ending is a new beginning and I’m opening the door to another wonderful, new adventure. So let me say, thank you for the opportunity. I will make the most of it while savoring every minute.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1471/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1471&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/2012.jpeg?w=300&h=225Saturday marks the fourth anniversary of the DC Chapter of Dykes on Bikes leading the Capital Pride Parade. Over these years, the chapter has grown from just me, the founding member, to 134 riders. We’ve shared many adventures together, from crossing the Bay Bridge and getting lost on the Eastern Shore of Maryland to riding through horse country in Virginia.

I was surprised to learn when I bought my motorcycle that Washington, D.C. did not have a Dykes on Bikes Chapter. Me, a new rider, was desperate for other women to ride with who shared my new found passion. I’d contacted Capital Pride, but they informed me that the women who rode in the parade were not part of an organization, but instead showed up every year. I contacted the founding chapter in San Francisco who confirmed this news, but then sent me all the paperwork required to start a chapter.

Me, start a local chapter of Dykes on Bikes in a big city? Keep in mind, I grew up in a city of 55,000 surrounded by farm country. Washington, D.C. still intimidated me. But,  me being the headstrong person my mother raised, decided to tackle the challenge.

I wrote bylaws and set up an informational meeting at Nellies Sports Bar. Because Nellies gave us our first meeting place and we will always be grateful for their support! Sitting on the patio, half an hour early, alone, I was nervous no one was going to show up. I’d posted flyers in women’s bars and talked to everyone I knew to help me promote the organization. And as the hours ticked down, I thought about calling my friends to have them show up so I wasn’t sitting there alone, embarrassed.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/women-motorcyclists.jpeg?w=300&h=168To my surprise, women arrived. Women I’d never met who were interested in joining an organization I was starting. Granted, it’s a pretty famous, national organization. I can’t take any credit for making Dykes on Bikes cool. Fifteen women gave me their contact information, wanting to ride.

Within a matter of months, the chapter was officially chartered by the national organization. We had a bank account, a website, and even a few rides planned. Our first Pride Parade was around the corner. Approximately 20 bikes lead the parade. By the following year, we were closer to thirty. Last year, 40. This year, I’m hoping for close to 50.

These women have become some of my best friends. They know how to tell a dirty joke to make you laugh when you’re down and they’re the people who want to invest in their communities to inspire the next generation of leaders.

Together, I know we make a difference. So many women over the years have told me what it has meant to them to be out and riding with Dykes on Bikes in the Pride Parade. They describe how they never thought this day was possible or what it’s been like to find a group so warm and welcoming. It’s for these reasons and so many more that I’m sure the first chapter was formed in 1976 and it’s why the Washington, D.C. chapter formed in 2010.

This year, we will make an It Gets Better Video to send this message to LGBT youth as well as others who might still be afraid to come out. Because it truly does get better. Ask any one of this chapter’s membership and they will describe for you the fun and adventures they have with friends while exploring the DC metro region.

The bigger the risk, the bigger the reward. The reward here has been exponentially greater than anything I could have ever imagined. Thank you to everyone who had faith in me as well as everyone else, members and friends, who helped make this possible. Without your help, we wouldn’t have come this far.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1465/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1465&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/pride-flags.jpg?w=280&h=300It’s June and everywhere I look rainbow flags adorn city streets and buildings. Such a beautiful reminder how all colors of the rainbow come together to form one community, at least that’s what the rainbow flag means to me.

In June, we, the LGBT citizens, celebrate our history, the heroes that came before us, fighting for society to see us as equal, to see as the same. Because we’re all different in our own special way, either by race, gender, ethnicity, etc. I believe it’s our differences that make us stronger.

I love Pride month, mostly because I love riding with the DC Chapter of Dykes on Bikes. Thousands of fans lining the streets shouting, “Dykes on Bikes,” as we approach. Clapping, cheering, and screaming with excitement. Sure, they’re excited for the rest of the parade, but seeing us means the festivities have begun.

It’s a high like no other, even compared to skydiving, which is pretty tough to beat. For those moments along the route, I feel like a celebrity. Maybe this year I’ll feel cool enough to identify a cute girl to pull out of the crowd along the route to ride on the back of my bike.

But Pride means so much more than parties, parades, and festivals. Pride to me is a reminder of the journey we’re on and the the places we have yet to go. We’re still fighting for DOMA to be repealed and are anxiously waiting the US Supreme Court’s ruling on Prop 8. I’m sure it will be a 5-4 decision, but the question is leaning which way.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/06/me-with-the-motorcycle.jpg?w=300&h=218It’s a fight that began not to differentiate us from society, but to point out that we are no different than anyone else. We all love, feel, hurt, cry, ache, yearn, want, dream, desire, and hope. Who I love is only a part of who I am. Being gay doesn’t define me.

I don’t want to be remembered as “the gay girl” simply because I feel that would be neglecting bigger parts of the legacy I want to leave. It would be like saying “that blond girl.” I want to be remembered as a fierce advocate for human rights, generous and kind to friends and strangers, an athlete who truly believed in the power of a team, an animal lover, a survivor, and an adrenaline junkie. Yes I’m gay and yes I have blond hair, but they don’t define who I am.

I’m sure my life experience is shaped by the fact that I’m a masculine looking, white female who is short and is also gay. The fact that I was raised in the south by a family who wasn’t southern in a variety of Christian denominations and have a higher education degree all play a part as well. So when I’m asked about the “gay perspective” I struggle. I can only give my perspective that is shaped by everything I am and everything I’ve been through.

Recently, I wrote a piece for another LGBT publication, but I was told it wasn’t gay enough for Pride month. It was a piece how my men’s 4 and I achieved a first place win at Sunday’s Stonewall Regatta, the only LGBT US Rowing recognized sponsored regatta in the nation. Not to mention the fact that we were all members of one of the only four gay rowing teams in the nation and the event was part of DC Pride. I was offended that I was basically told to “gay it up” or write about Dykes on Bikes instead.

Maybe this is just me, but Pride should also be about celebrating the ground we’ve covered for society to not only see us as LGBT but as one of them. Because we’re all rowers, motorcyclists, skydivers, writers, readers, swimmers, campers, hikers, animal lovers, friends, and family members. I want Pride to be about celebrating the successes of the LGBT movement. Yes, wave our rainbow flags, but let us not be defined by them either.

I am only me. I don’t want to gay it up to fit into someone else’s box. It’s a piece of me, but not the whole me.

You will find me out on Saturday, possibly even wearing my rainbow suspenders. If for no other reason than because they’re awesome, clearly. But I show up, not with the intention of yelling “I am gay, hear me roar,” but to say, I am here and deserve to be counted as equal to you.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1461/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1461&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

Just a handful of days until DC Strokes kicks off their sprint season by hosting their Stonewall Regatta on Sunday, June 2nd. Boat after boat after boat will race down the Anacostia River, all seeking the same goal–victory. A weighty, shiny gold medal to take home along with a year’s worth of bragging rights.

But as fun as regatta days are, they are the culmination of the hard work of many members of the team’s leadership over the previous year and beyond. Securing sponsors, recruiting other team participation, hiring referees, etc. are just some of the responsibilities. However, these leaders do so much more than check items off a to do list. They serve as mentors to new rowers like myself. They encourage me to always do my best and assure me that with hard work, I will succeed. It’s because of these people I have found a home with DC Strokes.

Arend Fish is the current President of DC Strokes, serving since 2012. This is his fifth season with DC Stroke, fourth with the competitive team, and is traveling with the team (and me!) to Belgium in August to compete in the World OutGames.

Under his leadership, all of the DC Strokes rowing programs have grown. We are able to put so many rowers in boats and be competitive on the water.

