In sports, I’ve always felt like I did the wrong things. Or loved the wrong things. I’m not sure.
My first sport was ballet. I lasted on and off from since I can remember until the fourth grade. I don’t remember exactly what I loved, but I’ve retained a love of moving my body to a beat, so I think that was it.
My second sport was swimming. I began in the fourth grade, right after quitting ballet. Although I swam through high school, I chose not to swim in college. Mentally, I gave up a while before that though. But I loved the sensation of floating and holding my breath underwater.
My third sport was rowing. I began in high school, and I loved the feeling of sliding across the water.
The morning of January 20, 2018 dawned crisp and clear; walking down Chicago Avenue, I was reminded of how much I love this city. The wind was just fierce enough to hurt a little bit, the sidewalks just grimy enough to require care as I walked east toward the eminence of the Hancock building. I had a spring in my step - a cautious optimism - which was buoyed when I noticed clusters of people gathered for the 66 bus. They clutched homemade signs proclaiming “Black Lives Matter,” “Get your TERFy hands off our movement,” and “Proud DREAMer.” Though I wasn’t wielding a sign myself, I exchanged nods of solidarity with this Humboldt Park collective. Their positivity gave me hope; their fierceness gave...