I made myself so busy that I didn’t have the time to think about identity. I continued to play intramural sports, anything that was co-ed, and worked out on my own for fitness, but I missed the connections I made with teammates and the dedication, persistence, and drive that fueled my soul while playing sports.

As I came to notice my discomfort in my own skin and my growing unease with being called “she” and “her” in public, I used sport as a way to connect with, and in some ways manipulate my body to make it feel like a more comfortable home. To be clear, I never felt like I was born into or trapped in the wrong body — that is the experience of some trans folks, but it was not how I would describe my relationship to my body. There were simply some parts I felt uncomfortable with, and I thought if I could build some muscle and slim down in certain areas, I would feel better in my skin. So I started lifting weights and running to exert some agency over my body, which at times felt out of my control.

After college, I began running and racing, working my way up from four-mile races to a10k, half marathons to a marathon, and then an ultra marathon. I felt satisfied trying to push myself, to see how far my body could go. After running a 60k race, I questioned what would be next. I bought a bike, committed to teaching myself how to swim, and signed up for my first triathlon. I won my category in that race and decided I was a triathlete. I was flooded with feelings that this would be my redemption; I thought it might be possible to fulfill my athletic dreams as an adult. But there was a new problem: I felt embarrassed to tell other people about my result because it was in the female category.

At this moment it became painfully clear to me something would have to give. I could either continue to pursue sport and see if I could be a successful female triathlete or I could pursue transition and publicly become the person I always felt like I was inside.