I asked him what his favorite part of rowing was and he said, “when the boat is set, and everyone is rowing together, the rhythm, the sounds, it’s almost hypnotic.” Come check us out on Sunday if you’ve never heard it or need a reminder because I have to agree. The sound of 4 or 8 rowers (depending on the size of the boat) all moving in sync is amazing and after a rough practice could feel like a miracle. But in those moments, anything feels possible.

Brett Freeman is the Development Director on the Board of Directors for DC Strokes. He’s also served on the Stonewall Regatta Organizing Committee. He began rowing in 2011 and after his novice year joined the Strokes competitive team where he has raced at several local and national regattas, including the Head of the Charles in Boston, MA. Like Arend and I, Brett is also traveling to Belgium for the OutGames.

“[Rowing] is both a personal and team sport at the same time,” Brett said when I asked him what was his favorite part. Like other sports, rowing is a lot of self-improvement and enjoying serenity on the water while at the same time learning to work as a cohesive unit to move the boat as quickly and efficiently as possible across the water.

At a regatta a few years ago, Arend said he heard a coxswain motivate their boat by shouting, “don’t let the gays beat you.” But because of the work these two, as well as other leaders in the team, society is evolving. As proof by the marriage equality laws now in eleven states and the District, people are fighting for LGBT rights. Arend was also proud to say that his boat beat the boat with the coxswain shouting homophobic remarks.

For these two and other members of the team, they’re looking forward to being out on the water competing in a sport they love on Sunday. While Stonewall is the only US Rowing recognized LGBT sponsored regatta, it is an event for everyone. It’s about coming together, not just LGBT pride, but pride in rowing and good sportsmanship.

The success of DC Strokes is due to the hard work of many, members who have come and gone over the years, giving their blood, sweat, and tears to the team, like Brett and Arend. These athletes and other volunteers have ensured that me and the rest of the crew team have a place to call home both on and off the water.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/stonewall-logo-original-smaller.jpg?w=171&h=300Less than a week until DC Strokes kicks off their spring season with their Stonewall Regatta on the Anacostia River on Sunday, June 2 from 8:30 AM – 5:00 PM. Race line-ups have already been sent and we’re all chomping at the bit to get this thing started.

This morning, I was in a men’s 8 (Katie, I’m counting you as an honorary guy.) practicing race starts, sprints, and our secret weapon. (Don’t ask, I won’t tell you unless you know the double secret handshake.) Not to brag, but I felt as if I rocked my calls this morning. I was on top of my game. My boat flew across the water at unbelievable speeds. From the shore, I swear I heard, “It’s a loon, no it’s a motorboat, no it’s DC Strokes!”

My guys pushed themselves and beyond this morning to give me everything they had. They were pulling high ratings, “curb-stomping” the rest of the boats on the water… even if we weren’t actually racing. My opinion is they were too afraid to try and thus remained in our wake.

I would love to see us take a medal on Sunday. We have the muscle and the skill to crank it and not look back, smoking everyone on the course.  I’ve seen these guys, I’m not being over confident.

Clearly, as much as I’m looking forward to this regatta, the thing I’m dreading the most is the spandex uniforms. To be clear, this is not me fishing for compliments. No one likes spandex, at least not since the 1980s when biker-shorts  side ponytails, and New Kids on the Block (the first time) were cool. Amplified by the fact that I’m uber modest and you get me already plotting how I’m going to stay covered up between races.

Yes, there is the obvious argument that everyone else there will be wearing spandex, too. No one will be looking. (Unless you’re a cute, sporty girl and then look all you want.) In fact, I spent hours trying to figure out which uniform pairing would be the least revealing. Realistically, with spandex, no matter what you do it’s revealing, but I can still hope for the slightest reprieve.

This fear is probably pretty ridiculous of all the things I could worry about. I could run the boat ashore, into another boat, into a bridge, lose count, call too many power tens so my guys are exhausted before the finish line, etc. Clearly, the way I look in spandex should be at the end of this list. But, I’m vane and therefore stress about my imperfections.

I’m glad we don’t have to wear spandex to morning practices where instead, I can focus on what’s truly important like the set of the boat, steering, and maintaining my point.

Come Sunday, I’m sure I’ll have forgotten all about this worry that’s been building in my head over the past eight months. I’ve made a mountain out of a mole hill, both literally and figuratively. Instead, like the rest of the crowd, I will be focused on getting my crew down the course ahead of the other boats, pushing them, and encouraging them to give me their all. Come Sunday, we’ll be called the DC Streaks instead of the DC Strokes.

Even if you’re not a cute, sporty girl who wants to check me out in spandex, come down and support the team! There will be live music, food, and fun. You can cheer us on as boat by boat we cross the finish line.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1431/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1431&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/image.jpg?w=300&h=246Nine months ago, my girlfriend broke my heart, devastating me for months. With her, I’d fallen in love hard. The kind of love where you realize you’re wearing blinders because she’s the only one you see. We seemed to fit together perfectly. Sure, we had our differences, but we didn’t fight, at least the type of fighting I’d been used to. We were able to talk through the toughest of situations. She supported me and I supported her.

I saw my future with her. Even my mother saw how smitten I was during a visit and so she brought me a family ring I could use when I found the right time to propose. As an aside, that wasn’t in my immediate plan. I’m not that kind of lesbian. I like to take things slow. But I knew what I wanted. I’d do anything for her, anything to ensure her life was a little easier, a little less stressful, a little more filled with love and laughter.

One evening last August, she said after a hug and a kiss that she didn’t want the same things she’d always told me she did, which included me. I left. It took everything I had not to look back, not to beg her to try, not to ask her to want me like she had previously.

The next few weeks and months were challenging. The first week, it took everything I had to say there would be life and possibly happiness in the future, even if I couldn’t see it on the horizon. I learned how to sit with the pain, to function in what felt like an abyss. It was in this state, I found the rowing team. With their help, they’ve helped me take steps, baby steps at first, and helped me to discover how to smile and truly mean it. How to laugh and enjoy every moment.

Dating eluded me, even when I tried. I couldn’t allow myself to open up because I knew the person would leave, either emotionally or physically. I knew it would end. But I also knew it wasn’t right because no matter how hard I tried, I still couldn’t get my ex, the one I still considered the love of my life, off my mind. She was in my dreams, almost nightly, either dating my friends or telling me how she only saw me as a sister. All of which was hurtful, even her presence was hurtful.

But as the days and weeks became months since the break up, I don’t notice the anniversary of the break up (which as I checked my calendar was nine months ago today). But it doesn’t weigh on me like it used to. I don’t dread it knowing I will be drowning in the sadness of a love that once was.

In Rehoboth this past weekend, was the first time I realized how far I’d come. It was the first time I felt as if I might have my feet back under me and could possibly consider dating. In fact, thank you to a really awesome group of rowers, they went with me to the women’s bar and tried to encourage me to make the approach for every girl I pointed out was cute. Needless to say, I still chickened out since something never change. But it didn’t feel as scary.

Throwing a frisbee on the beach, laughing, and having a good time, I realized life was fun and not just a series of responsibilities on an endless to do list. I felt whole. The last time I’d felt that way was with my ex.

I am the person who says relationships are overrated. Generally because I’m also a pretty jaded and don’t see them work out for the long term. Relationships end in heartache and pain. But that doesn’t mean I don’t want someone to come along and prove me wrong. She’s out there. That said, relationships aren’t everything. They don’t define you. Yes, I do think you have to go all in to give them a chance. You can’t half buy a lottery ticket and expect to win the jackpot. You purchase the ticket and sit in front of the television carefully crosschecking each number as they’re announced.

A relationship doesn’t define me. I’m whole again. I’ve loved, lost, and survived. Yes, the mere prospect of repeating this scares me, yet I know I will get through it and be a better person on the other side. I think this breakup changed me for the better and I didn’t lose what was important. I still have my cheesy, sarcastic sense of humor, I’m passionate, driven, and want to make the world a better place. And I will. One day at a time.

