As a former division-one track athlete, a two-time member of the US National Quidditch team, and a creative director on the women's pro tennis tour, it's easy to show people that sports have a special place in my life. Why else would someone voluntarily run marathons, you know? But, sometimes when I think about it, I wonder how I was able to love something that never wanted me there in the first place.

​

Growing up in a sports-focused family, most of my childhood memories are tied to athletics in some way (for better or for worse). While my success on the field offered a certain degree of validation, there was always a distance between me and my teammates that took years for me to fully understand. 

​

I, like many others, endured my fair share of teasing. Homophobic slurs were the weapon of choice amongst my peers, and while I didn't know it at the time, the environment I was in pushed me deeper and deeper into the closet. I didn't know I was gay, but it was clear to me that gay men couldn't exist in high-level sports. They were "lesser" in some way, and athletics was not their arena.

 

Or so I was taught to believe.

​

When I finally began to understand who I was and found the strength to come out, I felt like I had to work twice as hard to earn respect from others. Whether or not that was actually true, the emotional impact of my past experiences made me feel inferior. I had to run faster. Tackle harder. Score more. I had to make up for who I was and, even if I was the best athlete on the field, I needed to prove I was as good as anyone else – especially to myself.

​

Through years of support, growth, and experience, I was able to embrace and love the man that I am. The journey was dark and difficult at times, but I would not change a thing about where I've been. I've learned empathy, I've learned self-worth, and most importantly, I've learned how valuable it is for people to speak up and be visible. The world needs champions of LGBTQ+ equality, and even the smallest acts of courage can change someone's life.

 

Now, I feel my purpose is to give back – to be an example for those who still feel lost, alone, and who are looking for someone like themselves. I have a voice, and I will spend my life using it for something good.