For a Girl by J.T. D'Arelli (best ereader for pdf .txt) 📖

3:59 mile was a spectacular achievement — for a high-school kid. El Guerrouj, the world record holder, could still beat me by 16 seconds. But that was just a step. I had very real hopes to move up — college, track clubs, the Olympics. And if I made it all the way, then I might become the best miler. Not the best high school kid; not the best college runner; just the best. Period.

But all that was gone now. As a girl, even if I became an Olympic champion — I would always have the qualifier:

Gold Medalist. Women's gold medalist.

I know, I know. It's hardly PC. We're supposed to celebrate boys' and girls' athletic achievements as complementary. We're not supposed to notice the girls have to be segregated into an athletic ghetto in order to shine.

Example? The US women's soccer team won the first women's World Cup a few years back. The year before, the US men's team finished poorly in the men's World Cup. Many feminists, pundits and coaches touted the relative performances as proof that the women athletes were now superior to the men. The phrase became: 'Girls rule, boys drool, soccer's cool.'

I was delighted to see the women win the Cup — and it was great to see girls get so enthusiastic about sports. But for all the hoopla about girl power, nobody ever suggested putting the men's team against the women's on the same field. The results would have been obvious — the women would have been crushed.

Everyone remembers tennis star Billie Jean King's defeat of Bobby Riggs back in the '70s — it became an icon of the women's rights movement. But King was at the height of her career at the time, while Riggs was over the hill, well into his 50s. When the athletes are more balanced, the results are much different. In 1998, Martina Navratilova and Jimmy Connors played an exhibition match in Las Vegas. Connors was only allowed one serve per point and had to defend the doubles alleys — while Navratilova got two serves and had less court to protect.

The score? Despite the handicap, it was an easy victory for Connors at 6-2, 6-2. And this was arguably the greatest women's player of all time.

I love watching the Williams sisters play tennis. They've raised the standard of the women's game to a whole new level. Their grace, power and femininity are a delight to see. But Agassi or Sampras would make mincemeat of them.

And society rewards accordingly. Tennis is an exception - most other female pro athletes make a fraction of salary earned by the men. The WNBA is an honorable effort, but there's no way people are going to pay the same money to see Cheryl Swopes as they would to see Jordan, Shaq or Yao.

In the more than one hundred Olympic events, only three have men and women competing side by side together: yachting, equestrian and pairs figure skating. In all other sports, the girls have to be on their own — or they wouldn't even qualify.

That was now my fate.

Coach Bradford and I sat quietly, contemplating the wreckage of all our plans. Then he spoke. "Jack, when you get back next week, I'll put you under the clock — let's see where we are before we plot our next move."

"Coach, I have to be honest — I don't think I'll ever run again." I meant it, too. Racing a mile after I turned into a girl would just prove all of the above.

"I respect how you feel, Jack — but promise me you'll make one attempt."

I looked at him carefully — there was a bit of a gleam in his eye — I knew he had something in mind.

"What's going on?"

"You'll just have to trust me, Jack. Will you promise?"

I didn't even hesitate. Coach Bradford had been my mentor for 5 years — I owed him this. "All right — I'll do one mile after I'm a... after it's over."

God — it was still a shock to think it — I was turning into a girl. People just weren't supposed to change sex! It was so surreal. A bit numb, I said goodbye and headed back to the halls.

It was there that I spotted Hal and Becky. Much to my delight, they were holding hands. It looked as though their status as a couple was cemented. For a brief moment, I forgot about my own problems — I was glad to see things working out for others. They immediately waved to me and came over.

Becky spoke first. "We've been looking all over for you. I can't believe what I heard. Is it true?"

"I'm afraid so," I said wryly. "By Monday, you, me and Sue can all get makeovers together."

"That's so cool! I mean, I know it's not exactly what you want in your life — but I bet you'll make a terrific girl. We're going to have so much fun." She was bubbling with enthusiasm — there was not a trace of mockery or sarcasm. Amazingly, she saw my turning female as an adventure.

Hal grinned at me. "What some guys won't do to get into a girl's panties."

Becky punched him lightly on the shoulder. "Behave, boy. Listen, Jack, after you join the superior sex, you can give me all the dirt on how males think. Maybe you can even help me figure this character out," she smiled — pointing at Hal.

I was astonished at what seemed to be such a cavalier attitude. I was about to complain to them. But then I realized Hal and Becky were both reassuring me of something - I would still be their friend, come what may. They weren't going to coddle me — because they respected me. And that reassured me quite a bit.

We spent a few more minutes chatting about inconsequential matters — it was nice to have a normal conversation without thinking of that feminine Sword of Damocles above me. The bell rang and we made preparations to head to class.

