Author: Genna

It’s been a month.

Let me assure you that a period of silence from me is, generally, a very good thing.

_____

Last week, I betrayed my plan for a rest week to go find a friend on the trail. Someone I knew only though shared humor on the internet, whose face I had never seen, was touring the Katy after having taken the train to Kansas City from Flagstaff, AZ. I was off the back of three big training weeks and protecting my recovery, but my last-minute rationale tends to be “Well, I probably won’t die,” when an opportunity comes that may not again.

Despite not generally liking casual chat very much, I consider windows to meet people individually as too important to miss, if I can help it.

So I met him and his company outside of a dark cave trailside in the middle of the afternoon in a balmy Missouri midsummer. And while I followed the two barefoot riders with the hole in my bibs preventing me from looking too serious, my friend said something about my writing that I have only ever considered because a computer told me the same thing; you, dear reader, know me better now than I know most of you.

I still don’t understand the contrast between the ease I feel to share the deeply personal on the internet while so many don’t feel safe or capable of doing so even to the closest to them. We learned to build walls of plaster rather than glass. It’s inconsiderate, at best, to peek inside someone else’s drawers.

“Oh, that’s uncomfortable,” as they dump it into a crate, push the pile down with their foot, and slam the lit closed.

And then, “I’m doing well. How are you?” as your guest arrives.

And other disservices we do to ourselves.

But why is leaving all interior doors open the radical thing?

Because, allegedly, it’s inconsiderate to burden someone with the real story unless you have first earned it with pleasantries. Moving about unlocked is simply asking to be hurt.

And we slowly shut ourselves into our own home.

_____

Telling anybody how I really felt was the most dangerous choice when I was growing up, but I kept doing it. It defied survival logic, and there is no definitive explanation as to where I even learned to be so earnest.

The pattern continued to get me punished in adulthood, as I have described in essays like What Are You Looking at Me For? I think there is particular combination of me being a difficult person to read in a casual setting but incredibly willing to be direct when it feels warranted. The process has predictably gone from “she’s quiet,” to “she’s rude,” rapidly because nobody could see everything that happens in between.

All of the experiences, virtues, values, and personality traits that could make one known sit in that space.

I started to put that material here, where nobody could stop me midstream with their assessment of where I was going wrong, and now I am trying to wrap my head around why people I have barely spoken to happily greet me.

You’re talking to me?

The front door is wide open, but I won’t cross the street to yours because,

Oh gosh, I’d hate to impose.

_____

Recently, somebody close to me disclosed some reservations they were having. It involved me, and my stomach got that knot in it. I finished what I was doing, pulled up a chair, and asked them what was going on.

The conversation spooked me. It had potential consequences I wanted to avoid. I had vested interest in trying to influence their perspective to make me feel more secure in the moment. Instead, I just asked questions.

I need to understand how they are thinking.

They later told me they noticed that I got very quiet during that talk.

Right. Because this isn’t my disclosure, it’s yours. I cannot hear you if I am also speaking, so I won’t. But I’m right here.

After that, I spent an entire afternoon mulling everything over and I kept coming back to a single word they had repeatedly used that did not match the rest of what they were explaining to me, so I called to ask more questions. We found the root of the problem together, and the tension released.

At the end of that phone call, they said “I think you had me figured out before I did.”

Only because you allowed me to, my friend.

_____

I was a part of a large group one day when a person whom I’ve experienced to be pretty brief with their words stopped to speak on something personal to them. And as expected, they didn’t stay long.

I was behind only few people in the quiet bunch, and I could hear them just fine.

But that moment slowed down for me, for some reason. As I listened, I leaned my head to the side so I could look past the person in front of me and see the speaker’s face as they addressed us.

This is important. Pay attention, Genna.

_____

I would like to know some of my readers better. If you’ve ever felt compelled to reach out, the contact button is at the top right for that reason.

I appreciate your patience while so much has broken in my hands.

For the first time in nearly a year, I had a normal week on the bike. I put my ultra rig back together after harvesting it for parts recently, took a spin around the neighborhood, and didn’t want to put it away.

The next day, I went out at dawn and chugged slowly on the gravel. On a climb 16 miles in, I soaked my face in the boggy sunrise and thought,

I will never take simply feeling slow for granted again.

And I took myself on a day trip of a place I already know as home. I finished overheated, hoping for the weather to ride again tomorrow. And the day after that. I wrapped up the week with over twelve hours in the saddle, and none of them were spent feeling like a foreigner on my own machine.

“One day it’s just suddenly going to be right,” a friend said to me on the trail one day, when they found me sulking on a bench.

You called it.

I have suffered a lot. Hating the thing that has offset that for so long is especially suffocating.

_____

The bad news is I couldn’t solve everything soon enough to make Mishigami possible, and so that has been shelved until 2027.

The good news is, one, I don’t need an event to go flip off across state lines solo; and two, the runway is clear for me to target the one other thing I said I was going after this year—an attempt to take back the Katy Trail FKT. All of the self-study I used to figure out why I was in so much pain on my bike can now be applied to determining how quickly I can rebuild the engine.

_____

Over the weekend, I interviewed three women from separate corners of bike racing for an article that became significantly more fascinating than I anticipated. The conversation around small fields and cut programs abounds, and I wanted to learn more about that without any predetermined theories. The goal, as is now the standard when I bring anyone else’s voice into my writing, was to try to understand how each of them experience the sport and their place in it, which is a taller order than simply asking for opinions.

A pattern persists for all four of us. Over the coming days, I will be pitching this piece to larger publications because these conversations are bigger than my little blog, and I want to know if my Anderson Cooper roleplay has merit elsewhere.

_____

I know that I have both readers that admire that I keep dreaming despite how precarious everything is for me, and those that mock me for it (I’m often one of them).

What may be less obvious is that all of it is evidence.

_____

I bring a sort of investigative vibe to small incidents that people convinced of their own stories don’t really like.

_____

A woman cloaked, in ornate robes, stands aghast as a stone fortress is erected in front of her. The carved walls look identical to her drawings, even more grand than the version before that fell.

The songs of birds carry on naturally while the sun rises and falls over and over and the structure grows double-time. The woman takes a single breath and a decade passes. She feels a warm wind at her back nudge her toward an empire.

Reluctant, she takes a step. Thunder cracks.

A violent wind rushes in like the walls that had held it back for centuries finally succumbed. One by one, the stones that were climbing at golden hour are tumbling and shattering in a monsoon. The woman remains still as her eyes fall to the earth, and utters, “Did I get it wrong again?” as a ghostly serpent descends.

The little girl spooks as her mother storms through the living room and knocks her colorful block tower to the carpet without apology.

The little girl starts to cry.

“Get out of the middle of the floor, then,” her mother scolds.

A growl erupts from the little girl’s throat.

“Go to your room if you’re going to have an attitude,” her mom responds.

_____

“It appears that the documents are presented hoping the court will view them as prima facie evidence of a valid claim. The defendant will prove otherwise.”

-My grandpa, Jerry Olliff, Motion for Summary Judgement

“And so, I raise my sword.”

“All available forces to the front line.”

“You have activated my analysis.”

All lines from previous work pointing at the same damn reflex that Papa and I seem to have shared.

My version, an ever-expanding library of public essays that circulate beneath the airwaves and change how many interpret me.

His, at the very least, a thirteen-page court document submitted in a case he won without formal legal training.

Both, in far more words, stating,

What is being asserted doesn’t match the evidence presented,

and

I am liable to act on it at any time.

That’s almost a given response for large, obvious cases of abuse, misconduct, propaganda, but it is my stance that the cumulative, otherwise petty cases also warrant scrutiny, lest they fester in “the undercurrent of plausible deniability.”

Where their consequences land on the disbelieved.

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, labelling me as the problem for habitually gesturing toward falsehoods is how it gets one-hundred holes poked in it on the internet.

Observe.

_____

As our group bike ride passed another one on the same evening, as is common, my boyfriend encouraged any of those riders that wanted to go faster on their route to follow him.

The assumed ride leader of that group posted the following message on social media afterward:

“Word to the wise. Don’t show up to a group ride you bash every time and try to recruit people.”