I don’t expect to find Ms. Right tomorrow. But I’m starting to feel open to meeting people in a romantic way and that’s a huge step. And while, yes, I did a lot of the work to get here, I couldn’t have done it alone. So thank you to everyone who stood by me either knowingly or not and helped me to love, laugh, and try again.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1425/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1425&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/try-something-new.jpg?w=300&h=225As a Type A perfectionist, it’s difficult for me to accept I’m not going to get something new right the first time I try it. Four years ago, I was faced with that challenge, learning how to ride a motorcycle. In a parking lot in Manassas, VA, I sat on a Honda Rebel 250 cc, attempting to find the sweet spot with the clutch to have it propel me just enough to walk the bike across the lot while maintaining a straight line. Unlike the rest of my class however, the bike pull to the left after each time I corrected my course.

I became frustrated and began to doubt whether I would be able to do this. But during the break, while staring at myself in the bathroom mirror, I repeated, “You can do this. You can do this. You can do this.” And with a renewed spirit, I returned to the bike, and successfully found the sweet spot while maintaining my course. In fact, I passed the course and to this day, it’s one of my favorite weekends.

Rowing has presented a set of new challenges that again, this Type A perfectionist is struggling to accept I’m not going to get it right off the bat. It’s going to take practice.

Last night, I completed DC Strokes Learn to Row program, but it didn’t come without scars. This past week alone, I managed to severely bruise if not break my pinky toe by rolling a boat lift over my foot, walked head first into the stern of the boat and am sporting a beautiful knot on the side of my head, not to mention last night, while falling out of time with the other seven rowers in the boat, got kidney checked not once but twice by the rower behind me. Describing these injuries to my mother last night, who I’m sure also questions whether it’s smart I ride a motorcycle given my accident proneness, questioned whether rowing was the sport for me. But I assured her I was fine and the wounds would heal. Which for the sake of my kidneys, I hope is soon.

As I drove home, I realized I needed another personal coaching session, ten minutes in front of the mirror to remind myself I could do this, too. Like learning to ride the motorcycle, it was going to take time, dedication, focus, and practice. Especially focus if I want to stop walking head first into the stern of boats.

After I’d analysed the newly acquired bruises after I got home, I stared at myself in the mirror. And though I felt silly, I assured myself learning to row was something I could do.

It’s easy to get frustrated when confronted with a new task, to bow out because you believe you don’t have enough skill, talent, or experience, but all of that comes with time. It will come with time for me as long as I continue to work at it.

Like any athlete, or at least the athletes I know or grew up with, I wear my bruises as a badge of honor. They’re injuries from “battle” even if in this case it’s an internal battle with my will. Maybe even a small battle with my mother to prove to her I can do this. Don’t get me wrong, she supports me; she just worries about my safety.

Rowing is a sport I’ve come to love. And as I transition from a coxswain to a rower, I need to remember that while I have the knowledge of a coxswain, I don’t yet have the skills or even knowledge of  a rower. Not that some of the knowledge isn’t transferable, but I need to remind myself that I am at square one. Well, maybe square three since I just completed learn to row, and while I’m still new, I’m not a landlubber.

My Type A perfectionist is something I need to put on the back burner just slightly. While it will be an asset for me as I continue to hone my rowing skills, the part that says it needs to be perfect now is not. Therefore, the mantra I’m turning up the volume on in my head is, “Yes I can.”

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1418/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1418&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/lifes-journey.jpg?w=300&h=253There’s a phrase I’ve always hated, “the best time of my life was when……” Fill in the blank with whatever era of your life you might idolize. Don’t misunderstand, I don’t mean to devalue any period of your life you might have enjoyed, but it seems to me if you’re constantly looking backwards, what’s there to look forward to or enjoy in the present?

Maybe this is one of the reasons people dread aging, believing their best years are behind them. For me, every passing year has brought new adventures and challenges that continue to shape me. Whether that’s a near death experience on the motorcycle, a morning spent with the crew team on the Anacostia, or a heartbreak that completely turns your world upside down. Through the good and the bad, I always look forward to tomorrow.

I know it sounds like I’m an optimist, a glass half full person. Those who know me well will probably be the first to tell you that isn’t true. Personally, I consider myself a realist. I don’t believe in happy endings, but then again, I don’t think I need a happy ending. I want the journey. I want the never ending journey. Through the changing scenery, I’ve learned how to enjoy the here and now, including the storms. Not perfectly, but I’m better than I was.

This weekend, I have another opportunity to enjoy the passing scenery, some of it at 60 MPH. Friday morning, I’m packing up my motorcycle for my first ever full weekend trip to Rehobeth Beach in Delaware. For the second time ever, I get to cross the Bay Bridge, ranked one of the top ten nerve-wracking bridges in the nation. I get to ride across Maryland’s Eastern Shore with nothing but time on my hands.

It’s been nearly two years since I’ve embarked on a motorcycle trip, and to say the least, that was a trip of calamities. Between burning up a saddle bag holding the majority of my clothes within the first 50 miles of the 2,000 mile trip or being protected by tractor trailers on I-81 N as we all pushed through a blinding thunderstorm. While my fingers are crossed for less calamities, that 2000 mile trip across North Carolina, South Carolina, Tennessee, and Virginia is one of my favorites.

During that trip, I encounter some of the best and some of the questionable who reside in the southeast. At one stop, a gentleman approached me with an unsheathed dagger dangling from his belt, wearing cammo, and a cut-off t-shirt. The person who stereotypes would tell me I should be wary of as a LGBT person in the backwoods of North Carolina. Instead, he told me about how much he loved his motorcycle but that he loved his wife and family more. When his children were born, who were both staring at us from the front passenger seat, he promised his wife he would give up the bike until both were 18. Childhood lesson number one, never judge a book by its cover.

I don’t need a near death experience to enjoy the journey this weekend or any weekend, but I’m ready for whatever fate has in store. However, fate, if you are reading my blog, please note this isn’t me daring you.

There are scores of adventures I’m looking forward to this summer and beyond and I’m sure that list will continue to grow as time passes. I don’t want to ever look back and catch myself uttering the phrase, “that was the time of my life.” Well, maybe when I’m on my death bed, but (knock on wood) that’s still some time in the future. I enjoyed the adventures I have but there are still more on the horizon. More places to go, see, and experiences to shape me and my outlook on the world.

More room to try and taste new things. My glass will never be empty, even if it’s only half full.  There’s more room in the glass to taste and try what this world has to offer, more room to fill it with more experiences.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1413/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1413&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/drag-queens.jpg?w=500Earlier this month, while visiting my sister in New York City, I visited the  place where the modern LGBT movement began, Stonewall Inn. I got chills as I walked through the doors of such a historic and meaningful place. Although, that might have also been due to the cute cute bouncer with soft hands who stamped the back of my hand as I entered.

Fourty-four years prior, police stormed the very place I was standing in the early morning hours of June 28th. New York City Police stormed inside, however, unlike other raids in the 1950s and 1960s, the drag queens fought back, fought for their right to have a place to congregate, drink, and enjoy each other’s company. Their courage, showed the nation that LGBT would not be marginalized, persecuted, or discriminated against.

Decades later, twelve states have legalized same-sex marriage, Don’t Ask Don’t Tell has been overturned. Not all, but students and schools are welcoming transgender and LGB students. Dan Savage’s “It Gets Better Campaign” compels young people (both at heart and in age) to hang in there because life will get better. And while we’re still miles away from the promised land, we’re drastically closer than we were in 1969.

In 2013, we have gays and lesbians in Congress, running Fortune 500 companies, hosting television shows, and playing sports as professional athletes. Athletes such as Jason Collins,  a center for the Washington Wizards and Brittney Griner was the the Number 1 pick for the WNBA. These two weren’t the first, nor will they be the last to come out; nor were they welcomed with opened arms by everyone, including their teammates.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/dc-strokes.gif?w=300&h=300I’m proud to say my rowing team, DC Strokes founded in 1991,  is the oldest LGBT supportive rowing team in the country team where LGBT members and allies row along side each other, every morning and most afternoons, working toward a common goal of winning regattas on both the national and international stage.

