Queering the Triathlete (and Other Discomforts)

A Melancholy Zebra determined to strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.


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Race Report: According to “The Committee”

It has taken me a few days to get around to blogging a race report- I didn’t want to write the knee-jerk (and effectively jerk my knee into something’s metaphorical testicles) or write something put into an overly-positive perspective. And of course, I cannot simply write a race report! Blasphemy! What about the deeper meaning?!

Ergo, thus proceedeth a highfalutin and abridged recapitulation of Honu 70.3  Continue reading


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Queering the What?! Lest We Assume

“You’re ‘queering’ the what?!” = what I imagine the immediate response to the blog title might be.

NB: I am not turning triathletes queer. (Although…*wink*)

Somewhere along the linguistic timeline, “queer” became a verb, not unlike how “adult” became a verb, but in far more scholarly and less whiny manner. Granted, I do not want to adult most of the time, but that neologism has become banal through undergraduate student overuse.

“Queer,” meanwhile, is still a confused term, and it damn well should be. It’s queer, after all. (Bad pun. Revel in it!)

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It’s My Suffering, and I’ll Cry If I Want To

It’s been a while. Again.

But I had someone kindly request that I write on self-pity. (A request!! So exciting! My first one! Unless we count J suggesting I write a blog in the first place. But a specific request!!)

It’s not even a difficult topic: I pity myself. POOR ME. I SHOULD DIE IN A GUTTER BECAUSE MY LIFE IS SO TRAGIC AND I’M SO AWFUL. But really. I’ve already picked out the gutter.  Continue reading


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The White Crayon is Boring: Justifying My Qualifications

No, really. What good is the white crayon? Generally speaking, the sheet of drawing paper is white, so if the artist needs something to be white, they use the negative space. Actually drawing with it ends up pointless. You want someone to see your drawing? Pick up a bright crayon. Use the blue. Use the red. Use the purple. Hell, use the tan. Just don’t bother with the white one.

So, perhaps you can imagine my exasperation when presented with this prompt: “In an essay, discuss… Please include any experiences, challenges, or opportunities…; how you might contribute to social or cultural diversity…; and/or how you might serve educationally underrepresented segments of society with your degree.”

… I am a skinny white girl with blue eyes and multiple liberal arts degrees. COME ON NOW.

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“My Life Sucks Worse Than Yours”

My favorite-song-of-the-month starts like this: “My God is better than yours/ And the walls in my house are so thick/ I hear nothing at all.”

I’ve noticed that trend in the world, but I’ve noticed another disturbing trend:

“My suffering is worse than yours.” 

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Resting Bitchface, ASL, and BPD

I have what some like to call a Resting Bitchface. When I’m simply sitting around in no mood in particular, I look like I’m brooding. I look like something is up. I look pissed. 

In frustration a few years ago I asked a friend why no one hit on me. Granted, that did not and does not bother me much, but I was still curious why it didn’t happen. I’m reasonably attractive. I have reasonable sized tits. What’s up? He told me: ” you just look… intimidating.” Answer: you have a Resting Bitchface.

I have little to no awareness of how my face appears when I’m not paying attention to it. 

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Lessons from the Psych Ward

Tonight, I want to share something I wrote maybe a year ago. It’s an excerpt from an expository piece I wrote on my time in a South Carolina psych ward. I don’t expect any trigger warnings in here, but if you’ve been committed before, take some care.

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