For context, he and I both have made public comments about this particular group riding in a way that I still label as negligent, primarily from having observed riders regularly crossing to the left side of the road in turns and blind hills. That criticism has been dismissed multiple times. I was labelled as “cocky” the first time I addressed it.

For some reason, I chose to see if there was anything under the hood of that warning.

“Or what?” I commented.

What jurisdiction do you have?

“Genna, you are the biggest troll I have ever seen! I’m just making it clear to your boyfriend that I don’t play those games.”

And I am just making it known to you that nobody needs your permission.

“There was no sarcasm in that comment,” I replied again.

“Coming from you, I am definitely not worried. Follow-through is neither of your forte.”

Oh, this is ripe material. This looks like internet beef from the surface, but for someone like me, it goes:

You didn’t answer my question. I really want to know what you are going to do about this. Isn’t racing bikes all just a big game? Worried about what? Follow-through? What’s that all about?

Notice how the thread was immediately no longer about the subject at hand. It was about me.

It’s important to note that there is a history between this person and I. This is not the first time I challenged them on something and the conversation changed lanes toward everything that was wrong with me. But this time, two words were all it took to trigger that defense.

But hey, I’ll humor the implied criticism toward me anyway. There are a number of things that could be fairly gestured toward as “lacking follow-through.” I’ve done my fair share of brushing people off, deprioritizing responsibility and becomming focused on my own interests instead.

I’ve made public declarations for events I now can’t make happen, temporarily.

But I also have to point out that if I was more organized and had fewer interruptions,

I’d be a much bigger problem than I already am.

_____

Dear Papa,

Were you there when Mom said I should grow up to be an attorney because I love to argue so much? Wouldn’t you know it, I use courtroom metaphor in my writing and am unironically quoting from when you roleplayed one.

On that note, I especially liked it where you wrote,

“The judgement sought shall be rendered forthwith if the designated evidentiary matter shows there is no genuine issue as to any material fact, and that the moving party is entitled to a judgement as a matter of law.”

I’ve been told I need to grow up. When I do, I hope I can scare the shit out of a room that underestimated me like that.

Something I am left chewing on though is this–are the repeated criticisms of my character where I keep going wrong, or do they point at what makes me difficult to convince?

-Genna

I’m a hard sell, because I am a documentarian amongst salesmen.

They ask for a moment of my attention, yet I am hardly curious of their pitch.

I am looking for their incentive.

Do they have something they genuinely believe I need, or am I purely another cold call?

_____

Once, I answered an open interview invitation at an insurance agency I had never heard of. I pulled up to a building that looked exactly like you’re imaging when I use the term “cookie cutter corporate,” with the total absence of signage.

I walked into the lobby and signed in amongst a large group of people that seemed ready to seek opportunity, but the atmosphere was one of “this is everyone’s first time,” from my general assessment.

One by one, we were all pulled into an office for what turned out to be a pre-interview, which I noticed was more explaining the open position and its benefits than asking me about my experience or interest.

Afterward, all of us were invited into a conference room where we were given a long presentation by a charming professional who was clearly practiced at this. I saw the graphs on the screen about just how much growth a new rep could make in their first year on commission.

Then he explained, and downplayed, the responsibility of each prospect to pay for the course and licensing required to begin their new career.

Yes, I know you already see it, but stay with me.

I don’t remember what I asked, but I asked this representative a question that caught their attention. At the end of the presentation, everyone was thanked for coming and given instructions on how to follow-up. I was asked to stay for continued conversation.

This rep told me all about why he thought I, specifically, could be effective in this role. I was the chosen one, evidentally.

But I could not decide if I was being complimented, or targeted.

He felt like he was trying to sway me.

I was trying to discern what was real.

Shouldn’t I be trying to convince you why I am suited to this role?

Yes, if insurance was the product.

_____

Christian Van Linda, (@hype.r.vigilance on Instagram) is a favorite creator I follow; I have heard him use the phrase “psychological colonization” more than once now when speaking on manipulative behavioral patterns. It’s an excellent description of the slow, unconscious process of one person’s interpretation of events and reality itself influencing the perception of others. This subject is very relevant to so much of my writing, but it also inspired a phrase of my own.

Persuasion economy. What one gains from your buy-in of those ideas.

I am so supremely sensitive to it that I regularly deny you, dear reader, my entire conclusion on subjects because I will stop just shy of assuming entitlement to your perspective, even as I am aware I cannot eliminate bias entirely.

All I know how to do well is construct a case from observable evidence.

I am unwilling to ask you to make the check out to me.

And I am haunted to understand what the demand is really for.

So when a salesman and a documentarian walk into a bar, one of them offers to buy the other a drink.

And the other acquires a subject.

If you seem invested in making my day, you have activated my analysis.

Why mine?

The problem that arises with the pop-psych emphasis on self-worth is that it ignores how incredibly dangerous it is to possess when you have no power.

I have teeth today. Proceed with caution.

I left a job abruptly again because it routinely demanded my attention off-the-clock and threatened consequence if I didn’t pay it. The fastest way to piss me off is to remove my agency, so I took it back. It was that or continue to serve coffee in a 100-square-foot box with management that takes feedback personally and contradicts itself constantly.

I did pick my battle there, actually. Even temporary tolerance comes at an absurd level of stress for me.

But that’s not the primary source of my fury this afternoon. It’s the fact that for two seasons now, every attempt to create a more stable life for myself has failed. When housing, finances, transportation, and social/familial support are all frail simultaneously, you are always running on almost zero margin. That has been my story since I left home. I have never not known that cycle.

It’s the outcome I predicted as a teenager, too. I knew once I was out of the home, I would have nothing but combustible material to my name and no sturdy fallback support. I ran down experiences I wanted to have anyway.

The bike is the only thing that has ever stuck. A decade of pursuits there is consistency that does not match anything else on my record (unless you count ripping bullshit to pieces). I am losing that right now. I am out of Mishigami. If I can’t find my feet, my crit return will be a fantasy too.

Right now, I am slowly being surrounded by people that realize I should not still be this low. I’ve known this for a long time, but have resisted owning it. External verification actually makes me even more frustrated about how I am always in the wrong place.

The sun is high. The days are the longest they’ll be this year. The atmosphere is begging for me to be let off this chain.

The neighbors are complaining I bark too much.

No shit.

I will invoke my own rule again.

I will cut off the elephant’s head

and mount it to my wall

there is no tension, or unspoken truth

left standing in this hall

And so, I raise my sword.

_____

“When you call me out, you are judge, jury, and executioner. You’re putting me on trial in that very moment. It hurts. And it hurts knowing how much of an impact my actions, and you having to call it out, has had on you.”

Then why am I here again?

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I wonder if you will arrive at the same question, because I am confused.

Confusion makes me investigative.

The above quote is extracted from an email I received after I cut contact with the most important person in my life. One day, they had visited from six hours away, and professed beyond-friendship before leaving when the weekend was over.

Eight years of being the person I called when someone else crossed a line was instantaneously sealed, and began again in a different form. There’s not really any going back from that, you know?

I don’t write 20,000-word essays and so I will not outline all of the ways this person supported me that are nearly unequivocable, but I hope that the nature of my writing means you can take my praise with equal weight.

“No, I’ll handle it,” was not an answer that they accepted from me if they could help it, and unlike with so many others in my life, I never incurred a debt for any of it.

It is said that a marker of intelligence is one’s ability to carry contradicting truths.

“You judge every last thing. I don’t want you to take it easy on me.”

Chiaroscuro.

Well, ladies and gentlemen,

I’m shaping up to be an absolute dumbass.

_____

1. Quickly after the nature of our relationship changed, I realized this person was not making a clean transition. They withheld the information from their long-term partner despite telling me they were ready to end that.

I am not someone that will swear to secrecy much, so after so much delay I closed the information gap. I reached out to the individual and said, “There is something you should know, but it can’t come from me.”

Then they finally acted.

2. They lingered in their shared apartment for over a month with no explicit plans for moving out until I said I could not comfortably participate in the situation anymore.

Then they finally acted.

3. They continued to visit said apartment for a cat they maintained a custody dispute over until I said I could not handle their unwillingness to let go and move forward.

Then, they finally acted.

All scenarios for which I got long, introspective apologies for, but by then the reality for me was unfortunately, after six months,

“I love you as an individual, but I am losing respect for you as a partner. I hate that.”