In 1994, Stonewall Regatta was born in NY and Strokes adopted the regatta to pay homage to the LGBT movement’s roots by remembering the riots at Stonewall. Collegiate and community teams around the Washington, D.C. area and beyond, 175 boats and around 30 teams, compete on the Anacostia River. Stonewall is the only LGBT regatta in the country to be officially sanctioned by the rowing’s official governing body, US Rowing. Together, all athletes spend the day on the water together, competing, and having fun.

DC Strokes creates a safe space for LGBT rowers to compete, even though everyone’s views on LGBT issues haven’t evolved. Rowers have faced anti-gay slurs such as “don’t let the fags beat us,” during races, but our presence is standing up to their bigotry. In fact, when the team competes at the Head of the Charles, the organizers refuse to recognize Strokes as an LGBT team. Our presence let’s other either closeted athletes or up and coming high school rowers know that it does get better and whether they’re gay or straight, we welcome everyone.

Stonewall is not only important to DC Strokes and the LGBT community, but also to Washington, D.C. by bringing in tourism, introducing more people to the Anacostia River, and empowering people adjust their perceptions of Sough East D.C. Some of the wildlife I’ve seen are beavers, bald eagles, fish, ducks, geese, as well as other species of birds.

Over the following two weeks, I’m going to be posting interviews I’ve conducted with members of the team. These members will be sharing their experiences, what it’s like to be a leader in the organization, representing the team in the community, or having been part of the team that founded Stonewall. Their stories are inspiring and while they’re not professional athletes, they’re still role models for all LGBT youth.

While the Stonewall Riots happened 44 years ago, DC Strokes brings the passion and integrity to life from those drag queens to life and if you want to be a part of this magic, mark your calendar for June 2nd. Come out to the Anacostia Community Boathouse during the hours of 8:30 AM – 5 PM to cheer on the Strokes to victory! We look forward to seeing you there.

If at the end of the day, you’re interested in learning more about the team and maybe one day joining it, we’re ALWAYS looking for coxswains (which is how I started) and the team will offer all the training. I can promise you, the time you spend on the will be the best part of your day.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1398/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1398&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/drowned-rat.jpg?w=271&h=300Everyone has seen, if not in person then via the internet, a dripping wet cat. They’ve resigned themselves to their fate, silently plotting your doom for the endless torture they’ve had to endure. Occasionally   you can hear them grumbling under their breath. I’m pretty sure that’s what I looked like this morning as I entered my office building. There has to be another word for this, but all I could come up with was the coxswain’s walk of shame. Obviously, not a one night stand in the boathouse, as much fun as that does sound, but instead wearing the true badge of honor from a morning spent in the bow of our team’s new four.

While I am silently plotting my revenge for my bow seat (you know who you are) don’t mistake this as me complaining. I was ecstatic the coaches had trusted me in the brand new boat, only my second time in a bowloader. For those unfamiliar with this term, rather than the coxswain sitting in the stern of the boat, facing the stroke seat, in a bowloader, the coxswain practically lays into the hull of the bow with the rowers facing away and behind you. If you’re used to being in the stern, which I am, it can be lonely and make you feel slightly disconnected with the boat. But as all these months, and this morning, has taught me, it forces me to pay attention to the boat, feel it’s rhythm to understand what’s happening.

This morning, we did six seat races. Those are practically sprint race pieces and after a few races, switch rowers in a specific seat between boats to see who is fastest. The coaches use this as a way to help build a fast, strong boat. Up and down the river we went. And though it was close to 70 degrees this morning, the water was far from that balmy temperature. If I had to guess, it was probably between 50 and 60 degrees.

I should say, this is one of the hazards of a bowloader. The coxswain is going to get wet, I just don’t think I had any idea exactly how wet I would be by the end of practice. I’ve been soaked in the stern, but that’s usually been due to white caps or wake from other team’s launches. (knock on wood) So far, never from flipping a boat.

If I had been smart last night when I was packing my clothes for today, or even this morning when I woke up, I would have packed an extra sports bra. Clearly, the logical part of my brain had shut down. So as we went up and down the river, I attempted to hold the front of my shirt away from my body in an attempt to keep the one sports bra I had dry. By the fourth trip down the river, I realized I was fighting a losing battle.

This is one of the many times I’m grateful I’m not well endowed. (In case some of my readers who’ve never met me, now you know.) This means, it’s a little easier with enough layers to get away with not wearing a bra. I felt like I was taking a page out of the L Word this morning as I got ready in my building’s gym. If you haven’t noticed, none of the women in that show ever wear bras. When I came out and got the rules (not really) about the gay handshake and the gay walk, no one ever told me about that one.

With a white t-shirt and a new button down, I went up to my office and quickly asked two female co-workers if they could tell I wasn’t wearing a bar. Which PS, that was a pretty awkward moment for me. Shy me who would never, ever call attention to my chest region (notice I’m not even using the word). They were good sports, though, and confirmed I was safe.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/revenge.jpeg?w=500I’m sure my girl scout troop leader would be disappointed because I didn’t take the “always be prepared” rule to heart. It could have been worse in terms of what I’d forgot. But my new special rower friend should be prepared because I like to return favors, even if it’s his own special bath in the Anacostia River. But he should also know, it’s only because I love him.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1393/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1393&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/homophobia_xlarge.jpeg?w=300&h=224At what point does society stop saying, “you have the right to what you believe” and instead say, “that’s racist” or “that’s homophobic?” How does that transition take place?

Currently, I am going back and forth with Zookie, someone who tuned into my blog and has made some homophobic comments on the post, America is Evolving, Are you?. He/She has claimed marriage equality is not a civil right, a right this person would evidently advocate denying to their own brother who is gay. (Their own admission that they have a gay brother.) Which I have to say, blows my mind. I’m curious what their brother has to say about their views.

Lobbying and advocating for LGBT civil rights is not making an emotional appeal. It would be the same as telling a black person during the Civil Rights Movement that they’re making an emotional appeal, that even though you don’t agree with them you’re not racist. That you have plenty of black friends.

They say that our laws don’t have to include same-sex marriage, because marriage is a social institution. However, their argument is flawed. Marriage is a legal institution because it’s regulated by the government. The government defines who can get married as well as who can perform the ceremonies. It categorizes you based on your marital status, decides your tax burden, as well as you and your partner’s rights when it comes to hospital visits, adoption, immigration, social security benefits, health insurance, etc. 

Essentially what they’re saying is that if their gay brother fell in love with someone from a different country, and this man was willing to move here, they wouldn’t be angered by the nation’s legal system that treated their brother and his partner differently under the law that it would them (because from their posts, I’m assuming they’re straight) if they were in the same situation?

It’s like the argument about Don’t Ask Don’t Tell. “Why do gay people need to serve openly in the military. They can serve but just keep it to themselves. I don’t want to know about it.” But since Don’t Ask Don’t Tell was overturned, not once have I heard of an instance where our military’s readiness was compromised due to a gay person being able to be honest about who they are and afforded the same spousal benefits as other heterosexual soldiers. While I don’t serve and have never served, I work for the Navy and from what I’ve learned, all branches instill values of honor, integrity, and service. Where is asking someone to lie about who they are honorable? Thank God a soldier can’t be discharged because of who they are.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/no_sexism_racism_homophobia.jpg?w=300&h=234In the 1960s, two people, one white and one black were prosecuted because they wed and interracial marriage was illegal. It was considered immoral, damaging to the races (preserving the white race), and preventing this preserved the historic social institution of marriage. But the U.S. Supreme Court ruled in Loving v. Virginia, 1967, not long after the Civil Rights Act was passed, that marriage was not a segregated institution. Just under 50 years later, majority of Americans wouldn’t look twice at an interracial couple.

