Two-time American University graduate Row Sullivan (‘23, ‘24) recounts their experience with collegiate cross country and track as it related to coming out as trans and nonbinary during their career. This Pride Month feature is written in the first person by Sullivan, a two-time All-Patriot League honoree and a nine-time Academic All-Patriot League selection.

Not many things stayed the same about me throughout college. Running remained. As I started painting my nails, and then growing out my hair, experimenting with new pronouns and eventually coming out as trans and nonbinary, it was still just me and the sound of my own two feet. On a long, winding run through Rock Creek Park, I was me in my purest form.
 
It’s a surprise to no one, but, competing in a Division I sport for five years is not easy, especially not for a girl entered in a category opposite the identity that she best aligns with. I had to learn how to be an advocate for myself. I learned how to come out over and over again and be confident in the person I am, the person I was, and the person I am becoming. And, I learned just how much collegiate sports meant to me.

When I made my first steps towards coming out during my junior year of cross country, and when I publicly came out as Row at the start of my senior year, a weight was lifted off my shoulders. I ran arguably the best races of my career while actively in the process of coming out and navigating my identity. There was power in toeing the line in pigtails and eyeliner with a trans pride pin on my uniform. Run like a girl, and you end up beating your fair share of boys.
 
There’s power. But there’s also learning how to navigate fear. It wasn’t always easy just making it to the line. I began to deal with feelings of anxiety surrounding racing and sometimes even training. Deep down, I was terrified of failing after putting myself in such a visible position.
 
I learned that it’s ok to need help. At the 2023 Patriot League Indoor Championships, I remember checking in for the 5000m final and the clerk of the course very adamantly and repeatedly pointing me towards the women’s check-in. I had to stand awkwardly and assert that, for better or for worse, I was in the right line for the right race. I was flattered, especially at that stage of my transition, but it also created a moment of panic. The facility we were at did not have an accessible gender-neutral restroom, so I had to ask my assistant coach (Zach Prescott) for assistance talking to meet officials to find an available option.
 
The situation was resolved, and I put together a decent race, finishing eighth, but I was also a little rattled and distracted. Instead of the task at hand, I became overly conscious of the image I was presenting in a space that was heavily binarily gendered. Still, it was calming to make it through the race with a performance I could be happy with. That night I reflected on how far I had already come. I thought about what first-year Row would have thought about the person that they had become. Then, I dutifully laid out my jersey, fastened my cyan, pink, and white pin on the left corner of my uniform, prepared a red and blue ribbon to be placed in my hair, and went to sleep in preparation for the 3000m the next day.

“I’m so proud of you, kid,” I heard my coach (Sean Graham) tell me while I was getting bear-hugged three feet off the ground. Those words still ring in my ear, perhaps because they were repeated almost ritualistically throughout both the highs and the lows of the final year and a half of my career. I had run what was maybe the best race of my career. I set a PR by 13 seconds, executed perfectly, and found myself standing on the podium with a third-place finish. Only good tears, but I cried a little. I’m not in the business of selling myself short, but it was more than I thought I was capable of achieving that day. I heard my name announced publicly as Row for the first time that day, and in that moment I think I took a big step forward in taking ownership of my identity and in feeling pride and confidence in myself.
 
Not everything was easy about navigating a gender transition amidst a collegiate track and cross country career. That may be an understatement. But I am grateful every day to the coaches and teammates who were supportive every step of the way, without whom I could have never made it as far as I did in the sport that I still love. To Emily, who made me feel like one of the girls before I was even fully out to myself. To Clare, who made me feel like I was never alone. To Rachael and Nate for making five years fly by. To Elise, Shelbi, Dua, Max, Eva, Ana, Kylie, and Brooke, and every AU runner past and present that made me happy to call American home.
 
And to every queer athlete: you belong. I love you, and I’m proud of you, kid.