Fiction by Ann Garvald
I’m standing in front of the mirror in the women’s washroom in the paddock at an Ontario road-racing track. Feeling pretty good. Beside me is my girlfriend, Sarah, proud and supportive. Today is my nineteenth birthday and I’ve just finished third in a vintage car club sprint race, driving my dad’s BMW 2002. A few minutes earlier I’d been on the podium, first time ever. As I took off my helmet and my hair spilled over my shoulders there were cheers from those who like to see a girl do well in motorsport. But others were silent, even giving me nasty looks, because they know I’m trans; there’s surely no excuse for such bigotry – motorsport, like equestrian show jumping, is a sport where gender differences are of no significance. But now, looking in the mirror and, hot and sweaty as I am, I like what I see, although I do know I have a way to go before I am what I really want to be.