Already, court’s are faced with questions they cannot answer due to same-sex marriage being relegated to the states. For example, if a lesbian couple marries in Maine but then moves to Virginia where their marriage isn’t recognized, then what? Maybe they want to get divorced, but Virginia doesn’t recognize their marriage and as such cannot grant their divorce. (Which happened in Maryland before Maryland passed same-sex marriage.)

Maybe it’s a service member who’s stationed in New York and marries his partner, but because federal laws don’t recognize it, the military will not pay to move his spouse where he’s stationed. While he can serve openly, the military is bound by federal laws and as such isn’t required to offer his spouse the same benefits it would a married heterosexual couple.

Maybe I get married in Washington, D.C. and live a long, happy life with my hypothetical wife (knock on wood). If I die before they do, I want them to inherit everything I have, have access to my pension and receive social security benefits. I don’t want them to be burdened by an unjust tax burden due to the house we shared together now being passed to them (a case the U.S. Supreme Court is currently deliberating.)

Zookie, your argument that it’s strictly a social institution is the same as closing your eyes to the real world. Clearly, I have laid out plenty of examples and if other followers want to do the same, I welcome it. I won’t tolerate hatred or homophobic remarks on this blog, even under the guise of ‘I have a gay brother and as such can’t be homophobic.’

At what point will society on the whole consider Zookie’s comment’s homophobic? With my thumb in the air, the winds haven’t shifted. My perception is these comments are part of the idea of tolerance and the notion “we’re all entitled to our own opinion.” But my rights shouldn’t be relegated to Zookie’s or anyone else’s opinion. I expect my government to treat me the same as every other citizen and as such be equal under the law.

As I keep saying, marriage equality will be a reality, federally. The Defense of Marriage Act will be overturned and states will be required to recognize legal documents across  state borders, the same as it does drivers licenses and the marriage licenses of opposite sex couples. Service members and their families should be protected and supported under federal laws because they are willing to give up everything for our freedom and safety.

Zookie, you are on the wrong side of history. And for your brother’s sake, I hope you take time to reflect within yourself, to start advocating for him and his rights. I hope you will eventually see your brother as your equal, rather than undeserving of a legal institution, you call a strictly social institution, you are afforded. After all, it’s not a social institution if you have to go to the courthouse to get the legal document that allows you to get married. Think about it.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1386/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1386&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/coxswain.jpg?w=300&h=189Some things in life are easier if you’ve got a coach running beside you, giving you encouragement and pushing you all the way through the finish line. This is my role as coxswain for the morning rowing team’s practice. I’m not the heart, but I put a voice to the beat, increasing it’s pulse when necessary. We all share the same heart when out on the water; we all want to win.

During spring races (1000 meters), I need to have 3.5 – 4 minutes of motivating phrases to keep the rowers’ heads in the boat, pushing them through the course, and inspiring them to believe in themselves. From start to finish, they have to know they’re number one.

Three weeks and counting till our first regatta. Three weeks for me to find my voice. Learning how to be successful at this has required a steep, and ongoing, learning curve. The rowers and coaches have been amazing helping me develop this vocabulary, inspiring me and keeping my focused. Like the rest of the team who watched the

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/crew-db.jpg?w=300&h=169Imagine if we had a coxswain, following us around, pushing us to pursue our dreams, stay on task, and accomplish our goals. That level of motivation mixed with comradery is invaluable for any team whether it’s a sports team or an office working group. But that’s not realistic for every situation. It’s important to keep your own internal voice repeating, “yes you can,” or, “blackout ten,” when the going get’s rough.

Like everyone, I’m guilty of this. Sometimes my dreams feel too big, I’m too small, and don’t have enough experience to accomplish them. And that internal motivating voice gets drowned out by my own self-doubt. Just like when I’m running a 5K, I need to remember the the finish line is within my reach, that I do have the capacity to succeed. I’m working with my internal coxswain to remind me I can finish my book; I can start a non profit; and I can successfully cox a boat into first place at a regatta.

At a point in the near future, I see myself sitting in my bathtub, like in the 1993 film Cool Runnings, with my iPad and the GW race playing on mute, working on my own calls. (My neighbors are going to love me.) I want some epic ones, ones my rowers will be inspired by and request again.

But I need some epic ones for myself as well. True, I probably won’t sit in my bathtub practicing, “take ten for writing.” My neighbors will definitely think I’ve lost it then. Editing my mom’s leadership book, working on a chapter focused on motivation, reminded me that we have to be our own champion. Motivation is invaluable for any situation. You can’t always wait for someone to run along side of you and make you believe in yourself. In good and bad times, you have to be the voice that drives you forward and propels you through the finish line.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/outgames-2013.png?w=500I have all summer to hone my coxing skills before we travel to Belgium to compete in the World OutGames. There, we’ll compete against teams from all over the world, with rowers and coxswains who are just as dedicated as the men and women I row with in the mornings. Every morning, I see their heart and their willingness to lay it all on the line, to unite under a common goal of success. Together, we progress.

Too often, I think we settle for mediocrity. We’ve been told we’re not good enough and that becomes our inner voice. We bide our time, days, weeks, and years pass by. Our routine becomes monotonous and we allow our dreams to slip away because we think, “someone better, more talented, with more experience will be a better fit to do it instead.” Let me be your coxswain. Take one step, then another, and by the fifth step you’ll find your stride. Be an inspiration. Be your inspiration. Look yourself in the mirror and tell yourself that you’re not going to let you down, then keep that mantra on repeat. Learn to be your own coach and your biggest fan.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1376/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1376&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/delaware.jpg?w=220&h=300As of yesterday, one fifth of the states and the District of Columbia in the United States have ratified bills legalizing same-sex marriage. THANK YOU DELAWARE!!  

Thank you to the Senators that voted yes. Thank you to the activists who worked hours upon hours raising money and lobbying the state government, telling their stories and outlining how equality is an American value.

America is evolving on the issue of same-sex marriage as increasingly more people are living their lives openly. Families are seeing that it’s not the unknown stranger, but it’s their sons and daughters, their parents, and their neighbors who are LGBT. As they put more faces with these issues, they understand the importance of pushing for legislation that guarantees the people they care about are treated equally under the law.

In the wake of these celebrations, I want to call out some comments I received on my post, The Right Side of History, posted on March 27, 2013. On that day, I’d stood on the steps of the U.S. Supreme Court and rallied with my LGBT brothers, sisters, and allies in support of the Court ruling in favor of same-sex couples. The crowds and chants were energizing and my hope for change in the not so distant future felt tangible.

The commenters either stated that if it’s a religious and social institution, then it is not a civil right. Obviously, I disagree with them. Even if marriage’s roots are in religious institutions, the government has gotten into the business of marriage and I don’t believe they’re going back.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/05/biblical-marriage.jpg?w=300&h=225True, the history of marriage includes defining as women as property, being bought or sold to elevate a family’s status. This includes not only the historical social institution but also the religious institution. Men could take on more than one wife, more than one mistress, marry the woman he raped, and so on. Given the laws as they are written today, with marriage being between two consenting adults, I’d argue that’s the difference between the historical institution and today.

Yes, marriage is  a union between two adults. And because I’m in favor of a thick black line between religion and government, I’d be all for removing the word marriage from all government language regardless of the gender pairings. Then, everyone would be free to privately call their government recognized union whatever they want without restricting the rights of any other American citizen. I believe religion is a personal and private practice, something that does great things for a great many people, but still shouldn’t be included in local, state, or federal laws. My religious beliefs are mine and they work for me.

I don’t believe a religious institution should be forced by the government to do something, such as perform same-sex marriages, if it goes against their doctrine. Which by the way, is not what state or even federally legalizing same-sex marriage would require. However, if religious institutions want to preserve their right to abstain from performing anything against their doctrine, they don’t have the right to pour millions upon millions of dollars to lobby the government.

