My First Trans Experience

At the age of 56, I witnessed true bravery.

A few months ago, my climbing partner and I hiked up to a popular sector of a local climbing area. I heard a deep male voice screaming in denial about falling up high on a challenging route. He was LOUD.

I emerged from under the trees and saw the climber dangling on the rope's end. In the typical head-in-hands stance of failing on a long-standing project, I noticed the bulging arms, shoulders and upper back.

But then I squinted, thinking my aging eyes were deceiving me. Around that defined and muscled upper back was a sports bra. I instantly froze, and my climbing partner ran into me from behind. And, to my surprise, he yelled out to the climber and shouted, “You’ll get it next time,” ending with this climber’s feminine name.

I stood there, unable to process what was going on around me. Then, as if in a dream sequence of a sci-fi movie, I heard and saw along the cliff that all the climbers had male voices but were dressed in female sportswear. My partner and I were the only “normals.”

What in the Actual Fuc!

We had thrown our packs down to investigate the rest of the crag, and the muscled climber we first saw walked right up to my partner. I tried hard not to stare, and was confused about what to say. My partner, who is more than 15 years younger, was at ease. I was nervously switching my weight between my two feet.

I eventually broke the tractor beam on my mind, and we decided to warm up further down the cliff in an alcove of sorts. On top of a boulder, I could see all the surrounding climbers, and my mind finally caught up to my eyes. This was a trans climbing group.

My partner broke the ice and started talking to everyone, and I mustered the courage to do the same. To my surprise, everyone was kind, open and not offended at my visibly evident confusion and awkwardness.

I learned they were from Houston; this was their first time coming to the crag as a group. And, embarrassingly, I registered that they were nervous about people like me having a negative or even hostile reaction to them “invading” our crag.

Opening Up

As the hours dawdled away, I quickly relaxed and conversed with everyone. I was shocked at how easily I became comfortable. And I sensed the same from them, even though they would openly talk about what they feared the most coming there.

Outwardly, I looked like the “old guard” this group worried about the most—the “old school,” male climber who didn’t accept pronouns.

Although I didn’t care much about what people called themselves, I kept it to myself that I was the only one in my work group who didn’t use pronouns in their email signature lines. Nor did I mention that I was irritated when a local climbing gym put feminine hygiene products in the men’s restroom.

I fell, and they encouraged me to try again. They fell, and I did the same. We all shared fist bumps, high fives, snacks and gear. I bobbled my pronouns, they corrected me politely and told me they understood. And, a few times, we all laughed at my “borderline toxic masculinity.”

I was amazed at how my partner never once used the wrong pronoun, and I wished I could be as slick. But as the day wore on, I improved because I gave it honest effort.

And I realized that I would hand any of them the other side of the rope, because I could see how they had each other’s backs. I knew that if someone became hostile towards any of them, the others would risk limb and life to defend the victim.

And that is one quality I value the most. Towards the end of the day, I gave them my contact information and told them to reach out should they need a partner.

I’m Not Brave; You Are

As is normal at the cliffs, rest periods were spent regaling climbing achievements and failures. Regardless of self-claimed identity, we all shared the same love of the experiences that climbing provides.

When I spoke of alpine and ice climbing, many said they would never do it. They proclaimed my “bravery,” to which I only half-joked that they were mistaking it for stupidity.

But I do admit that throughout my life, I’ve done things that many would call brave. Be it on a bicycle or motorcycle, climbing, or somehow managing to get out of massive crises or be involved in rescues.

But I do not have the bravery these climbers have—not even close. In a male-dominated sport, they displayed their authentic selves at a non-local cliff and were openly vulnerable around total strangers—even “old-school” ones like me.

No, I’m not brave. Not at all. They are, and that is now my standard of bravery. It’s easy to hurl yourself off a bicycle. What they did that day was monumental.

And, the Tear-Jerker

Since this group of trans climbers had a three-hour drive ahead of them, they started packing up before my partner and I had to do the same. As they shouldered loads, each one told us goodbye and to have a great rest of our climbing day.

I watched as they disappeared into the woods and noticed how the combination of a “male” voice in a sports bra no longer affected me. I hoped they would never run into any old-school climbers who were hostile or rude. Deep inside, I knew this might be impossible, but I still wished they would never have to experience that.

And most of all, I wanted them to continue to be brave.

A few moments later, one of the youngest of the group came scurrying back. She came right up to me and offered her hand. I returned the gesture, and she stated, “I’ve been reading your stuff since I was a small boy. It was super cool to climb with you.”

She spun around and ran back to her group. I was stunned at how cool it all was—that moment, that day.

I know it’s a “new-age” thing to say, but I did feel my heart open up. As we hiked out, I held back tears I didn’t understand.

-Seiji

he/him