Meet Ryan Montgomery, running's archetypal grifter
"Nonbinary" is as legitimate as "sorcerer" or "ghost of Catherine the Great," and it's not society's job to accommodate the delusions of self-absorbed dingbats
Ryan Montgomery is an accomplished ultrarunner as well as a handsome young gay man who appears sublimely comfortable with his sexuality and masculinity. He has a variety of sponsors. On Instagram, he’s all smiles, all the time. He has it all goin’ on.
He’s also an undisguised grifter who plays the uber-queen to better mine Wokism for profit. He spouts absurdities about the need for running executives to place more emphasis on the ridiculous “nonbinary” gender category while insisting they devote more concern (i.e., cash) to the transgender crowd as well.
I mentioned Montgomery last November in a comprehensive post about the staggering number of liars, crybabies, and morons wandering today’s landscape who fail to realize that being mildly deviant in some harmless or made-up way doesn’t make you eligible for special recognition, even if you include cosplay in the construction of an “identity” (and elaborate cosplay is all this gender madness is). Those folx are, of course, still here—fatter, dumber, sicker, pinker, and sleazier, meaning that the Wokish mission of purposeful poly-institutional demolition continues unmolested.
Montgomery’s most helpful attribute for the purposes of this post is that he, like all genuinely Wokish people, is a dingbat. (Some of the major-scale grifters are only feigning air-headedness, but in the main, earnest and intelligent people reject Wokism for obvious reasons.) His shtick is alternating between two contradictory states: gushing gratitude toward the running community for being so wondrously inclusive toward non-straights—offering plenty of evidence that this is true—and the insistence that the running community isn’t nearly inclusive enough.
The stupid aspect of this isn’t the hypocrisy; fans of Wokism love and expect hypocrisy, and despite being contradictory, the whining and the thanks both help Montgomery earn money and sponsors. The stupid part is how thunderously transparent he is about his own insincerity. Even race- and blubber-grifter Latoya Snell is cagey enough to never slip up and admit that she’s welcome in the eyes of decent people wherever she goes; with her, it’s 24/7 contrived rage and prating on about her made-up health conditions, because any admission of comity leaves her open to jabs from outside her racist, pro-degeneracy bubble.
Montgomery may not care how obvious it is to the thinking world how full of it he is, but I honestly don’t think he knows. And if you can’t see that this is a grift, then in all grave seriousness, Jesus H. Christ in the Florida floodwaters, please consider a thorough toxicological and neurological work-up—and not from Twitter physicians whose profiles boast some version of I SUPPORT OBESITY, SEWN-ON DICKS, PROXY WARS, PSEUDO-VACCINES, AND DESTRUCTIVE HEALTH MANDATES!
As far as “nonbinary,” it’s a complete contrivance, which is why no one ever heard of it for the first few thousand years of recorded history. Nikki Hiltz, who has made more hay out of a vague psychological disorder than perhaps any runner in history—there’s lots of competition—emphasizes this herself, however obliviously.
A gender category divorced from the other two would have stand-alone characteristics that people claiming the status would be able to articulate. But instead, they speak clearly in terms of being undecided, which is a completely different ballgame. Hiltz says she sometimes feels like a powerful queen (because “woman” simply won’t do) while at other times she “feels like a guy being a dude.” Uh-huh. She does say she sometimes she is “outside of the gender binary entirely.”
To me, all she’s describing is abject personal confusion. Also, like all Wokesters, she evidently needs to feel far more special than she is for enjoying pussy, which puts her in the company of well over 100 million people in the U.S. alone, many of them vaginated. Hence an ad hoc gender category that no one can explain and is inherently senseless, yet the rest of the world is expected to view as heroic.
Imagine someone who claims to have invented a sport that combines certain elements of ping-pong and boxing. If this person is able to give a demonstration, great. But if he says, “On some days, I play table tennis to unwind, while on others I punch people in the face to blow off steam,” you’d be unconvinced that he had introduced anything new.
I had something funny happen to me on a run the other day, not for the first time. I had to piss, and in someone with a 52-year-old prostate who drinks coffee by the trash can, this urge can strike quickly. I was on a public path in broad daylight, but I managed to scuttle down into the empty drainage canal alongside before anything burst. Critically, I was wearing cycling shorts. I desperately fumbled to remove the pissing portion of myself from my shorts and started to initiate a urine stream a vital fraction of a second before I had pulled the waistband of the shorts sufficiently low. To put it bluntly, I pissed into my own chin when the elastic flung my urinary apparatus upward thanks to an incomplete partial self-pantsing.
I have pissed myself on runs before in a host of ways for all sorts of reasons; I have pissed on Rosie by accident when she has joined me for mutual creekside urination-fests and I forgot to look down to see her squatting in front of me. The point isn’t to amuse anyone with this anecdote, because it’s dead serious business and anyone who laughs is an asshole. It’s that about half of the people reading can directly relate to it while the other half can only picture the spectacle. Nikki Hiltz might be able to picture it, and (full disclosure here) if she laughed, I wouldn’t blame her. But she will never have a first-hand story like this, just like I will never have a story about emitting flatus—intentionally or otherwise—in the course of undergoing cunnilingus.
I don’t care if people like Ryan Montgomery achieve in-group dame and financial success merely because they happen to be gay and loud, or brown and loud, or ugly and loud, at a time when corporations are pretending to see special value in these things so they can profit from the resulting culture wars. But I hope people start to push back against the pressure on races to start including a whole panoply of gender categories just to satisfy glory-seekers and mentally ill people who can run fast in circles.
Establishing a third category for everyone who wishes to deny their own biology would solve a lot of the problems these gender-zealots have caused. Male, female, and other would put an end to all of it from the perspective of the sane. But it wouldn’t be good enough for the narcissists rushing to populate this category, because they all want to be seen as special, and a single broad category would only allow that for a few individuals.
A recent survey reinforces what we* already knew: Most people are happy to treat transgender people as equals in society—thus zapping the “people deny our very right to exist” claim—but only about 1 in 6 (and dropping) wants to go along with the “men are women once they say they are” blather.
If this isn’t good enough for these folx, tough. Other people have opinions and not everyone is going to bend over and accommodate lunacy out of fear or being canceled for making true observations the vast majority of people agree with.
Finally, the Gen Zers responsible for most of this are not revolutionaries, except in the sense of being especially vicious, deluded, and stupid people. I’ve been seeing gay people, brown people, fantastically fat people, people with various disabilities (mostly extreme body odor or early-morning musty-crotch) at road races for decades and none of it has caused controversy. That’s because most people have historically been fine with being accepted and don’t need to be seen as heroes just for making it to age 21 as someone in a minority sexual category, especially one arising from all this neo-faggotry. Ask any standard gay person if they think they feel included under the umbrella of the endless-letters brigade or even wish to be.
Maybe the Gen Z deviants haven’t figured this out, or maybe they’re denying it to better make the failed case in their heads for being extra-special and being recognized as such by sponsors and potential sponsors. At any rate, it’s time for the world to stop accommodating every demand consequent to the psychological turmoil of fringe troublemakers and their associated histrionics.
Because you. Are. Not. That. Special. Ideally your family and close friends disagree, bit trust me, the rest of the world doesn’t care about your banners and insistence on “claiming space.” Just shut the hell up and run.