Religious institutions are 501©3 organizations which are tax exempt. Their funds should be used to improve their community and maintain their staffs and infrastructure. By which improving their communities, does not mean influencing laws. It means feeding and clothing the needy. Providing single mothers childcare, after school assistance, etc. After all, that’s how Jesus lived his life, in service to others. If they’re going to lobby the government, I believe they should then be required to pay taxes the same as any other organization.

However, I don’t believe the government is going to remove the word marriage from the books. The same as I don’t believe “In God We Trust” will ever be removed from US currency or “Under God” from the Pledge of Allegiance. (Neither of which were on the original printed currency or text of the Pledge.) Therefore, marriage has become a government regulated institution. Taxes are levied based on an individual’s marital status. Social security benefits, pensions, immigration, etc. All items where the religious right is working to deny same-sex families the benefits opposite sex couples are guaranteed.

Therefore, Zookie, you are wrong and on the wrong side of history. Do you want to be the one pictured in history books holding a sign that says marriage is between Adam and Eve, Adam and Steve. You’re going to look as ignorant as the people holding signs sixty plus years ago promoting segregation, and holding signs saying that interracial marriage is immoral and damaging to the races. Today, we view those people pictured all those years ago as ignorant. If people hold those same views today, we call them racist. Again, imagine how you will look in sixty years.

Marriage equality is coming. Maybe it’s not around the corner, but a few several corners. Democrats and Republicans are evolving on the issue with increasingly more people coming out in support of equality. A son coming out and opening their eyes to the inequalities he will face. A sister wanting to raise a family in a neighborhood and lead a normal life. Everyone wants a shot to live, be happy, safe, and contribute. That’s an American value. Marriage equality is around the corner because at the end of the day, people want to uphold American values.

Zookie, open your eyes. I bet you have LGBT, friends, family members, or neighbors. Listen to them. Truly listen. My hope for you is that if you have an open heart and an open mind, you will evolve on your views as well. That one day you will celebrate the passage of same-sex marriage in Delaware and other states. You’ll celebrate DOMA being overturned and equal protection under the law being applicable to all citizens. If you don’t evolve, you will find yourself on the wrong side of history.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1372/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1372&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/old-dog-tricks-carter-238x300.jpg?w=500I’ve never really understood the phrase, “you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.” In no way, shape, or form do I consider myself at the ripe “old” age of 31 (almost 32) to actually be old. And while I’m clarifying, I also don’t consider myself to be a dog. But I do believe I am capable of learning new tricks.

When I was little it was all about sit, stay, walk, and speak. My parents got so excited when I learned to mimic their every movement, right up until I learned the phrase, “damn dog” from my father who shouted it at a dog who chased us on a bicycle  Relatives thought it was hilarious for months to get me to say “damn doggy” just by pointed at four-legged furry friends.

These days, repertoire of tricks has stretched far beyond sit, stay, and speak. In fact, as I’ve grown older, my parents are much less impressed by my ability to walk between two points or my ability to successfully articulate my thoughts. These days, my focus has been on artfully expressing myself through the written word, maneuver a motorcycle through the tourist riddled streets of Washington, D.C., as well as navigating a boat with 8 DC Strokes rowers around the Anacostia River just to name a few.

Over the past five months, I’ve been absorbing everything I could if it related to rowing. Port, starboard, the importance of “in two,” the difference between a ratio change and a ratings change, how handle heights affect the set of the boat, and that if you have an overly excited rower in the stroke seat, he just might spit on you as he attempts to breath. This morning, I added another invaluable lesson: always bring dry clothes to the boathouse.

Practice this morning consisted of four race pieces, one 8 racing another while avoiding all of the other boats on the water… while hoping the other teams’ coaches driving launches didn’t create too much wake. (That last one is usually wishful thinking.) In the middle of our first race piece, the guys (and gal) passing the other 8, we hit the wake from a launch and the rower in the stroke seat and I were soaked from the waist down. Nothing like sitting in cold water for the last half hour of practice.

Truth, though I did learn that lesson, it wasn’t the only lesson I learned this morning. I have a long way to go with developing a diverse range of motivational calls for race pieces. And as much as I appreciate all of the advice I get from rowers, everyone seems to want something different. Do/don’t call all 10 strokes in a power 10 or for the boat to catch together. How to push the rowers to catch/pass a boat or to push off a boat to keep an encroaching boat at bay. Also, before the first regatta in June, I hope I can develop a sense of how many strokes it will take for the boat to travel between Point A and Point B. Rowers don’t like to hear they have 10 strokes to the finish line when it’s actually turns out to be 20.

In addition to consulting with other coxswains on the team, YouTube has been great for this. I found a

All my life, I hope to be actively learning something new, whether it’s a new language, a new hobby, or a new sport. In fact, in  my head I picture that looking something like Diane Keaton’s character in Something’s Gotta Give, where she teaches herself French and continues exploring and enjoying the world. If I stop learning, stop pushing myself, I know I’ll rot away on the couch absorbed in reality television. (shudder) There’s so much in this world to discover and experience, so many new skills to develop. Granted, I might not get around to trying all of them, but I’d sure like to try some, such as cage diving with great white sharks or successfully snowboarding down a mountain.

Next week, I will embark on a journey to become not just a coxswain, but a rower on the team. Like I said, I think everyone can learn new tricks; we just have to be open to them. We have to be willing to fail so that one day we can succeed. Learning isn’t about perfection, it’s about time, dedication, and being open to suggestions. As such, I’m learning how to speak less and listen more.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1366/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1366&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/tennessee.jpg?w=300&h=118A handful of times a year, I make the 816 miles round trip home to Tennessee to celebrate holidays and enjoy time with family and friends. The Great Smokey Mountains will always feel as if they’re embracing me the closer I get. In fact, there are so many things about my hometown that I adore, including the scenery, the familiarity, the slower pace, and the fact that it takes fifteen minutes or less to get anywhere in town. It’s the place that reminds me I can sit on the back porch with a book and a beer while enjoying the sounds of nature. It’s the place that reminds me to breath.

After spending 300 miles on I-81, I see a sign, “Tennessee Welcomes You.” A sign that implies it welcomes anyone and everyone who wants to experience the rich cultural heritage across the state, one that is saturated with music and pride. Yet today, while catching up on the news as I ate lunch, I came across an article revealing that Tennessee’s Legislature has passed a resolution declaring August 31 the “idoforlife Traditional Marriage Day.”

As the article correctly pointed out, what day wasn’t already a celebration of traditional marriage in Tennessee? In 2006, a referendum was placed on the ballot, Amendment 1. This amendment sought to ensure marriage within the state was legally defined as between a man and a woman. 81 percent of Tennessee voters ratified it. Therefore, I seriously doubt there is a day set aside in the state to celebrate unions between same-sex couples.

The sign stating, “Tennessee Welcomes You,” is just as misleading as church signs saying, everyone welcome. Let me preface this by saying I don’t mean all church’s that state this don’t mean that everyone is welcome. However, coming from the Bible Belt, I’ve seen this one too many times where what they really mean is, “everyone is welcome as long as you adhere to everything we believe.”

As much as I love my hometown, it’s also one of the places I feel most afraid when I’m out and about. I don’t look, dress, or act like the stereo-typical Tennessean. Don’t misread this, there are other gay people in Tennessee who have short hair and wear ties, so maybe they can relate. And while I get comments here about my appearance, it happens more so back home.

Last Saturday, I was out in DC and a bathroom attendant argued with me, saying I had obviously entered the wrong room. She told me I should be in the men’s room. We went back and forth a couple times before she finally believed I was in fact a woman and could then use the facilities. This past Christmas, I went to a play with my family and while standing in line to use the restroom at intermission, I could feel the stares from the women around me. I was wearing a sweater-vest and a tie, an outfit I actually thought I looked good wearing. But I hoped and prayed they realized I was in fact a woman, or at best would keep their comments to themselves.

