On what was certain to be one of the last nice days in Minnesota, I was so excited to pick up my bike from my neighbor turned friend turned teammate, Elise. I tossed on some shorts and a windbreaker and, quite literally, ran down the street to her house. After a quick lesson on how to change my pedals (gulp) for clip shoe pedals (double gulp) and loading up my pack with all the stuff she was lending me, I was ready to bike home. It had been weeks since my last ride and, as silly as it was, I was excited to bike the 0.63 miles from Elise’s to my apartment. I missed the feeling of the air against my legs as I zipped down the streets of Minneapolis.
“You must be cold!” exclaimed a man walking across the street. A fair comment, it was 29 degrees and windy. But the sun was out and I had on enough clothes to keep me warm for my six minute ride. Plus, I’m of the Minnesota mentality that shorts are a way of life, not a seasonal wear.
I love my neighborhood. While I’m out walking, running, biking or hanging with my dogs, I take everyone I meet to be a neighbor. And I LOVE sharing a few moments with the people I pass by and never miss an opportunity to chat, even if it’s just for a moment. Especially if it was about my shorts wearing antics. So, tongue in cheek, I responded, “It’s so nice out!”
“Yeah, and you’ve got those sexy legs to keep you warm.”
I started riding my bike again in the spring of 2020. I was tired of my bike staring at me from across the room, where I sat every day during the early pandemic shutdowns. I had never been a serious rider - five mile laps around the lake with my Grandma, biking into town for tennis practice senior year, cruising the “ones” with friends and a boombox duct taped to my handlebars the summer after I graduated high school. A friend helped me put air in the tires (did you know there’s two kinds of air valves?) and I set off for my first ride - 3 miles to meet a friend for ice cream, because I knew I could walk that far if I couldn’t handle the ride.
I never expected to fall in love with my bike, or with riding my bike.
But the joy I felt was insurmountable. The feeling of the air on my face biking down Nicollet Ave as I raced to make it to the library before close. Leisurely making my way to the Mill City Farmer’s Market to meet friends for breakfast and then gliding down to the Washington Ave Trader Joe’s to grab a few groceries for the first time by bike. Taking the long way home around the lakes and onto the Midtown Greenway at dusk. Looking at things I drove past every day with fresh eyes, taking in things I’d never noticed before. I couldn’t keep a smile off my face. Full teeth. Laughing to myself. Why had I ever stopped doing this?
Later that month, George Floyd was murdered 20 blocks from my apartment. Biking became a way to get to protests, biking after curfew became an act of defiance - a way to bite my thumb at the cop cars and tanks I flew past. Biking became an escape after weeks of not sleeping and living off of red bull and cosmic brownies. A temporary reprieve from the state of the city I loved, a way to process the thoughts swirling through my head and the feelings buzzing around in my body. Biking was the way I returned back to myself, to my body, and eventually, to joy.
And as a trans person, joy is an act of defiance. In a world that refuses to understand our experience and refuses to open its minds and hearts, to be committed to joy is radical. The source of my joy is my bike. Dialing into a zoom call where everyone else was in their living rooms or home offices while I was on my bike, making my way home. In biking the Twin Cities Marathon route with a new friend and setting a new distance PR. In biking to meet with friends downtown for a casual hang. In biking to new places or old places or any place really. The rush of pedaling never fades. Biking is a thing I get to do that centers my joy. And to let that level of joy and happiness into my trans body feels healing and revolutionary in a way that I don’t think resonates with my cisgender friends.
“Yeah, and you’ve got those sexy legs to keep you warm.”
11 words. A simple cat call. That’s all it took to remove myself from my body and from my joy. I was no longer Sarah on a bike. I was an object. And what’s worse, someone was maybe perceiving me to be a gender I don’t identify with. This comment, this cat call, let me know that I was not passing despite being on a “men’s” bike, wearing “men’s” shoes, and having on a baggy windbreaker. Not things I had thoughtfully considered when I left my house - I just get dressed - but all things I obsess over when someone misgenders me or perceives my gender.
Which is why my heart breaks for the trans athletes that were subjected to the harassment of an anti-trans hate group during USAC’s Cycling Cyclocross Nationals event December 12th. As an athlete, I know one of the most important things during an event is to be able to keep your mental focus on your sport. As a trans person, I know how impossible that can be after your sense of safety is removed. I cannot imagine what that is like when participating in an elite heat when the organizers of the event sat idly by and allowed this to happen.
You deserve better. We deserve better. Cycling deserves better.
Stamina Racing Collective is determined to be a part of the solution to create a more inclusive sport in which members of marginalized communities feel welcomed and valued and as such, continues to call on USAC to act now to protect ALL it’s athletes. Our requests of USAC have largely been ignored, despite Stamina participating in their inclusion roundtables, offering up resources, and continuing to gracefully call in USAC over the last year.
The future of cycling is uncertain as many of us wait and see what will become of USAC and our own participation (or lack of) in their events for the 2022 season. There is one thing we do know: trans athletes deserve to feel safe when they cycle and we will continue to make that space and help educate others so they feel empowered to as well.