And as I stared at their tendency to only face uncomfortable decisions after conflict had already arisen, there was not really any going back from that, you know?

We had plans for them to move to my new state because I was not moving back. I introduced them to a job opportunity not dissimilar from the one they had been in for a decade. But I felt like I was pulling still, and I needed to stop. So, I accepted what I could not control, choked back every argument from the defense, and let it go. It disturbs even me how practiced and fast I am at that now. Nothing gets buried; it gets underlined, annotated, filed as closed, and I trust my own conclusions even when they fucking suck.

After an email that I read essentially as “I know all of this hurts you and I want to work through it together,” I again closed the book and nothing but an item that was left at the house was discussed for over three months.

I’ve already learned my lesson.

One day, I was talking to someone at the aforementioned workplace and was told “they’re starting here next week.”

Uh oh. I guess them not moving here afterall didn’t get relayed?

I left a little startled, then in a moment I remember to the exact foot of my location at the time because the possibility hit me like I had been sniped,

What if they are actually still moving here?

I then received the following message in the days afterward.

“I wanted to give you a heads up that I moved to [insert my town here] and need to return your key.”

[Insert multitude of unknowable reasons why that is happening here.]

Days passed. I couldn’t take that lightly, and so I just… told them that.

“I can’t tell you what you can or can’t do, but I am deeply uncomfortable with this.”

_____

Six weeks passed.

The first time we crossed paths locally, they seemed in a hurry to get out of there.

I messaged them that I was okay to clear the air if they wanted, and got no reply.

When they coincidentally came up on me in their car after I took a spill on the bike, they asked me if I needed a ride and hurried away when I told them, “Someone is on the way, but thank you.”

I messaged them asking if they wanted an expensive piece of equipment back or if they gave it to me, because it was never clarified.

Again, no reply.

We are predictably in the same place at the same time every week now; they talk casually with my new partner, and I don’t exist.

In their own words, “I want that indictment, regardless of how much it stings.”

But the only ones facing me are the elephants.

Did you even read the sign?

If I’m honest, I don’t really write to make sense of my life or to process emotions. That has generally already happened before I get here, because that feels like the most responsible way to handle sensitive material.

It seems that I write because I was born into a household where reality was already being translated by adults that could not allow it to be freely observable, and I needed witnesses. I was rendered without power, as any child inherently is, and my only options left were to succumb to what insisted it knew better than me, or get distant and watch.

I watched so intently and became highly adept at describing what I saw.

Twice now, a gray fox has appeared in the yard. The first time, it paced at a distance while curious about a cat fight that had broken out. It didn’t pay much mind to me until the tussle resolved, and then we both sat still and watched each other for several minutes.

Weeks passed and it showed up again, this time in full daylight. I went still again but spoke gently to it so it knew I was there. It again stopped and watched me.

_____

Put me in a room with another reserved person,

and you have an instant stalemate.

Start indicating whatsoever that you find me interesting,

and I can’t take a compliment.

Tell me where I belong and I will rapidly make that judgement for myself.

Show me where I am welcome, and leave me to make the choice, and I will spend days unsettled by it because it’s novel to me. I have an entire archive of being pointed at as the problem,

and a few water-stained pages of “I see you. Feel free to hang around.”

They get entered as evidence before invitation.

And most of those were written by me because I had to stay distant, and watch.

You cannot do both, Genna.

_____

A few summers ago, I was on the Maryland coast about to board a whale-watching boat. The chatter around me was mostly “I hope they’re active,” and “I have Dramamine.”

I regularly prioritize experience above everything else. Because if I only get this one life, I’m not going to sacrifice feeling it for how my decisions look to the outside.

But I equally struggle to ever fully live in a moment of time. It’s always managed by remain distant and watch.

But miles into the Atlantic, I was woken up by the rocking of a double-level vessel pushing waves in search of humpbacks. Someone was dry heaving by the railing and I was scurrying up and down the stairs breathing in the salt like I had only then discovered oxygen.

We found whales. Everyone had their phones out. I was seven again.

The boat cut its engine. We kept a distance, and we watched.

_____

Recently I met an acquaintance for lunch after work. I was equally excited as anxious because whether I am met by or a rub to someone else is always a dice roll, and I’m apt to gauge it quickly.

What followed was three hours of discussing shared interests as an appetizer, and an indulgent main course of comparing how each of our minds seemed to work with rigor that rivals this blog. We weighed the benefit of playing the social game versus my refusal of it. Their “I don’t want other people to know that I read them,” across from my “I do.”

That was the first time I had ever spoken to someone that could translate their self-observation into my language and felt inclined.

I was back on the boat.

_____

I don’t watch much TV; I’m busy paying attention to other things. So if I catch a reference, you should probably purchase a lottery ticket immediately.

But I love Ted Lasso so much I’ve watched it twice. I was watching it with my boyfriend, Alex, on the second run, and we reached a scene where one of the mainline characters, Nathan, is in his childhood bedroom after walking away from a major career. The show traces parallel emotional moments of other characters to the sound of Nathan playing his violin.

Suddenly, Nathan’s dad, whom has been portrayed as detached and disapproving, appears in the doorway. Nathan is startled, and begins to apologize for the noise.

You can watch the two-and-a-half minute scene here. My summary will not suffice.

“I didn’t know how to parent a genius,” his dad admits.

“A what?” Nathan replies, frozen.

“A genius. You’re brilliant. You’ve always seen things other people couldn’t and that’s a blessing. Yet I know it must also be a curse too.”

Alex looks at me and says something like, “What’s that like?”

“What?” I reply, frozen.

He saw the hit. He mentioned it again the next day.

_____

I remember 7th grade being the year where I began to sink. Everything at home was deteriorating. I was pushing back more.

But I had one teacher that year whom I trusted completely and bonded with well enough that I carried that energy into a test score that landed me in advanced English the next year.

I couldn’t half-ass my way through anymore, and I knew it.

I did not value the reflection of potential because I dreaded going home every day and had no concept that a future existed for me.

I could feel that my parents would discard me as soon as legally permitted (and they did).

I couldn’t take my eyes off of the situation in my house long enough to apply myself to anything else.

I saw a post from one of those teachers this week about what keeps her driven in the profession, and to summarize, it was seeing the impact in, and being seen within, her efforts.

I commented.

_____

_____

I am so studied of projections and ridicule that I have an armory for it.

“You’re too untrusting,” has come predictably from those who later showed me I could not trust them.

Those more like me seem to speak differently, or simply less, than I do.

The fox is in the yard again.

How long have you been here?

Am I the last to arrive again?

May be subject to the Uno reverse.

_____

Please review Municipal Code §7, wherein it is stated,

“You are harder than ten men.”

Not my words. I was amongst many on that day, and the following still occurred:

I rolled out of the parking lot for the regular Tuesday evening ride. Five of us missed the light, and as we waited, the occupants of a white SUV with plate number [redacted] began to holler at “blue shirt” (me) suggestively.

“Oh no, not me,” I said quietly.

The vehicle proceeded to follow us through two more intersections after the light turned green. They continued to comment on me as they passed slowly, to which I replied,

“I memorize license plates.”

They declined comment.

The driver paused briefly at the next stop sign, and I assumed they were still intent on this game. And, Your Honor, as I slowed the scenario down in hindsight, asking myself why I chose to respond the way that I did next, I realized that the absurdity of their behavior did not say “we are committed to threatening you,”

it said “we are playing with power we aren’t prepared to own.”

So I rolled directly up next to the passenger door of the SUV as they quickly rolled their windows up.

“Awww, roll your windows down,” I said.

Another rider told me not to egg it on, so I rode ahead and rejoined the group as the vehicle turned and disengaged.

A different rider let me know he had turned his camera on, in case anything was to escalate.

But, how was I more certain than not that that would not happen?

I grew up scanning for and reacting to threat in my own home. I lose my shit over loose dogs often. Why did a motorist objectifying me on a bike produce not fight, not flight,

but you won’t actually follow through here?

_____

One afternoon, I was walking out of Walmart toward the back of the parking lot where my van was parked. By a nearby car, I saw a couple in an altercation and the woman continuously getting in the face of a man who remained argumentative and braced. As I continued my line toward my vehicle, a single small bag in hand, I said,

“Hey, hey, what’s going on here?”

