I have a very distinct memory from my sixth birthday. When I blew out the candles on my birthday cake, I wished that the next morning, I would wake up a boy.
Six-year-old me expressed my gender identity through having short hair, wearing baseball caps, and refusing to wear dresses. I felt most like myself when I was playing football with the boys during recess, when my dad called me Nick instead of Nikki, and when the substitute teachers would mistake me for a boy.
What I didn’t know then was how to explain that my gender identity differs from the sex I was assigned at birth. While I’ve felt this way my whole life, I only recently came out about it publicly.
On March 31, 2021—Transgender Day of Visibility, and nearly twenty years after making that birthday wish—I made an announcement on Instagram explaining my fluidity with gender. It was an exciting and personal moment for me, because I’m finally at a place in my life where I can share who I’ve been all along. I have the education and context, as well as the proper language, to best describe myself. I have the confidence to accurately share my truth and the affirming love and support of my family and friends.
So I’ll share it here again: I’m transgender, I don’t identify with the sex I was assigned at birth, I currently describe my gender as non-binary, and I prefer they/them pronouns.
Growing up, sports was a place I felt like I could be most like myself. On the playing field it didn’t matter if I was a girl or a boy. I ran fast, and kids always respect the fast kid, regardless of gender.
After becoming the California state champion at 1600 meters, I earned a track scholarship to the University of Oregon. After two years, I transferred to the University of Arkansas. By the time I exhausted my collegiate eligibility, I had earned seven All-American honors, including two runner-up finishes in the 1500 meters at the NCAA championships.
That led to 2018, when I signed a shoe contract with adidas and became a professional runner, turning my passion into my career.
Then, I had a breakthrough season in 2019. I won the USATF Road Mile Championships in Des Moines, Iowa, setting the course record and claiming my first national title. Three months later, also in Des Moines, I placed third in the 1500 meters at the U.S. Track and Field Outdoor Championships, earning me a spot on the world championship team. At the World Athletics Championship In Doha, Qatar, I qualified for the final and placed 12th in the world.
After the world championship, I took some down time to reset and refocus. By February 2020, I was gearing up for another strong outdoor season and hopefully, another top-three finish at the national championships. This time, a spot on the Olympic team was at stake.
But because of the COVID-19 pandemic, the 2020 outdoor track season was canceled, and the Olympic Games were rescheduled.
With my running dreams on hold, I had time to process, understand, and honor my gender identity in ways I hadn’t before. In part because I still didn’t feel comfortable enough to come out, I began further leaning into my advocacy work for the LGBTQ community, more determined than ever to create spaces for queer people. In June, I decided to put on a virtual 5K race during Pride Month and donated all the proceeds to the Trevor Project, an organization providing crisis and suicide intervention to LGBTQ youth.
Nearly 2,000 people from around the world signed up. People who had never run farther than two miles completed a 5K for the first time, and there was an entire family that ran the race together to celebrate a daughter who had recently come out. In total, we ended up donating $33,000 to the Trevor Project.
One of the most surprising and rewarding parts of the Pride 5K was realizing that people were using the race to come out. At least four participants publicly came out as queer on race day, proudly wearing the “Love More Than Ever” race t-shirt, and showing up as their full authentic selves. This represented everything I hoped this race would become: a safe space for people to show up as themselves. I knew then that this race wasn’t a one-time quarantine special, it was something I wanted to do for years to come.
When I sat down to plan the 2021 Pride 5K, I knew I wanted to connect with the four brave people who came out. On a personal level, I was a closeted queer person excited to hear powerful coming out stories. I also knew sharing their experiences could inspire and impact the entire Pride 5K community.
At the end of March 2021, I started recording podcast episodes with the four people who came out during the Pride 5K. On March 30, after finishing up my very first podcast recording, I called my girlfriend and told her I was ready to share my gender identity with the world.
There was something so special, so comforting about the conversation I had with my very first guest, Maria Cinquegran. Her story reminded me that vulnerability is the birthplace of belonging. She spoke about the freedom and joy she felt after coming out. She also talked about how there are various days throughout the year, such as National Coming Out Day in October, that create a deliberate and celebrated space for people to come out. For her, that day happened to be June 28, 2020, the first Pride 5K race.
For me, that day happened to be March 31, Transgender Day of Visibility. I came out too. And by coming out, I fulfilled a wish I made on my 26th birthday, 20 years after I wished I would wake up a boy. I wished that by my next birthday, I would be ready to come out and live openly as trans.
And I am.