Becky spoke again. "Seriously, Jack — I am sorry for what you're going through. But I've got a special feeling that tells me it will all work out in the end. We're on your side."

Hal seconded the feeling. "And nobody had better hassle you afterwards, or they'll have me to deal with."

I smiled at that. Distance runners like Hal are hardly built like football players — so the idea of him as my bodyguard could only go so far. But he'd been my best male friend for years and I knew he'd really look out for me. Feeling better than I had all morning, I said my farewells and headed down the hall.

Of course, all good things must come to an end — I ran into Andy Marks around the next corner.

He immediately broke into a large grin, and a mocking expression appeared on his face. He was accompanied by two of his fellow goons (names are irrelevant — call them Rommel and Goering). They quickly formed a triangle, backing me against the lockers. I noticed to my dismay that I was now a bit shorter than them — I'd been taller just a week ago. Adding to the fun, the corridor was deserted - they had me all to themselves.

Andy spoke first in a condescending tone. "Well, well — if it isn't MISS Lind." He looked at me closely. "See any tits on her yet, boys?" Rommel and Goering shook their heads. "All in good time, I suppose. I always did think you were a pussy, Jack. Now you've actually gone and proven it."

"Fuck off," I snapped, trying to push past them. They held me back easily.

"My, my, such language. Not very ladylike, Jack — or should I say Jackie?"

"You shouldn't say anything at all, Marks. Assholes are usually very quiet, except when they produce crap."

"Still trying to play the tough guy, eh, Jackie? You've gotten mighty big for your britches lately — but you won't be so tough after you're in skirts. No more track star or dream girlfriend. Or are you hoping to turn that Wendell bitch into a lez?"

Seething in rage, I started to take a swing, but Rommel and Goering grabbed my arms.

Marks spoke again. "You know, you should look me up when the girlie bug is done with you. I'll bet you'll be able to give a hellacious blowjob, what with you being an ex-boy and all."

It was my turn. "Why wait, Marks? The way you three hang together, I figure you'd rather get your blowjobs from guys. Or... do you prefer to give them?"

His face darkened. "I'm glad this is happening to you, Lind. Once you're wearing panties, then you'll know your place. Me and the boys here will make sure of that. You're nothing but a cunt waiting to happen. And when it does, I'll be ready for you. I'll find you alone and I'll show you what being a girl is all about."

"You know, Marks, there are many..." I stopped, shocked. My voice had suddenly cracked. I tried again. "There are..." And I stopped again, moving from shocked to horrified.

My voice had changed. High, lilting... female.

There were looks of astonishment on all three of their faces — which probably matched my own expression. Once more I tried to speak — forcing my voice lower.

It was useless. I sounded like a cross between Sue and Becky. I was at least an octave higher than before — or so I guessed — I didn't have much musical expertise.

The three started laughing as I reddened in shame. Marks said triumphantly, "Another step closer. Want to bet she's ready for a bra by noon?"

Desperately, I stomped on Rommel's foot, then managed to shove Marks aside as I ran down the hall. Marks restrained his partners-in-slime. "Let her go, boys. I never hit a lady."

In tears once again, I sprinted for a door and began the three-mile run back to my house.

I just couldn't face any more people. Up to now, I had been in denial about GB at some levels. While I accepted intellectually that I was going to be a girl, emotionally I was unwilling to acknowledge it. By this, I don't mean the struggle I was having over athletics and girlfriends — rather, I just hadn't imagined what having a girl's body would be like physically.

But now I could tell. As I ran, the higher pitch of my breathing continued to amaze me. I tripped slightly as I crossed a sidewalk — the gasp I gave was utterly girlish. My shirt rubbed against my nipples, which felt raw in a new way. And worst of all, I could sense a bit of... jiggle in my chest as I bobbed along.

At least my endurance was okay. Running three miles consecutively was part of my regular training anyway. I had an intense need to be alone. The humiliation I'd endured from Marks and his rent-a-twits was based on a still larger sense of shame echoing through me.

The shame of being a girl.

Now we're venturing into really dangerous territory. Four decades of ever- increasing political correctness permeating all society should have prevented me from even thinking that girls were inferior — save for the special category of sports.

But let human nature will out. I remember an exercise a teacher had given to a class of grade-school kids. Imagine yourself, she said, as the opposite sex for one day. What would you do? The girls in the class wrote imaginative essays, seeing themselves as boys, using their newfound strength for all sorts of adventures — especially as a force for good.

On the other hand, every boy had the identical response: "No way would I ever be a girl, even for a day."

The reality of the human condition is inescapable — no matter how far women's rights might advance, no matter how progressive the education, most males will always perceive femininity as a synonym for weakness. Oh, men can and do respect women's positive attributes of intelligence,