The couple immediately separated, the man began to walk toward the store, and the woman said something like, “If you knew how much this asshole was cheating on me,”

“Yeah, maybe not in a public parking lot,” I replied.

They continued to bicker covertly as they headed toward the building, but a beating no longer appeared imminent.

I got into my van and soon saw the man making a beeline toward the four-lane road on foot, walk out into traffic, with the woman now following him yelling again.

I hope they get that worked out.

The next day, the head of security came through the coffee line at work and overheard me telling the story to my coworkers.

“That’s brave,” he said, holding sharp eye contact.

And I understood the implication. Intervening could always go poorly, which is why it is never advised.

And I won’t recommend my choices to anyone else, either.

On the contrary, I have been the person that needed an adult to step in, and didn’t have it. I became that person, and I cannot revert to the bystander or passive object with a clean conscience.

Why has that been effective, even if only for a moment?

_____

Pursuant to the ongoing matter of “I bet you’re wondering how I ended up in this situation,” the following prior statement is entered into the record [Chiaroscuro].

One day, after about two months, I received a text at work from my roommate saying, “Come home please,” followed soon by a “Nevermind.”

When I got home roughly 30 minutes later, I saw two men leaning on my van with my roommate cornered in her car. I parked the loaner I had driven in the homeowner’s driveway and walked over.

“Please take your hands off my vehicle,” I said. My roommate’s husband, now out of jail, gave me the ol’ up-and-down as he stepped away and cloaked himself in smugness, while the 6-foot-something guy behind him had a general air of “Oh, f***.”

I locked eyes with her husband and asked “Do you want to explain what’s going on before I get it from her?”

“We’re just having an argument,” he replied in a small voice.

He wasn’t even supposed to be there. I told them both to step away so I could talk to the woman crying in her front seat. Her words told me a story of “not a big deal,” while her shaking voice and constant scanning for him as she talked to me suggested “this is not safe.” She left with him that night anyway, and I told her to let me know if she needed anything.

It was a week or two later when he was arrested again for assaulting her in a Walmart parking lot.

I have a theory.

In the event of conflict, perceived threat, discomfort, to any degree, we often respond with fight, flight, freeze, or fawn.

But in my case, it seems to be focus.

And that mechanic is why I remember not only events, but can also casually write or talk about them with exact behavioral and somatic indicators like an artist describes their process.

Feeling is faster than logic, and I allow them to inform each other, not argue.

With that being said.

My former roommate’s husband met me at the bottom of the driveway as I approached. He and his huge friend both immediately complied with my insistence they stop touching my property, but only the little guy engaged directly. When I say he was “wrapped in smugness,” what I was watching was how his attempt to downplay the situation was accompanied by this stiffness in his body and his voice. It had an air of petulance.

Petulance is not a trait that is sure of itself, either. It’s a defense.

Why are you defensive if nothing is wrong here?

After I moved to talking to my roommate, my objective became ensuring the situation did not escalate again as well as determining threat level from her indirect feedback, everything she was not saying. Meanwhile, a red car showed up and after some conversation with the two men, the big guy left with it. As my roommate went inside to grab some items, I kept my position, leaning against my own van, and her husband came up and leaned against her car near me while he waited for her.

“Have you been riding a lot lately?” He asked.

“I am not interested in having a conversation with you,” I replied, not looking up from my phone, but still watching from the corner of my eye.

“It’s okay… I’m used to it,” he said in a lowered, victimized tone.

I ignored him.

You have zero influence here.

Over the course of the next few weeks, after the man was back in jail, my roommate began to explain how he had recently disclosed he was diagnosed with a psychiatric condition known as “psychotic explosive disorder,” as a child (if true, the correct term is intermittent explosive disorder), marked by uncontrollable episodes of rage and often violence. She invoked this condition when defending how much this man, whom she was clearly devoted to, needed her because everyone else had historically given up on him.

“Then why is he on his best behavior when I am around?”

She declined comment.

_____

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury,

I once again return judgement to you.

I do want to leave you with the ongoing, lifelong experiment I seem to keep running, though.

An overwhelming majority of human communication is nonverbal. We’re all talking and reading even when we aren’t. Most of individual and group behavior, personality shaping, reinforcement, learning, etcetera are operating at a level that the conscious mind does not directly access by default.

“Actions speak louder than words,” exists as a nod to that understanding, but the information that behavior passes along isn’t just in body language cues or catching lies.

It’s in the repeated exhibits of what a person chooses to say, what they omit, inflection in certain words, pauses before responses, emphasis, sidestepping, criticism they project when they are questioned, “vibes are off, bro” feelings within yourself.

Reactions are automatic; they bypass reasoning and language filters and are accounted for after-the-fact.

And because of that, they are very, very difficult to manipulate,

prone to breakage when the unconscious is caught by surprise,

and only hold up to scrutiny when you stand on your shit.

Which is why when someone says to me “Genna, you read too much into things,”

I become curious.

And if you happen to be one of my readers who knows me in person, and has noticed how reserved I tend to be in public until I’m not, please review Municipal Code §7.

Every once in a while, I meet somebody that quiets the mind and has me paying closer attention simultaneously. Last spring, I was invited on a gravel ride and carpooled an hour and a half away with somebody that had that effect.

On the way there, I remember listening for how well this person seemed to stay with my dry humor and observational commentary, even as I was muted with it.

We got to the start of the ride and I noticed that neither of us took much conversational lead, which was further relieving. 90 minutes of proximity was enough to solidify my decision to take on a big route with someone I barely knew.

A quarter mile of highway took us from a park parking lot to crisp, fine gravel roads with a climbing profile that was almost immediately visible. And as it goes, the tone of the first 30 minutes of a ride are reliable in predicting my mindset all the way up until the final 30. It took hardly that long for me to make some sort of lively comment about how at home I felt amongst a landscape where the residents seemed less likely to have any teeth.

I was entirely unbothered by the navigational error that led us up a large and unnecessary climb, and my friend missing the turn for a second time when we went back down. I stopped next to the turn and waited for them, and said,

“Eh, they’ll come back.”

Through the light-heartedness, every once in a while, I got the disclosures of past hard life experiences and fond anecdotes of people I would never meet. I told them how I wondered if I evaded substance abuse simply because I sometimes experience an endogenous high on cognition alone.

At the last supply stop they propped their feet up on the table and I wondered,

How are you that chill?

I got a huge laugh out of them later when I said “conservatives have little self-awareness and liberals have little self-control,”

and another one when I said that if they had not stopped ahead of me I would have rolled right off the washed out bridge at dusk.

“I told him no!” I shouted after a dog began to chase me down the road, then thought again.

“And he listened!” My friend volleyed back.

The route was one I’d love to visit again, but I may not because I don’t know how much of that experience was adorned simply by how calm I felt internally the entire time.

After loading the car back up at the end, we drove back into town and decided on takeout for dinner. We walked into the lobby of a restaurant and ordered separately. I took a seat on the bench to wait and they hit the restroom.

When they came back, they sat down on the other end of the bench, with about five feet between us.

Now, why did you think that?

The story is not the point.

Every sun that rises or falls while in motion is another volume I add to my collection.

Another thing I can say “I was there” for.

Another fraction of a millisecond in the universe’s observation of itself through my eyes.

Of which I only feel like I’ve done my job well when it’s paired with force.

There is no hillcrest where I am at peace in being passed by.

I cannot go gently into that pastel sky.

[Audio transcription]

I don’t have a template for resignation. I don’t even own a white flag. But if I did, I’d be liable to burn it.

I happen to notice when something repeats. I will almost never trust why it does, but I will keep track of how it does.

It seems like once my writing dispels my frustration, I come to understand better, and the navigation instructions come back online.

I’ve made so many appeals for help over the course of my life. The answer generally comes from me, and thus it becomes another branch in the exploration of what the human condition knows on its own.

And so I must ask you a question:

Is stressing self-sufficiency in an individual a cover for neglect?

I’m back with you again for an audio update. It seems everything is moving faster than it usually does, and I am fighting with a little bit of indecision — also for the sake of asking: how do I make sure that I am being intelligent about my decisions while also not giving up the ghost?

