Sports culture and the need for change
Ry after finishing Tough Mudder Michigan 2013
When I crossed the finish line at Tough Mudder Michigan in 2013 I had no idea it would be another nine and half years before I crossed another finish line. I’d been running in competitions for half my life at that point and it was the first time I’d actually sniffed competitiveness. The audience booed me — that was the culture but it wasn’t why I stopped.
If you’re not familiar with Tough Mudder events, they’re long distance running events with obstacles. Climb a wall. Crawl under barbed wire. Jump into ice water. The events test your endurance on many different levels and that’s something at which I excel.
For many, the culture of Tough Mudder is the reason to participate. For me, it was just another test of my endurance. Not styled as a race, they put an emphasis on military-style teamwork, modelling their events on military obstacle courses and raising money for military veterans. There was pride to be had in pain.
Perhaps it was naive of me to want to go fast, joining the race heat early in the morning. On that day in 2013 my pudgy body carried me to a top ten finish. I’d beaten so many individuals and teams that to outward appearances were more prepared than I. I was greeted with raucous boos from the onlookers. You see, I’d skipped the last obstacle. The ludicrous obstacle is dubbed “Electroshock Therapy.” It’s nothing more than a barrage of live wires that shock you as you run through. I have a seizure disorder. Under no circumstances should I subject myself to this pain, but the crowd came to see me suffer. They came to see people cringe and shout and fall to the ground in pain — that’s as much part of the culture of Tough Mudder as is teamwork and the military.
To the MC’s credit they said “Hold up, maybe he has a reason,” and handed me the mic. “I have epilepsy.” I uttered as I tried to recover my breath. I had just put on the single best athletic performance of my life and I felt I had to justify myself to an audience of complete strangers — that was the culture and being booed for doing my best was how I would remember racing for almost a decade.
Fighting back against the boos I began training for the world championship. That came to an end when a soft patch of dirt shifted under my foot. My ankle rolled inward. I went to the ground. My ankle was broken and severely sprained leaving me two kilometres from safety and desperately alone with the awareness my running days were over.
As my ankle healed it was never the same. I mourned the loss of my running career. It was hard to let go, but I found solace in cycling. What had once been solely a means of transportation grew into my adventure and exercise machine. It helped me better manage the pain.
I fell in love with cycling in a way that I had never loved running. I could see and do so much more by bike. I would frequently pick a well-reviewed cafe in a far off place and ride there and back. It’s how I spent my days; alone and wonderful.
Just like I enjoyed running with friends, I wanted to ride with friends too. I looked into cycling clubs, but they were all so intimidating. They listed “slow” rides at 28 km/h and start times of 6 a.m. When I talked to other “cyclists” I was assaulted with accusatory questions about my gear and its appropriateness. I was impinged upon with unwanted advice. I just wanted to have a good time riding bikes with other people, but everything about my experiences — the culture of cycling — told me I wasn’t wanted there.
I never thought I’d race again and then I met Michael Longfield.
Ry, Michael, and Robyn celebrate after completing the longest ride of Ry’s life
Michael spent a year working as my boss. Together we fought to make Toronto’s streets better for cyclists. All cyclists. In that year he never tried to convince me to race, but his passion for racing rubbed off. I started watching professionals duking it out in the French Alps. I started exploring how to get faster. And I did.
This year I joined Midweek Cycling Club — I wanted to take their “Learn to Race” course and start a journey back to racing. What made me comfortable joining the club was Michael’s presence. Beyond his passion for racing he is an amazing ally, the president of the club, and I knew he would stand up for me should the need ever arise.
Even with all the support I would get, joining Midweek was a difficult decision to make. They're a sanctioned club and I would require a race license in order to participate. It’s currently impossible for me to obtain a license with my gender on it. I would have to pretend to be something I am not. I joined anyway and found myself feeling out of place. The sanctiononing organizations’ discriminatory gender policies affect the culture too much. But my desire to race was sparked.
This September I was complacently enjoying a much needed vacation when my partner, Robyn, messaged me asking if I wanted to race in Hurtin in Haliburton. I asked what I always ask “Do they have a non-binary category?” I’d known of races in other countries that allowed Enbys to compete, but locally the answer was always “No.” At the time that was the case with Haliburton but Robyn reached out.
The Hurtin’ in Haliburton organizers created a non-binary category with less than two weeks to the event.
Adding a new category so quickly meant that I was the only participant. The organizers didn’t care. They showed me how easy it is to be inclusive. They treated me the same as the other riders. The other participants and viewers did too. I stood alone on the podium but I was cheered on by some 300 other competitors and their friends and family. I knew I wasn’t the fastest rider out there that day, but I was certainly the happiest.
In Haliburton a culture had been carved with the same care they carved my first place plaque; it was inclusive and celebratory and fun. They gave me back something I loved that had been missing from my life for almost a decade. Other organizations need to learn from them.
Cycling is for everyone. Cycling is fun. Just let people be themselves. That needs to be the culture of cycling, not what we have now.
Registration for the 2023 event opened today and I encourage EVERYONE to register, especially trans and non-binary riders. I’m going to make it my personal mission to fill the non-binary podium — more on that to come.
If you can ride 27 km on a dirt road you can do this event and you can have fun doing it.
Ry stands on the podium at Hurtin in Haliburton 2022
