Amelia Gapin, 32, is a transgender woman who began transitioning just over three years ago. Now she blogs about being a transgender runner here.



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I've been living as a woman full-time for about two years, but I got into running years before I transitioned. When I was 25, I started running just a mile or two at a time to get into shape, and found that I felt happier and more free while I was running. I worked my way up to running three miles, then five. I signed up to run a few 5K races, then a half marathon. Now I've run seven full marathons, and I don't even bother putting my shoes on for less than four miles unless I'm running a short race.

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I've run a bunch of races since transitioning — three marathons, a couple half-marathons, a couple of 5Ks. But everything is different now that I've come out as a transgender woman. First off, I started going by "Amelia" just 2.5 weeks before I was scheduled to run a marathon, which I'd registered for as a man under my male legal name. When I went to pick up my race packet in person, it was incredibly nerve-wracking: I was presenting myself as a woman, but had to flash an old ID with my male birth name and photo of myself looking like a male. While all the other runners battled pre-race jitters, I worried about whether my identity would be questioned. (Luckily, no one gave me a problem.)

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Everyone transitions in their own way, but I began taking oral and injectable hormones that have noticeably affected my fitness. Even though I train just as hard as ever, I'm a significantly slower runner than I used to be, running every mile 30 to 60 seconds slower than I used to run regardless of the distance. But some people still think I have an unfair advantage because, to use their words, I "used to be a man," and men tend to be physically stronger and faster than women. I'm always concerned that someone will give me a hard time if I place as a woman in my age group in a small 5K race — even though the truth is that trans women don't have a physical advantage. (After a year or two of taking hormones, a trans woman's muscle mass resembles that of a cisgender woman.)

Now that I'm two years into my hormone treatments, I have significantly less muscle mass than I used to have. I'm noticeably weaker — especially in the hips, which can lead to knee or ankle issues when I run. Now I have to do special exercises to prevent injuries, which I've never had to worry about before.

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Another big change is my wardrobe: I started wearing women's fitness clothing after I transitioned. While it was expensive to buy a whole new fitness wardrobe, it was fun and exciting to wear clothes that finally felt correct. Still, shopping made me feel self-conscious about my body: Women's clothes are made to accommodate curves, but I have no distinguishable waist or hips, a big back, and small breasts.

While I don't need a lot of support, I do need to wear a sports bra. The first time I put one on, it felt really weird. I was like, "How am I supposed to breathe with thing on?" It took a few weeks of getting used to, and I still can't master taking the thing off: I always punch the wall or twist my elbow or something. Sports bras, I learned, are a pain in the ass — especially compression ones that make me look flat-chested. My chest helps people see me as a women, which is incredibly important to me.

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Running tights definitely don't help in this department: I tuck everything in, but you can kind of see what's going on in the crotch area, and I don't need that to stand out. Whether I'm out running or at spin class, I'm always a little on edge that someone is going to pick up on what's between my legs. Besides the embarrassment of being called out, I worry about being attacked — it's dangerous to be a trans woman.

I mean, I used to love running in the dark, but I won't do it anymore because it doesn't feel safe. The last time I tried running at night, a guy came out of nowhere and started running about 10 feet behind me. I couldn't shake him off for miles.

I also worry about my safety at the gym: Because some people think transgender women are just men in dresses who want to sneak a peek (which isn't true at all), I worry about being outed when I'm showering in the women's locker room. I never know if someone is going to chase me out or call the police or security. I was so afraid someone was going to stop me from going into the women's room at the gym I belonged to before I transitioned that I never worked up the courage to go there as a woman — I just kept paying my dues for a year and ultimately canceled my account.

I'm lucky that nothing traumatic has ever happened to me in the locker room — it's probably because I pass for a women very well and a lot of people have no idea that I'm transgender.

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It could be why I now face street harassment when I run. I'd always heard cisgender women talk about it, and I believed all of their stories, but it was jarring to experience it firsthand. Now cars honk at me and guys yell shit at me out of their windows. Men stare. I don't find it flattering or validating of my womanhood at all. It feels really disgusting and dehumanizing every time, and I doubt I'd feel any differently if I were attracted to men (which I'm not).

Despite the challenges I face as an active transgender woman, I've never second-guessed my decision to take hormones or transition. I'm still happy to be a woman despite all of these problems, and I wouldn't trade them for anything.

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Elizabeth Narins Senior fitness and health editor Elizabeth Narins is a Brooklyn, NY-based writer and a former senior editor at Cosmopolitan.com , where she wrote about fitness, health, and more.

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