So, my Mishigami hopes are still alive.

I have gotten into a more comfortable state on the bike. We’re still a little bit broken, still a little bit rusty, but I think that as long as nothing breaks within the next four weeks — at least not catastrophically — I could pull this together.

Unfortunately, operating on the margins is something that I’m familiar with, but it does seem to increase my pressure every time I try it.

And so that’s what we’re here to discuss tonight: being an individual that is so independent that I get compliments for it, and yet I feel like I’m always operating at the end of a thread.

And I think that I might not be the only one that experiences that, if I have a hunch.

So, I was raised on the expectation that I needed to learn to work for myself, to cover my own needs, to be independent — which I think we can probably agree has worked.

But what that turned me into is a person that feels very strict about that independence and has never been able to really rely on consistent outside support.

And so it came to the degree that I moved into a van so that I could support my dreams on the bike.

A lot of that attitude from adults in my life when I was a minor can be boiled down to one quote from my dad.

I was dealing with a van breakdown and was trying to relocate from one city to another to pick it up after the only mechanic within several states that was willing to install an entirely new engine did so.

I needed a ride to go get it, and I was going to get as creative as I possibly could to make that happen while also trying to ask as little as possible from anybody else.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t really happening.

And so I called my dad and said, ‘Hey, if I cover the cost of fuel and lunch, can you drive from southern Indiana to St. Louis — about a four-hour drive — pick me up, and take me back to pick the van up and drive it home?’

I thought that as long as I made sure that this didn’t cost him anything except time with me, this would be workable.

And his response was:

‘I don’t think I can do that, because I don’t get anything out of it.’

And so I think you can probably understand where my sensitivity to transactional relationships comes from.

But it wasn’t until recently that I realized that there’s a significant part of the population that isn’t operating on that understanding.

And so when they see me feeling like I have to compensate for asking anybody for anything, they get a little uncomfortable with it.

This sort of individual ruggedness that is implied through parts of culture is revealing itself as not nearly as widespread as I thought it was.

And I’ve been applying an expectation to myself that is holding me back.

Now, I don’t necessarily have a whole lot of choices. I’ve been pretty open about this on the blog — although I haven’t necessarily put it all in one place — that I consistently face transportation, housing, and financial precarity, all in sort of a cyclical pattern, as well as not necessarily having the social backing to call for help if I need it.

If you can bear with me for a second:

Imagine the one or two people that, in an emergency — or even just a ‘Hey, I’m on the brink of something that could be really good for me, but I need help crossing this financial gap’ situation — you would call.

And then imagine they suddenly do not exist.

And I’m bringing you into a thought that might be very, very uncomfortable, because that is the reality that people like myself have to grapple with every single time we wake up in the morning.

And I am a person that has consistently grappled with the fact that the things I dream of doing with my life are incompatible with the support structures that I have had throughout it.

And yet I keep persisting.

And that’s why you continuously see this sort of unfortunate chain of events that tends to fall out from that: me picking myself up, dusting myself off, and — to a degree that could be perceived as obsessive — going at it again.

And a point was raised to me recently that I had actually considered:

Maybe the example that I’m setting is one of, ‘Genna’s really good about coming back and fighting for things. She doesn’t actually need any support.’

Even when I’m asking for it.

It creates a little bit of tension in another person sometimes to see somebody that is resilient also talking about all the ways that they fall short.

And it becomes a potential success story that people like to watch and observe from a distance, but not necessarily ever step into.

And that is a pretty complex thing for me to consider — that maybe the very act of being hard to kill, in a sense, might be perpetuating this loop of scarcity.

And I’ve also come to learn that there is a societal reality that the inverse is also true:

A person who is willing to show themselves being helpless, and needing other people, and not necessarily having that rigid independence, is more likely to attract community support.

I have observed that myself.

And that is something that provokes profound jealousy in me.

And I don’t attach that to the individual that is being supported, because if you have that opportunity or that backing, you might as well take it.

But as is the concurrent theme of my blog, I wonder what I could possibly accomplish if so much of my energy wasn’t just trying to keep things from falling apart.

Now, I want to pause here for a second and openly acknowledge that I do have people that kind of come in and out of my life, seeing the things that I’m trying to do despite everything that’s historically worked against me.

By name, Julie and Alex are my primary support system right now.

And they’re actually very different from the people that I even had this time last year.

Because I have observed — through a little bit of a naive lens, up until recently — that there are people who like the idea of being part of a story and part of a project that they find inspiring.

But then there is a little bit of a conflict in themselves about needing to control it in a sense, or needing it to constantly reinforce how important they are for the project to continue.

And in doing so, they take a little bit of my autonomy away — which is something that I simply cannot do.

I have been wired through the environment that I was raised in to believe that it is fundamentally unsafe and unreliable for me to assign responsibility to another person.

And so if they are going to step in and support me, they are going to have to do that in a way that doesn’t take my independence away.

They have to be able to cohabitate. They have to work with me.

And I didn’t realize how much I was actually asking by expecting that.

I am really lucky now that I’m in a relationship where we are two very independent people that do not need to reinforce each other to feel secure.

And to be quite honest with you, I’m not sure how I got to a point where I am that way.

There has been so much conflict in my relationships — with my parents, with my extended family, romantic relationships, jobs, you name it — that logically you would think those things would make me far more unstable.

But instead, they just made me more rigid in self-reliance.

And now I’m kind of meeting those people that are okay just saying, ‘What do you need from me?’ helping me with that, and then — and this is going to sound a little bit harsh here — getting out of the way.

And the fact that I both need the community that I am still clawing for while also needing my path unobstructed is the most complicated thing that I’ve ever had to go up against.

And so while I really put my head down and try to grind toward making Mishigami feel like less of a reach for me again, I’m trying to figure out something that I’m not even sure I have words for.

But it’s something like:

How do I set some of this weight elsewhere without letting go of it completely?

The last month was lopsided dealing with setbacks. That’s not acute for me.

What that means is organization and regimented progress simply do not work in the context of my life. It moves like the tide, not a wavelength.

I am finding more material I want to write about than I can keep up with. I thought that committing to a book would possibly steal from blog material; instead, it’s making my creative process more apparent to me: I do not bend to control. Not even my own.

Working on blog essays with Reorganism as a separate project, on top of trying to get back to normal on a bike, is forcing me to compartmentalize when I have already discovered and written that my mind naturally fights it. My material regularly relies on following how I naturally think, so I’m allowing myself to adapt my own announced plans.

Reorganism will be published here essay by essay as part of my regular feed, with the physical copy to be published once the path to that is more clear and manageable. My mind outruns time, and treating all of it as one rolling project prevents split attention even if the amount of effort is the same.

I’m headed out to ride. The list of upcoming essays is to follow:

Status [Handoff]– audio essay with transcription.

In All of the Ways We Resist Being Human– A longer piece on how I see society conditioning us to avoid ourselves.

Reorganism Essay 2: Good Morning, Vietnam

_____

An object in motion stays in motion.

[Audio transcription]

On days like this, I put my earbuds in and play the last song that gave me goosebumps, desperately trying to summon the fuel that got me even here.

That is the only prewritten line that I have today.

This is another audio essay, which is essentially going to be another diary entry in the current state of things I’m trying to accomplish. And as I have previously mentioned, audio material is going to be longer because I do not pre-script this. I have a list of bullet points in front of me, but I just want to speak freely in these.

So, um, with that, I am also going to provide the written transcription of the audio so that you can follow along with text, or you can just choose to read. But just bear in mind that this will not be as artful as my written material needs to be, or as compact. So you can choose how you prefer to engage with that.

I am at home, sick today, and that is probably going to be, um, discernible to you. And I am not thinking as clearly, and my voice actually kind of hurts a little bit, so I hope that you can bear with me there. But I am here today primarily just because I need to talk.

I went to a race yesterday and had to turn around 10 miles in. And before I could get back to the start, I backtracked on the course, made a turn, laid my bike down, and kind of lost all of my composure. And this doesn’t really happen much in front of other people, but when I’m alone—believe me—I come apart.

And this is off the back of essentially eight months of not being comfortable on my bike. Last year, in the fall, somebody that was positioned to support me sort of removed my decision-making process in getting a new bike. I was presented with the information that I needed a new frame. Unbeknownst to me, there wasn’t anything really wrong with my frame until I learned after the fact.

