A transgender pride flag appeared in the stands of Hayward Stadium in Eugene, Ore., just as middle distance runner Nikki Hiltz stepped onto the track.
The pink, blue and white flag was raised aloft, then waved as Hiltz, who identifies as transgender and nonbinary and uses their pronouns, took to the end of the track for the 1,500-meter final of the US National Championships in July.
“It’s a statement,” Hiltz said. “It reminded me that it’s bigger than just me.”
After 4 minutes 3.10 seconds, Hiltz broke the tape with an explosive final kick to beat a stacked field that included Athing Mu, the 800 gold medalist at the Tokyo Games; Cory McGee and Heather MacLean, Olympic 1,500 runners; and Sinclaire Johnson, the 2022 national champion in the event.
Hiltz got to this point, they say, in part because of the community around them that cheered not because of their fast times but because of what and who they stood for, starting with themselves.
“I just feel like the LGBTQ community needs a winner,” Hiltz, 28, said after becoming the national champion. A smile was drawn on their face. It was a ticket to the World Athletics Championships in Budapest, yes, but it was much more.
Because of the public sharing their gender identity on March 31, 2021, Hiltz bears this weight of representation, one that they accept.
Doing so has brought the Hiltzes joy in their community and heartbreak as they have witnessed an onslaught of bills placing restrictions on transgender youth, limiting participation in sports, gender-affirming medical care and – access to the bathroom.
The law also directly targets the health care of adults. Bills introduced in Oklahoma and South Carolina would make it a felony to provide hormonal or surgical transition treatment to transgender people younger than 26.
In March, the global governing body of track and field, World Athletics, was effective transgender women are banned from competing at the highest level of sport. The exception, similar to rules set by the world governing body for swimming in June 2022, will apply to “male-to-female transgender athletes who have gone through male puberty.”
The rules, which are often targeted at transgender women, are some of the strictest in international sports.
For Hiltz to continue competing at the highest level of women’s fields, they cannot pursue gender-affirming care, meaning, specifically, taking testosterone. They hope to one day have the top surgery, a gender-affirming double mastectomy, but at this point the goal is to wait until they have a chance to qualify for the Paris Olympics in 2024.
“Right now, competing in the women’s category is OK with me and my gender and where I am in that journey,” Hiltz said. “But the second is no, I will not sacrifice myself for my sport. I will choose my relationship with myself before my relationship with track and field.”
It’s a sensitive conversation that Hiltz has with a frequency that would freeze even the most media-savvy of athletes. Hiltz wasn’t just asked about their race strategy, their training or their reaction to their finish time. They are also asked to explain, if not justify, their existence, and to contextualize it during the culture wars. What does this win mean for them? What does this mean for the entire queer community, or for representation in general?
“I’ve probably talked more about my trans identities than actually unpacking the race,” Hiltz said the afternoon after winning the national title. That’s important, they say, but they add, “I am a nerdy athlete at the end of the day; I want to talk about tactics.”
Tactically, this race started about three years ago, when Hiltz changed almost everything.
They ended an Adidas contract and started one with Lululemon. They moved from Southern California, where they had spent most of their lives, to the thriving high-altitude running capital of Flagstaff, Ariz. They began working with Mike Smith, the coach at Northern Arizona University, and found new training partners. They adopted a dog named Scout with their partner, fellow runner Emma Gee. And they’ve become race organizers, hosting virtual and now in-person Pride 5-kilometer races to support LGBTQ organizations.
As personal events and races return as the pandemic reaches a new stage, Hiltz has a community waiting to cheer them on. Titles followed in road miles and track meets across the United States.
People “light up when they’re in Nikki’s presence,” said their mother, Liz Hiltz. “They feel like, ‘I’m in a safe place,’ and you can tell that it doesn’t happen too much to them. It breaks your heart that they can have such an influence in making people see and hear.
So when Hiltz arrived in Eugene with plans to host a community Pride run the day after the 1,500 final, they felt they had won. It’s the kind of sentiment athletes often share, meant to ease what can be crushing pressure. But when Hiltz says it, it’s not hard to believe.
“There’s less weight in the race because I’m balanced out of it,” Hiltz said.
Gee, who organized the Pride 5K event alongside Hiltz, nodded.
“It addresses Maslow’s hierarchy of needs,” he said, referring to the 1943 theory that people’s most basic needs must be met before they can concern themselves with anything else. “To have that big, crazy, intense athletic performance and then to have a community space set up the next day is really cool.”
A few hours before the July 8 race, Hiltz received their regular race quote (or in this case, the first verse and chorus from Guy Clark’s song “The Cape”) from their mother, who said she was being consulted. he pulled everyone from “Dr. Seuss to Rumi” to find the right kind of inspirational message to send before Hiltz stepped on the track. The tradition dates back to Hiltz’s days competing at the University of Arkansas. the course of the race, Liz Hiltz would sometimes blame the quote, and never use the same author again.
When the gun went off in the 1,500 final, the dozen competitors quickly got physical. There was some shoving as the athletes came around the first turn and someone stepped on the back of Hiltz’s shoe. With a quick and powerful step, they slammed their foot down to force the spike back into their foot. Another athlete, Dani Jones, was not so lucky. He lost his shoe in the kerfuffle and didn’t finish. Hiltz is tucked in the middle of the pack, patient.
When the bell rang to signal the final lap, Hiltz was cruising in fourth place, but said they knew they would finish in the top three to qualify for the world championships. Mu is ratcheting up the pace. Lactic acid builds up and burns, and at 300 meters, Hiltz debated hitting the gas. Instead, they played it safe and waited for the last 50.
“No one wants to curse me,” Hiltz said. And nothing was done. With the trans pride flag waving near the finish line, Hiltz passed Mu to win the race. They pass Mu — they repeat his name in the race story, rolling their eyes in their head — yes, Mu, the Olympic gold medal winner!
Mu finished second, Cory McGee third and Johnson fourth. With an automatic spot in the 800 as the defending champion, Mu decided to give up his spot in the 1,500 at the world championships, so McGee and Johnson will join Hiltz on the US 1,500 meter team.
In Budapest, where the heats begin on Saturday, the Americans will have to contend with Faith Kipyegon, the Kenyan powerhouse who has broken three world records in the past few weeks.
Whatever. A rising tide lifts all boats, say Kipyegon’s competitors. There are few finish lines filled with more enthusiastic, full-body post-race hugs.
On July 21, when Kipyegon broke the mile world record in an impressive 4:07.64, he took the field with him. Twelve of the 13 runners set personal bests and seven national records were broken. That group included Hiltz, who set a new American record in the mile with a time of 4:16.35, breaking the mark from 1985.
It was the latest result that fueled Hiltz’s unwavering belief in themselves, the same confidence they said they gained at the world championships in Doha, Qatar, in 2019. But this time it felt different.
“I’ve done a world final before, I’ve been there, done that,” Hiltz said. “Now I’m like ‘OK, what can I do?’”
They added: “My favorite thing is to compete and I’m excited to do it again on the world stage like that, with the momentum I have now and like the communities behind me.”
