When you were in Paris, you were approached for autographs for the first time at a world championship. What was that like?

I was very confused. It was my first world championship. I was so excited. For me, it already felt like a huge achievement. This was in the middle of Paris. We were competing at the Grand Palais. The whole thing is unfolding like a fairy tale, in the sense that Paris is the epicenter of fencing in the world. In France, a place that has struggled with the idea of hijab and with the Muslim community, I feel like it was a moment for even French citizens to see a Muslim woman on television.

I think what people will find most surprising about your story is the amount of resistance you faced from Ed Korfanty, your coach, and teammates on Team U.S.A. Why do you think they were so resistant to your success?

It’s hard to put your finger on it. A lot of it has to do with fencing being an individual sport. It’s a very competitive, contentious environment. There’s a limited number of spots on the team.

For me, that initial pushback was not there until I started to win. Initially, it was just kind of like, “You’re different. Let’s ask weird questions about hijab and prayers.” But they were really more out of pure ignorance than hatred. Really silly things like, “Do you use a magic carpet to pray?” Stuff like that. These are the kind of “microaggressions” I had to endure. But then I realized that as I started to climb and do better, the energy changes because then you’re seen as a threat. My teammates would do really silly things, like not telling me there was a team practice. Then it became very clear: “We don’t want you here.”

Having to navigate that space, unfortunately, can be common for athletes who are among the first in their sport.

After the Olympics, you write in your book that you received a death threat. Was that your first one?