Somehow, the decision was just made that that was the best option because the frame was old, and there was a single proprietary part that was stripped that needed to be replaced. That part, I was actually able to contact somebody else to help me find, and it only took less than a day to source.

And so there was a major communication breakdown there, and that resulted in me tearing the bike that I had been comfortable and productive on for over five years—tearing that down to build up a new frame that just didn’t work for me.

And my options at the time were limited, even then. And so, after a couple months of struggling to make that work—trying to get it ready for ultra-distance pursuit, in doing 300 miles in 24 hours, basically from border to border of Missouri—we ultimately ended up backtracking and rebuilding my old frame with newer parts.

And unfortunately, that still wasn’t right. And here now, in almost May of the following year, I am not functioning anywhere near my capacity because I’m uncomfortable.

I get on that bike, and I’m hoping that the last adjustment that I made was the winner, and, you know, everything is getting close, and that maybe I can just adapt. And it doesn’t happen.

It started with back pain that was causing me to just not sit on my bike correctly, and thus I’m not producing the efficient power that I normally can—to now, I can’t even sit on my saddle comfortably. And if you can’t sit on your saddle, that’s basically it. There’s just no being on a bike.

And I haven’t been able to convince myself to just stop riding yet. That isn’t what I want. That isn’t what I built my goals around. That isn’t what I’ve built my blog around. Getting off the bike is not really an option in my mind.

But right now, my body is starting to force that, and that is the reality that I’m looking at.

And unfortunately, this is just my perspective on the matter, as the person that has been implicated by this. But I do feel like there have been supporters in recent history that have worked closely with me—kind of dropped the ball with that. They look me in the eye and can’t produce an answer, despite having the means to help me find one.

It was just this avoidance pattern of: “You being uncomfortable makes me uncomfortable, and I don’t want to feel at all responsible for that, so I’m going to step back.” That is how I perceived it.

And as a person that has historically had to solve my own problems—even very complex ones like this—I naturally will kind of say, “You know what? Don’t worry about it. I’m going to figure this out for myself.”

And that is part of why I’m still struggling now, because I’m reaching my limits with that.

I have a tendency to ask AI, with a lot of proprioceptive information. I tell it, “Hey, on the ride today I noticed that I’m rocking my pelvis backwards, and when I want to engage the pedal stroke I tilt forward, and that is not where I’ve historically been. I also am having this interesting left-sided pinch and a hot spot in my right foot—that is not historically my pattern either.”

And so I’m giving it really specific information, trying to figure out what adjustments that I need to make.

And so every ride that I’m going out on, I’m having to stop every few miles and—okay, here’s what’s changed—and I’m feeding this new information. It’ll give me a good breakdown, like an analytical breakdown, of not only what I need to change but why, and how this is going to change how I engage with the bike.

It’s very detailed stuff. But every single ride is plagued by that, instead of, “Oh hey, I need to make sure that I stop for water at this location so that I have enough to get the next 35 miles and not have to stop again.”

The logistical part of the ride is what I need to be focusing on, and how my body feels is bad enough to where I can’t do that. None of my rides are free anymore.

And that is pretty devastating for me at the moment.

So right now, I am looking at Mishigami two and a half months from now and not sure if I’m even going to be able to show up, because I am uncomfortable and I can’t find the solution despite countless hours of analytical process.

That is not simple.

And I am fearing another season passing me by, in what will be almost a year coming up, in combination of having burned myself out last year and then having these bike fit issues start later indefinitely.

What has been the most inconsistent, painful, and least satisfying year of my life on a bike—which has now spanned going on 12 years—that’s a pretty heavy blow for somebody who has revolved their entire life around this pursuit.

And let’s be honest: I will continue to do so, because I’m tenacious to an unstable degree, if you will.

My fear at the moment is also tied to, with the content of my blog and being so honest online—both in written and verbal format—that I’m going to, if I haven’t already, become this person that is associated with just constant struggle.

And it’s something that I’ve actually been questioned on before. Like, “Hey, Genna, is your whole sense of self tied to this identity of struggling and trauma?”

And it’s not.

It’s actually the fact that I know that I have a serious amount of potential if I can just get barriers out of the way. And a lot of the things that I’ve written about are said barriers. And I consider barriers downright offensive—they’re not necessary.

And most of them I would not consider things that I instigated. They’re just very unfortunate parts of being human in a very, very inequitable world at the moment.

And I would like to be a person that is actually telling the satisfying story that I know a lot of people come to my blog wanting to see.

Everybody loves the feel-good story of seeing this person basically go from rags to riches—not in the literal sense—but coming from the bottom, having things work against her, to accomplishing great things.

And the reality of the situation is: I’m not there yet.

And I don’t want to wait to tell the story until that happens and then speak from hindsight. Everybody does that. I don’t feel like that is actually doing the story justice.

I’m writing from within it. I’m writing from all of the things that I do not have solved, which does make people kind of uncomfortable. It makes them perceive me as more negative.

That’s, in a sense, them reacting to themselves and not to me. And so I remind myself of that.

But this right now is a pretty dark point for me.

It’s quite fascinating, um, because I have been at points where I have felt less stable in every other point of my life—like housing insecurity, vehicle breakdowns, income insecurity.

Those three things are actually functioning pretty well for me right now, and they’ve done so in less than two months. Like, I’ve been able to flip that.

So I’ve had success on that front.

And now the bike is the thing where I am not put together.

And so it’s almost like this cosmic joke—okay, I got the systemic barriers kind of covered right now (that could change at any moment; I’m used to that), but now the place where I usually put that energy is not available and parked.

And that’s, um, I think the more complicated part to solve.

I’m not educated in biomechanics, but I’m having to learn quite a bit just to get this solved. And because I’m convinced that there’s a lot more to be explored in my life, I refuse to kind of drop it—even though my body’s like, “Please give us a break.”

Which might be why I’m sick today.

I actually had somebody, interestingly enough, tell me yesterday, as I’m talking to Chat GPT, giving it all this material, trying to decide if $124 is worth spending on a new saddle (and the saddle on my bike has been the longest-running one for me; why has that spontaneously changed?)—he said, “Hey Genna, you’re in that scary mood again.”

And he was talking about how intense I get when I’m trying to figure something out.

When things get tough or complicated, I tend to not necessarily discuss those with other people, because it is a lot. AI doesn’t get overwhelmed with the constant influx of information that I’m having to feed it in order to self-solve.

So I take it to AI, and that takes a significant amount of my attention away from the outside world.

And so I started thinking about that too—like, how much of my social battery is being depleted because I am trying to solve something that is very complicated, and I can’t lay that down until it’s solved because it’s holding me back.

I’m not very good about bookmarking things and coming back to it tomorrow and saying, “Hey, let’s just chill out and have a good evening.”

It’s: I’m very wrapped up in, “Hey, can I get back on the horse and start producing again what I feel capable of?”

Not thinking about that—so that adds another layer of complication.

And so I think you could probably consider that an update on where I’m at right now.

I again only have two and a half months left until Mishigami, and it’s taken eight months to even get a semblance of progress. And I’m still currently unable to create the conditions where I can go ride the back-to-back 100-milers that I need to be doing right now to prepare for that race.

So I’m going to have to have things turn around for me within the next couple of weeks, or else I’m going to have to start thinking about how realistic chasing that race even is.

I’m also looking at the potential of using my other bike for this event. It is primarily paved, but there are some sections that are gravel, and I have basically zero flexibility on tire clearance on this other bike.

Which will make those sections a bit threatening—both from a comfort perspective and, you know, having tires that can tolerate gravel.

It’s also just not as compliant, not as smooth of a ride, especially with weight on it.

And so I’m concerned about the comfort of my hands—like, am I going to have numb hands from more shock being absorbed through my body because I don’t have wide tires?

There’s a significant amount of detail involved with considering races like this—or even races not this big—that isn’t visible to everyone unless you’re doing it.

And I am highly ambitious, but I’m also realistic about:

• what do I have at my disposal right now
• what are my weaknesses
• how am I prepared to accommodate those weaknesses in the unknown

And all of that is very much being tested by my equipment right now, and not my ability to adapt.