Around the holidays, bell ringers outside the local mall call me sir when I drop money in their buckets. Store clerks look at me confused when I pick out dress shirts and dress pants in the men’s section. Trust me, it’s worse if I ask for my size in men’s shoes.

Twice, the Tennessee Legislature has attempted to enact other discriminatory pieces of legislation, such as the Don’t Say Gay Bill, which was defeated again earlier this spring. The state also does not offer any employment protections for LGBT people which means I could be fired for wearing a tie or not wearing make-up to the office.

As far as my hometown (and the state of Tennessee) has come over the years, a place where 3 hooded members of the KKK showed up to recruit on the campus of ETSU in the early 2000′s, teaching evolution in schools is banned, and a prayer begins every high school sporting event, it still has a long way to go. The state doesn’t need another referendum that encourages discrimination. There are too many lives, yes lives, at risk.

If Tennessee, and other states, are so interested in protecting marriage, why don’t they do more to fight against divorce? (Not advocating for this, just pointing out the hypocrisy.) And if these same groups are advocate for smaller governments and less governmental intrusions on individual freedoms, why do they need to pass such discriminatory laws?

I can’t begin to describe how disappointed I am in my home state. Tennessee doesn’t welcome me when I come home, despite what the sign says. Tennessee holds it’s breath and waits for me to leave because I’m different and don’t represent the values of the population’s straight, Christian, Republican heterosexuals. I’m not saying everyone in the state shares these values, but I think it’s those people’s responsibility to work harder, to shout louder. These people should run for office, vote, and support candidates who support change.

One-by-one, people’s minds will, and are, changing, but that’s because people are speaking out about these injustices. American’s are so apathetic when it comes to politics and because of their lack of participation, people who don’t represent the majority are elected to office to legislate discrimination. In 2008, only 68 percent of registered voters voted. If it’s an off year election (not a Presidential year election), significantly fewer registered voters turn out. How can we think it’s acceptable, patriotic, or American to tolerate or actively participate in such apathy? Enacting discriminatory laws certainly isn’t patriotic or American. When we don’t turn out at the polls, people are elected who do not represent mine or your values and beliefs.

Therefore, I challenge my family and friends living in Tennessee to do more, speak louder, run for office, and support candidates who won’t legislate discrimination. Let’s ensure that the sign, “Tennessee welcomes you,” actually means something to everyone who travels across the state’s diverse, beautiful  geography. Because in spite of this and other laws, I’m still proud to call myself a Tennessean and I promise to do what I can, even if it’s from 408 miles away.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1363/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1363&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/gun-and-the-constitution.jpg?w=300&h=200There are many forms of government regulations I accept in my daily life. I was forced to wait until I was fifteen to get a Tennessee Lerner’s Permit, and then a year later, after lots of practice, had to prove to the state that I knew how to operate a vehicle. My senior year of high school, I had to take a state regulated test to prove my education had either prepared me for the world or for college. If I want to operate a boat, I have to get a boating licence to prove that I understand the difference between a red buoy and a green buoy thus will safely operate the craft without interfering with naval ships, commercial vessels, or other recreational boaters.

Therefore, I will blows my mind that certain members of the American public and clearly the majority of the U.S. Senate don’t support background checks for the purchase of firearms. Background checks…. A background check isn’t a violation of the Second Amendment.

A right to bear arms to maintain a citizen militia is (at least my) interpretation of the Second Amendment. Clearly, there is debate regarding a comprehensive interpretation of this sentences, but for the sake of this blog, I’m not going to argue (nor do I believe) that private citizens don’t have a right to own and operate a personal firearms. At the same time, I believe this right comes with regulations and restrictions to protect everyone. Because universally, while we all have personally liberties, they are extended up until the point where they infringe upon mine.

For example, it would be unreasonable and irresponsible for a private citizen to operate their firearm in the middle of a crowded street. Innocent bystanders could easily be injured or killed. People with PTSD could experience flashbacks caused by the street being turned into an impromptu range. But I will grant you, it’s an extreme example, but an example non the less.

Conservatives argue private citizens being armed ensures they can protect themselves from a tyrannical government. Not that I believe this is an impending threat, even under the Bush Administration, but even members of our military have to prove their proficiency with the weapons they are assigned. Therefore, it’s safe to deduce the military understands that while soldiers carry weapons, it’s prudent to expect these men and women to prove they’re proficient. Otherwise, the soldier will be assigned to a task that does not involve being assigned a weapon. Why would private citizens expect to be treated any differently than the people assigned to protect our freedoms?

If I was serving in the U.S. Senate, the bill I proposed would look like this:

1. Prior to being allowed to purchase a firearm, people will be required to enroll in a federally regulated gun safety class to ensure people know how to safely operate and maintain their weapon. Yet, to enroll in this class, people will have to pass a background check that, among other sources, would cite a federal database which contains information regarding mental health and criminal records. If the person passes the class, they would then be administered a licence which proves they are proficient and understand the weapon.
   
2. Every five years, firearm owners will have to renew their license and undergo another background check to confirm their criminal record and mental health match federal guidelines.
   
3. Firearm clips will not be able to hold more than 10 bullets. 
   
4. To purchase ammunition, you will have to present proof that you have received a license to own and operate a firearm. In regards to online vendors, there would be a way to register with the business and a requirement for the vendor to confirm the person’s registered license information.
   
5. Individuals will only be allowed to purchase 1200 rounds of any kind of ammo every six months.
   
6. Homes where children are present will be required to keep their weapons in a lock box.
   
7. Persons under the age of 18, even under the supervision of a parent or adult and on private property, will not be allowed to operate a firearm.
   
8. All firearms, like vehicles, will be required to be registered. States can decide if and how much of a personal property tax to administer on these weapons.
   
9. People who pass firearms down from one generation to the next will be allowed once the receiving member has aged 18 for rifles and 21 for handguns. If this receiving party wishes to operate the weapon, they will be required to undergo the same licencing requirements.
   
10. Firing ranges will be required to confirm that the shooter has a valid firearms license.
    
11. Private citizens will not be allowed to legally own assault weapons.
    

I should point out that I don’t claim to be an expert on the subject, but am simply applying what I feel to be common sense. For example, I don’t believe that gun shows should be held to different standards than the mom and pop store in small town America. Similar to how I have to maintain a valid driver’s license, gun owners should be held to the same standard. And when I limited the bi-annual amount of ammo purchased by a licensed individual to 1200 rounds, it’s based on my experience in that I’ve gone through 100 rounds the handful of times I’ve shot a gun at a firing range.

Social conservatives have enacted countless pieces of legislation across the country limiting a woman’s ability to have access to a safe and legal abortion. Certain states, such as Virginia, have gone so far as to require a woman to undergo a transvaginal ultrasound, a highly invasive procedure. (Trust me, I’ve had too many to count given my medical history.) Therefore, I will never understand why they yell and scream that gun control restricts personal liberties but enact invasive procedures for women that restrict their personal liberties.

There is an argument to be made that gun control won’t keep firearms out of the hands of criminals. However, that’s not the point of gun control. People aren’t protesting that driver’s licenses don’t stop a car thief who doesn’t have a license from driving away in a vehicle they picked off the street. But that’s not why we require driver’s licenses. They still make our streets safer in spite of the regulation’s shortfalls.

Gun control is not the one and only way to fight crime and possibly decrease the high rates of gun violence. America needs to completely overhaul mental health, how it’s diagnosed, treated, and covered by insurance companies. There’s little help for parents with children who are mentally ill. It’s difficult to diagnose and there’s little support unless the child has actually committed a crime. For those that haven’t read the editorial by Liza Long after the Newtown shooting, you should do it now.

