Guest Editorial: A Lane for Every Woman
By Jennifer Rines (Guest Editorial)
I’m a transgender woman writing in response to Angie Griffin’s recent editorial. Like Angie, I swam in the women’s 45-49 100 breaststroke in San Antonio. Like Angie, I believe that every swimmer deserves a lane — and that the race must be fair.
Like Angie, I have a full life outside the pool. I have three children, a wife who teaches, two dogs, and a high-stress engineering job. I swim because I love the early morning work, because it keeps me healthy — physically and mentally — and because the pool gives me a sense of community. I’m grateful that USMS continues to include transgender athletes despite the intense political and social pressures. And I’m grateful to Swimming World for giving me the chance to respond.
I think creating a separate category for transgender athletes, at least at national-level events, might be an equitable solution worth serious discussion. It wouldn’t be perfect — it would force trans people to out themselves and face the real-world consequences of that — but it could help level the playing field. I’ve been asking USMS to consider this option since 2017 and have the emails to prove it.
At what point does the level of competition justify forcing someone to out themselves or barring them from participation altogether? What level of risk or physical contact warrants exclusion? There needs to be a sliding scale based on the level of play. Higher levels get higher scrutiny, lower levels focus on inclusion. I don’t think there’s a universal solution. Letting all trans women compete without restrictions isn’t fair. But banning all trans girls from sports is unjust. So where do we draw the line?
Trans people face additional barriers. This morning at practice, five swimmers shared Lane 1, five more crowded into Lane 2, six packed into Lane 4 — and I was alone in Lane 3. Nobody wanted to swim with me. This doesn’t happen most mornings. Many of my teammates are supportive — some might even like me. Before I transitioned, that never happened — not once. Usually, I’m good at brushing it off. But this morning I felt like crying. The message felt loud and clear: we don’t want you here.
I don’t feel safe using public women’s restrooms. I avoid eating or drinking away from home so I won’t have to. I’ve lost friends, neighbors, and colleagues I knew for decades. I’ve lost jobs. I’ve lost the ability to renew my passport. I’ve had longtime coaches refuse to use my name — one even played a clip from Eddie Murphy’s Delirious during a workout to mock me. When I told my current coach I was heading to Nationals in San Antonio to support trans kids, he responded by misgendering them and asking whether I thought it was okay to “force medical treatments on children.” I didn’t transition until I was 38. I spent most of my life hiding this part of me, afraid of losing my family, my job, my house — everything.
For a few years, I volunteered as an operator for a transgender support hotline. We discussed the best tools for survival – self-care and community. Sports can provide both. But too many young trans people are cut off from those lifelines. I’ve taken calls from kids bullied at school, misgendered by teachers, threatened by parents, subjected to conversion therapy. Where are those kids supposed to go? Who stands up for them?
At elite levels, separate results for transgender athletes might work — whether that’s at Masters Nationals, NCAA Championships, or the Olympics. But that doesn’t answer the more urgent question: What do we do about the everyday swim meets and sports leagues that shape kids’ lives?
Imagine being a college student and working up the courage to come out to your roommate — also your teammate — only to have them make your living situation unbearable. They out you to your team, try to remove you. Other teams refuse to compete. Your whole team’s season collapses — and your identity becomes national news. Imagine being on an NCAA team and getting kicked off midseason. You lose your team, your friends, your structure. You lose your chance to push yourself and feel proud of what your body can do. You’re told, loud and clear: there’s something wrong with you. Maybe Masters Nationals in San Antonio was the meet of the year for kids kicked off their college team this year.
My lines in the sand
It’s not ok to kick kids out of sports. It’s not ok to force minors to out themselves. It’s not ok to “discreetly remove times from the meet record.” It’s not ok to force trans girls to be on a boys’ team because they aren’t boys.
I believe women — all women — should decide how to move forward. We need a working group of cisgender and transgender women who can talk openly and respectfully, who can listen to each other’s fears and hopes, and who are empowered to make tough decisions that balance fairness and inclusion.
This conversation belongs in the hands of women who swim — not in the hands of men in Washington.
Discussion and debate are typically welcomed at Swimming World. However, vitriol will not be tolerated. At this point, comments on this article have been inactivated, which is a shame for those willing to have civil discourse.