And that’s the difficult thing, because the equipment part is a lot less controllable for me than training to be capable of a long race.

And I think ultimately the most difficult part in processing this is: if I had more knowledge or more resources to throw at this, I could probably solve it—and then that would be fine. Then I can go ride and get myself physically adapted to this demand.

That physical training is the easier part.

And that’s hard to think about.

When I’m able to exit the brain fog of a very bad race yesterday—if you can even call it that—and being sick, I do have an upcoming blog post that I’m looking to finish.

You can probably expect a little bit of quiet from me for the next week or so while I try to figure out if Mishigami is even possible.

It’s not something that I can really set aside and focus on anything else at the moment. I don’t know if that’s healthy or not, but that’s where we’re at.

And so with that, thank you again for listening. I saw that last time this was pretty well received, and so I really appreciate you tuning in to listen.

We will talk again soon.

This platform has been transitioning from a sort of online diary for me into a concrete publication. Because of that, I will the machine. is as much a primary focus of mine as the life and thought that feeds its material. I continue to have regular site traffic even during periods that I don’t write and visitors deep diving my material weekly. I have to thank you again for your interest in my work.

The next three months are going to be dense. I am carefully ramping toward an 1100-mile race and will be balancing work, increased training on the bike, publishing regular essays, dedicated blocks working on Reorganism, pitching writing to outside publications to increase my reach, some short social media amplifiers, and managing sunburn.

I would like to ask you a favor. If any of my work has resonated with you, it would be incredibly helpful for my growth if you would consider sharing any of my material with others that you think may find it engaging. Expressing my internal experiences is easy—networking? Not so much. Subscribers also receive all of my posts in full directly in their email inbox, and it’s free.

Below are some pieces that serve as useful introductions to my viewpoints, and have been the essays that have travelled well:

Goin’ Up on a Tuesday: A Question of Ethics and Advantage for a Record Ride

Preview of Reorganism— The opening essay of my upcoming book.

Chiaroscuro— A psychological essay dissection my own cognitive dissonance.

Some upcoming works include:

Genna v. ChatGPT, where I show you how I discern AI-generating writing and scripts from creators who present it as their own material, and how I have used AI to analyze me through my own writing.

And a profile piece with Sarah Rice, the current women’s record holder for the Mishigami Challenge. I will be sitting down with her for an interview the day before I take the race on myself.

As a final note, I will be integrating my online library with my physical presence with an official jersey. I am open to potential sponsor logo placement for this season, so if you’re interested in affiliation with my projects, you can reach out to me directly with my contact form.

Funding for likely my only major official event this year is tight. I am self-funding necessary gear upgrades for a 6-7 day effort; as is discussed in It Catches You, an Incredible, Ghostly Rider, overnights at hotels are the best strategy at performing well at this event, and I am looking for assistance with those costs. I have a primary backer that is willing to match contributions up to a certain amount. If you’re interested in being a part of this story, you can reach out to me via the Contact Me page or Julie at jfkoirty@gmail.com.

And so, I raise my sword.

If you’ve wondered how I arrive at the decisions to write about some topics, or are newly encountering this blog, I sat down to talk about the following points tonight in free speech:

• Brief athlete background
• Personal code of ethics for my writing
• Philosophy of social autonomy > seeking acceptance
• The “observer” personality
• Why I continue to write publicly about sensitive material

Step into my office.

“You make everything a fight.”

Actually, I’ve realized I’ve tolerated too much again.

In summer of 2024, I moved out of my van and into a house with someone in a rural town. I had told myself that I always had the van as a backup in case that relationship didn’t work out. After having been threatened with removal and called “pathetic” for breaking down over the fact that I had to choose between abuse and homelessness, I used that insurance policy. I spent a couple weeks in a friend’s driveway before sending a cycling contact a text about my situation and was told “you can use the guest house.”

I had just started a new job after ten months of inopportunity. Two months in, my van became unsafe to drive and eventually broke down. I spent nearly three weeks taking the bike to work from the guest house while trying to organize a costly repair. Those 80-mile-per-day commutes crushed both me and my work performance, and my job cut my hours after my 90-day review. I came back to the house in shambles and asked the closest nearby support for help. I described the experience in tears to the homeowner, a friend, who had children near my age, and he told me he would not sit with me if I was going to only focus on the negative.

I was losing my already menial income again in a life where a van had been the most stable “home” I had ever had. I was still grieving having to jump from temporary to temporary over and over, trying to find a foundation that didn’t require concession to control, but in that moment it translated to “Hey, this is a boundary of mine.”

You aren’t a person I can go to when I am coming apart. Okay, I understand.

Over the course of the summer, he encouraged me to go to school, to enjoy this time of my life because I was “being taken care of.” I was told I was “brilliant.” I was invited over for dinner with his family and on bike rides. I was told I was an “investment,” and was gifted a new bike frame to, in his words, “get you on a bike that matches the kind of rider you are.”

I was “being reparented,” he said. A man who had a reputation for being a voice of the community, once platformed me next to him, and rooted for the underdogs of the sport, also knew how much weight those words carried to someone whose parents had historically been chronically untrustworthy at best, and outright manipulative on the regular.

I started to exhale.

Another month passed and I got back to work at a horse farm that quickly taught me that I was not recovered. I struggled with continued burnout while trying to maintain my ultra dreams with a 300-mile time trial across the state that failed. I was still living in the guest house rent-free with a new roommate introduced to me by the homeowner. She was recovering from living in a small car for months, had no family support, and her husband was in jail. She was offered a room to get back on her feet. The homeowner told me that if it didn’t work out, he would cue her to move on with “I have offers on the house.”

But I was reassured that I would not end up back in my van.

One day, after about two months, I received a text at work from my roommate saying, “Come home please,” followed soon by a “Nevermind.”

When I got home roughly 30 minutes later, I saw two men leaning on my van with my roommate cornered in her car. I parked the loaner I had driven in the homeowner’s driveway and walked over.

“Please take your hands off my vehicle,” I said. My roommate’s husband, now out of jail, gave me the ol’ up-and-down as he stepped away and cloaked himself in smugness, while the 6-foot-something guy behind him had a general air of “Oh, f***.”

I locked eyes with her husband and asked “Do you want to explain what’s going on before I get it from her?”

“We’re just having an argument,” he replied in a small voice.

He wasn’t even supposed to be there. I told them both to step away so I could talk to the woman crying in her front seat. Her words told me a story of “not a big deal,” while her shaking voice and constant scanning for him as she talked to me suggested “this is not safe.” She left with him that night anyway, and I told her to let me know if she needed anything.

It was a week or two later when he was arrested again for assaulting her in a Walmart parking lot.

He was inevitably released again under a protection order they quickly violated, and she texted me while I was at work that “they were at the house just getting food,” and “I don’t want you to freak out.”

The rule was clear.

Since verbal boundaries were not effective, I took my safety concern to the homeowner. He sat down with both of us and provided a lecture, and soda, about how we needed to handle this amongst ourselves because he didn’t want to deal with “roommate drama.”

“Why is my safety concern being labeled as drama?” I asked. Her husband had a clear history of theft and assault in public. I knew from a lifetime of exposure to domestic violence how those relationships don’t deescalate in private spaces, and she was not interested in respecting the space.

But a wave of low rage came across the homeowner’s face as he snapped “Why don’t you just tell me how big of a piece of shit I am.”

He let me know that he could sell the house so his wife could have a new car, but he wasn’t. And if I felt unsafe, I could just leave.

The next morning, he left cash for us to go work out our issues over pancakes.

He had previously told me this was “your house,” and that I was “the bearer of the law.” Because he didn’t want to be bothered, I delivered to her a 30-day notice to vacate myself, and she mostly avoided the house except for brief stops to pick up belongings. She showed up with her husband again, and I called the police to report him for trespassing. I had to leave for work, but the officer kept me on the phone while he viewed the man’s record and called for backup before going to the house.

He told me the previous warrant had been reinstated, and understood why I was concerned. He called me back later to let me know he was back in custody.

“Drama” was conspicuously missing in the officer’s language.