I also believe there are other mitigating factors such as violent video games, the fact that we don’t provide as much support to re-integrate soldiers back into society or support the ones who have PTSD as we should. Lobbyists for the NRA  influence members of congress by threatening to pull funding for their campaigns, funding that is vital for competitive races. Of course, this is impacted by allowing corporations not to have limits when donating to campaigns because the US Supreme Court overturned campaign finance reform restrictions in Citizens United v. the Federal Election Commission.

If conservatives want to argue that guns are vital to protect themselves and their families against armed criminals, why don’t they also want to address what turns people to the life of crime. In my book, this could also be considered gun control. Let’s talk about education, after school programs, unemployment, income inequities, and equal access to higher education just to name a few. Even our state and federal approaches to crime should be reformed. For example, some crimes, such as domestic violence, aren’t considered a federal offense which affects a person’s ability to purchase firearms unless the abuser is convicted of four separate occasions of abuse as is the case in Tennessee. Mind you, it’s four convictions in Tennessee because the first offense is expunged from their record if the abuser keeps their record clean over the following year. Note, this number varies from state to state. Even person’s who have restraining orders and orders of protection granted by a judge against them aren’t always restricted from purchasing or owning firearms. But those are never topics I hear conservatives initiate during round-table discussions focusing on gun control. Instead, the mantra from their side of the table is it’s anarchist to talk about gun control and anyone who does initiate the subject really means, “they want to take away our guns.”

Nothing about this is black and white, but for Congress to sit around and do nothing is irresponsible. For Americans to allow Congress to sit around and do thing is irresponsible as well. As Gabrielle Giffords said on the floor of the U.S. Senate yesterday:

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/gb-testifying.jpg?w=150&h=106

Maybe it’s just me, but but I tend to value the opinion of former Congresswoman  who has made a miraculous recovery from a gunshot wound, is a gun owner, and with her husband started a political action committee (PAC) titled Americans for Responsible Solutions to advocate for gun reform. Their organization lobbies for smart gun reform and gives money to candidates that supports these measures to counteract the legislative impacts by lobbyist from the NRA. 

I’m a liberal who’s not anti-gun. (Yes, we do exist.) As I stated earlier, I’ve enjoyed the handful of times I’ve spent at firing ranges. Yet I also admit I felt safe at those ranges because it was a controlled environment. I didn’t grow up with guns in the home and no one in my family hunted. There are several generations of my family who have proudly served this country and after being discharged, never felt the need to maintain a personal weapon. Therefore, I believe it’s reasonable to expect our elected officials to gather around the table and discuss all issues as they relate to gun violence and gun reform in an effort to protect me and all of the citizens of this country.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1356/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1356&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/women-in-politics.jpg?w=300&h=189Recently, I was at a networking dinner, when a woman began discussing her business. She writes a blog on fashion and helps female candidates be more fashionable so that they will be taken seriously by America and the old boy’s club. It should be noted, I added the specifics: ”America and the old boy’s club.” 

Why does a woman have to be fashionable for her ideas and solutions to be taken seriously, to contribute to the discussion for reform and progress? I doubt her scrunchie inhibits her ability to think rationally, nor should her last season blazer distract the audience to which she is speaking. You see, I’m believe we shouldn’t judge a book by it’s cover; an adage introduced in kindergarten.

I understand certain occasions call for specific kinds of dress. Jeans would be inappropriate to wear to a job interview in the same way it would be inappropriate to wear a three-piece suit when building a house. Learning how to dress for the occasion is essential. However, I don’t think we’re talking about women wearing jeans and a t-shirt on the House Floor to deliver remarks regarding a pending bill that’s scheduled for a vote later that afternoon.

We don’t discuss men’s ties, their comb overs, the length of their pants, their over sized belt buckles, cowboy boots, or the style of their suits in the same way women’s fashion sense is scrutinized. The press, voters, or every day’s concerned citizens don’t consider a male politician’s clothes or fashion when they listen to his talking points regarding policy. They aren’t distracted by his comb over flapping in the wind during an outdoor briefing. His cowboy hat is not mentioned in the first sentence, or at any point, in the reporter’s coverage of the event.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/pelosi-clinton-palin.jpg?w=300&h=162Consider the past and current news coverage of Hillary Clinton, Nancy Pelosi, Sarah Palin, to name a few. Instead of their ideas or qualifications, reporters wrote about their sex appeal, asked whether she’s had cosmetic surgery on national television, or debated the fashion choice of her scrunchie. Whether or not we agree with their policy, we should discuss the issues on their merits, rather than discredit the messenger based on their fashion sense.

The solution to this problem is not lowering our standards or asking women to conform to the ever changing fashion world. Though I don’t claim to have done scientific analysis, my assumption, which was formulated by the number of women studies and women in political leadership classes and  I’ve taken at both the undergraduate and graduate level, is that America is still uncomfortable with seeing women as anything other than an object for sex, eye candy, a homemaker, or just not capable of influencing domestic or foreign policy.

I’m not saying men aren’t forced to play a different game, specifically when it comes to campaigns. Media strategists soften them up by having them take off their blazer, roll up their sleeves, or show them in a park surrounded by family and friends. They want their candidate to appear approachable, caring, focused on families and communities. The assumption being without that, men will be seen as power hungry and only interested in growing their careers without these reforms to their appearance.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/warren-r.jpg?w=300&h=200At this dinner, the discussion of fashion turned to Elizabeth Warren and how she looked too much like a professor during her 2012 campaign. Rather than this being seen as an asset, it was discussed as a flaw and how much better she looked once she feminized/softened her appearance. Call me crazy, but don’t we want someone in office who leaves an impression of being educated? I’ve spent days trying to understand how her campaign manager, and apparently the Massachusetts electorate, viewed this as a quality that would turn voters away.

Maybe I live in this Utopian fantasy world where I truly believe one day we can value each other for our ideas and not discredit it based on each other’s appearances. I’m also one of the few that doesn’t believe that all elected officials are out to screw America and lock the nation’s political discourse in partisan gridlock. As much of a jaded realist I am on a lot of issues, when it comes to politics, I’m an optimist. True, will concede that number number of truly bi-partisan politicians seems to be declining based on the partisan gridlock.

But this business idea, I can’t help but view as a step back for women. Rather than developing a consulting firm to prep female candidates on issues regarding foreign and domestic policy, it’s on fashion. And the women around my dinner all agreed in the necessity of this service. Yet, I can’t think of one female candidate that appeared in jeans in a campaign ad unless it was her volunteering with Habitat for Humanity.

http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/rachel_maddow-casual.jpg?w=99&h=150http://trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.files.wordpress.com/2013/04/maddow-with-make-up.jpg?w=120&h=150Additionally, I can’t help but wonder how this woman would handle someone like me, a gay woman who wears suits, ties, and shops in the men’s section. I’m not sure I’ve seen a gay woman run for office, at least on the federal level, who dresses like I do. Again, this is an assumption, but I believe any campaign manager would tell me to change how my appearance to appeal to the general public and be less controversial. To minimize the discussion regarding my sexual orientation. They’d have me wear dresses, feminine cut suits, and (god forbid) make-up. Why do you think Rachel Maddow is feminized by MSNBC? She doesn’t wear that much make-up or such feminine cut clothing in her daily life. I’m tired of the cookie cutter expectations.

From today going forward, can we all  agree to look at people, candidates, and who ever else, and judge them based on their character, their policies, their merit, and their willingness to evolve as new information is presented. Only if someone is wearing jeans and a t-shirt on the floor of the House should we ever discuss a women’s sense of fashion. Because as much as I despise the cookie cutter approach, there is something to be said about being dressed professionally. And everyone woman I’ve seen speak on the House Floor is professionally dressed. I might not agree with what she’s saying, but at least I’m focused on her words, rather than her clothes.

http://feeds.wordpress.com/1.0/comments/trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com/1344/ http://stats.wordpress.com/b.gif?host=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist.wordpress.com&blog=12866793&post=1344&subd=trueconfessionsofafemalemotorcyclist&ref=&feed=1

Source