_____

The arrangement in the house was ever-moving. The homeowner and his wife understood rent was a tall order on barely $1k a month, and my pattern was one of being stuck in positions that expected self-sacrifice for low pay (see The Thoroughbred), or were built on inconsistent management structures that notoriously viewed me as a liability (I speak to problems directly, see… literally anything I write).

“I’ll get my pound of flesh,” he said when I verbalized the concern that I couldn’t bridge the gap. We worked out odd jobs for me to help around their house with, then the communication would stop. One day, he asked me to come over again for coffee, and among other things he said, “I’m not getting a return on my investment,”

and shortly thereafter,

“I’m spending too much time alone.”

Dear reader,

Because I write publicly about my own experience, others disclosing their personal material does not weigh heavily on me. I live at depth. Oxygen is rich there. I feel a sense of honor to be a person others feel safe with in than zone.

So, when the homeowner eventually had me sit in his room, on a couch by the door, for another conversation where I said very little, disclosed how “women no longer look at me with awe,” and “my wife gave me permission to have a girlfriend,” I categorized it as objective.

I was raised by a 101st Airborne Brigade veteran, am almost unnervingly independent, and tend to be more suspicious of validation than flattered by it. I am serious, reserved, and view myself as “neutral” in presence and appearance in most contexts.

He said I’m a friend. This isn’t pointed at me.

I received it the same way the two other times I remember hearing that same statement.

The comment about how I was nice to ride behind, how he thought horseback riding boots were attractive and was looking for me a pair (I no longer rode horses), calling me a “slut” when I shared I was dating someone within the local cycling scene, and references to how big he was were all innocuous beneath being called, “buddy,” “stud,” and “not prey.” I laughed most of it off.

He’s a little out-of-touch, but I can trust him.

I thought I was especially unobjectified by being told I was “harder than ten men,” with irritation when I was firm at an auto parts store for them not honoring a warranty. “I do business in there,” he then said.

He’s concerned I made him look bad?

I also just did not want to see the boundary probes from somebody in control over the roof over my head.

He’s been helping me in a huge way.

And being transparent about my discomfort was a non-option because I had already seen how he responded when challenged.

I started to hold my breath.

_____

I used to get invites to rides early. Then, I got them 10-minutes before roll time.

They stopped when I asked for a little extra notice.

As was asked of me, I found a solid potential new roommate and sent the homeowner a text with the update. He replied, “That’s good news. We are also considering a couple offers. Was planning on talking with you.”

A couple of days later, I was summoned to his house and greeted with a general air of excitement over his new bike. He delivered the details of multiple options for the fate of the guest house, and transitioned into a monologue about his racing plans. He invited me to the race the upcoming weekend, and I replied, “I can’t really focus on racing right now,” as the reality that the arrangement was ending was sinking in.

“Good,” he said.

And at some other point in a conversation about my housing transition, he stated “I am not getting my dream car, or chasing my dream girlfriend, I’m going to race my bike.”

The studio space in his own house he had previously mentioned as a safety net was presented now as an almost-forgotten afterthought. I also knew by now getting closer in proximity to this person was a very bad option.

Acknowledgement of my newest problem was condensed into one sentence amongst over an hour of his own goals.

“I’m sure the news doesn’t help.”

You have to notice where light isn’t to appreciate the entire image.

_____

That weekend, I did go to the race just to support my new partner.

The homeowner greeted us both once, and we returned the gesture. But later, he rolled up to us again, and said, “Are you mute today, Genna?”

That is bait. Do not take it.

“Yeah,” I said, flatly.

I could see his tension rise, and as I continued to stay unengaged in casual chat with someone whose decisions and words were now in stark contrast, he quipped,

“I just thought I’d say hello,” and rode away throwing one arm in the air.

I’m not really your buddy anymore.

_____

The willingness to trust is a manual practice after the environments of my earlier life. That work is why being more discerning when contradictions appear is a reflex.

The cold whisper at the back of my mind says I still believed too soon. I’ve been told I focus on the negative, yet the pattern of my own dissonance rests in everything I have given the benefit of the doubt.

When unspoken expectations surface, grand gestures start to feel less like support and more like trespass.

This is yet another thing I have to recover from.

And if you’ll excuse me for just a moment here,

while I continue to reach for more than countless rug-pulls have allowed,

I take that shit personally.

This essay is accompanied by an audio version below. Additional spoken commentary is included at the bottom of the page.

“It does not bargain with you. It does not compromise. If you don’t respect it, if you fight back, you lose. You fail. You are not safe.”

I understand. I hope you will forgive me for working against you, Genna.

_____

On July 11th, I will begin my attempt of the 1100-mile Mishigami Challenge – a complete circumnavigation of Lake Michigan, beginning and ending in Chicago.

In 2024, I began the inaugural Rule of 3 200 and retired at mile 70 around 1:00 a.m.

In 2025, I made it to mile 170 of the first Central Missouri Circuit and called for extraction after another overnight that robbed me of all faculties.

Later that year, I stopped 163 miles into my solo attempt to ride border to border of the state inside of 24 hours, again coming undone before dawn without recovery.

On the contrary, I rode from St. Louis to Louisville, KY, 420 miles solo in five days. I was morbidly uncertain I could pull it off, but arrived at the Ohio river feeling something like… “that’s it?”

And finally, I rode 465 miles through the heart of Missouri to intercept Lael Wilcox in the final days of her Around the World record attempt. The plan was five days again. On day 4, I wanted to be home and rode the remaining 189 miles at once. That was my strongest and best feeling ride of that trip.

I think you can see where I am going with this.

As I have previously written in Depths Too Dark, the cognition of a trauma-adapted mind seems to interact poorly with the circadian disruption, heightened risk perception, and lowered emotional processing in the overnight hours of ultra events. In my last attempt, I made the critical error of thinking that limiter could be bartered with and more simply, I just didn’t want to accept limits.

I kept trying to force myself through races that struck every single weakness I have, and experienced shutdown every time.

1100-miles, on the other hand, is incredibly too long to be that negligent, and history suggests my legs get better with age.

The distance was never the problem, and neither was I; this format simply did not work for me.

In races past, I have unknowingly simulated the same survival states I have had to navigate off the bike. A chronic, internally decimating sense that anything (or everything) could fail at any moment and I have no safety net. An ever-nagging, unrealistic standard to remain entirely independent, trained into me early by parents that said things like, “I can’t help you with that. I don’t get anything out of it.”

As it turns out the unconscious does not differentiate between being broken down in a vehicle you live in and a dark bike race where help would actually disqualify you. It reacts to threat the same for both.

The attitude of “just keep pushing” is both necessary and a confrontation of all you cannot handle alone in the middle of the night.

Meanwhile, the fastest woman at Mishigami to date describes herself as a “diva” and stays in hotels every night. (An interview with Sarah Rice is on the calendar.)

Of all the things I want to prove still, whether or not I can make it through anything isn’t on the list, really.

I just want to see how hard I can ride without arguments with demons that seem to come out only at night.

_____

This story is ongoing. I am fortunate to have support for this plan right out of the gate. If you would like to contribute to additional equipment and logistics needs for this event, you can contact Julie at jfkoirty@gmail.com.

uh, Podcast?

On a quiet street, a lone figure approaches a weathered Victorian home. The roof over the porch is sagging, the paint peeling, boards and railings brittle and bleached from countless lonely summers. Along the roofline, gargoyles are perched, and all are missing their heads but one. The surviving creature looks out into the lawn, its mouth gaping as if cast in stone the moment before cataclysm.

The figure steps carefully toward the delicately carved double doors with a large moving box in hand. They step inside to survey the molding ceiling, the bubbled wallpaper, and the fireplace caved in on itself. A large hole in the floor groans in the corner as the wind creeps beneath the house. After setting the box down softly, they begin to pull out collectibles of bronze, glass, and light. They set sculptures on the dusty mantle just as golden hour licks them through the windows. An exotic rug is rolled out in the foyer. A replica of a Van Gogh is mounted over cracked plaster.

Someone from next door delivers a vase of fresh roses with a card that reads “I’m so sorry for your loss. Welcome to the neighborhood.”

And the figure places the flowers in front of the hole in the floor as the moving truck pulls up to the curb.

“But where light is sourced and directed is the marginal part of the picture. You have to also notice where it isn’t to appreciate the entire image.” -10/18/25