Associated Press

Raiden Hung, of Jurassic Gymnastics in Boston, relaxes after competing on the uneven bars at the NAIGC national competition in Pittsburgh on Friday.Gene J. Puskar / AP

PITTSBURGH — Raiden Hung can’t imagine a life without gymnastics. And to be honest, he doesn’t want to.

There’s always been something about the sport that’s called to him. Something about flipping. Something about the discipline it requires. Something about the mixture of joy and calm he feels whenever he steps onto a mat.

“It keeps me sane, I guess,” the 21-year-old student at Northeastern University in Boston said. “Gymnastics is the love of my life basically.”

The hours in the gym have long served as a constant for Hung. The one thing he can always depend on. The one place where he can truly feel like himself.

Still, Hung feared he would be forced to give up gymnastics when he realized in his late teens that he was nonbinary. He had identified as female most of his life and competed in women’s events growing up. He says he now identifies as trans-masculine.

Part of Hung’s transition included beginning hormone replacement therapy, something he considered putting off over worries that it meant he would no longer be able to compete.

“It was sort of like, ‘Do I have to make a choice?’” Hung said. “And that would have probably been awful for my mental stability, like having to choose between the two.”

The National Association of Intercollegiate Gymnastics Clubs gave Hung safe harbor. The stated mission of the steadily growing organization that includes more than 2,500 athletes and 160 clubs across the country is to provide a place for college and adult gymnasts to continue competing while “pushing the boundaries of the sport.”

That includes, but is hardly limited to, being as gender-inclusive as possible.

During local NAIGC meets, for example, there are no gender categories. Athletes compete against every other athlete at their designated skill level, which can run from novice/developmental routines to ones that wouldn’t look out of place at an NCAA Division I meet.

Gymnasts can also hop on whatever apparatus they want. Women on parallel bars. Men on the balance beam. Just about anything goes. At its annual national meet, the NAIGC even offers the “decathlon,” which allows athletes of all gender identities to compete against each other across all 10 disciplines — six in men’s, four in women’s — of artistic gymnastics.

“(We want) people to be able to continue doing gymnastics into adulthood in a way that feels comfortable and safe and supportive for them,” said Ilana Shushanky, NAIGC’s director of operations.

A challenging climate

The approach comes as transgender athletes find themselves the target of increasingly heated rhetoric.

President Donald Trump signed an executive order in February that gave federal agencies wide latitude to ensure entities that receive federal funding abide by Title IX in alignment with the Trump administration’s view, which interprets “sex” as the gender someone was assigned at birth. A day later, the NCAA said it would limit competition in women’s sports to athletes who were assigned female at birth.

The message to the transgender community at large was clear: You do not belong here. Several trans and/or nonbinary members of the NAIGC, which is independently run and volunteer-led and does not rely on federal money to operate, felt it.

Multiple trans or nonbinary athletes who spoke to The Associated Press said they pondered quitting following last fall’s election, despondent over what at times feels like an increasingly hostile environment toward their community.

None did. One viewed stepping away as ceding power over a part of who they are to someone else. Another pointed to the social aspect of gymnastics and how vital the feeling of acceptance in their home gym was to maintaining proper mental and emotional health.

“Part of my identity is as an athlete and to see myself as strong and able to do hard things,” said Wes Weske, who is nonbinary and previously competed in the decathlon before recently graduating from medical school. “I think (gymnastics) really helped my self-image and was just an important part of understanding myself.”

A sense of normalcy

That sense of belonging was everywhere at the NAIGC’s national competition in early April. For three days, more than 1,700 athletes, including a dozen who registered their gender as “other,” turned a convention center hall in downtown Pittsburgh into what could best be described as a celebration.

Not just of gymnastics. But of diversity. And inclusion. It all looked and felt and sounded like any other large-scale meet. Cheers from one corner following a stuck dismount. Roars from another corner encouraging a competitor to hop back up after a fall.

For Hung and the 11 “other” competitors allowed to choose whether to compete in the men’s or women’s divisions, nationals provided the opportunity to salute the judges and stand alongside their teammates while being seen for who they really are.

When Hung dismounted from his uneven bars routine, several members of Jurassic Gymnastics, the all-adult competitive team based in Boston that Hung joined, came over to offer a hug, pep talk or both.

The group included Eric Petersen, a 49-year-old married father of two teenagers who competed on the men’s team at the Air Force Academy 30 years ago. He now dabbles in women’s artistic gymnastics alongside Hung at Jurassic.

“Certain people want to convince people that this is a big issue and people are losing their (minds),” Petersen said. “But it’s not like that. Other groups can be uptight about that if they want. But in this group, it’s about the love of the sport. If you love the sport, then do the sport and have fun, no matter who you are.”

Finding their way

Ten Harder got into gymnastics after being inspired by watching Gabby Douglas win gold at the 2012 Olympics. They spent their childhood competing as a woman but became increasingly uncomfortable at meets as they grew older.

Harder, 22, now a Ph. D. student at Boston University who identifies as nonbinary/trans masculine, felt like they had to make their own path. They connected on TikTok with a nonbinary gymnast from the Netherlands and started competing in a uniform that felt more natural, a practice leotard similar to a tank top and shorts. Over the last couple of years, they have run across other nonbinary or queer athletes, easing their sense of loneliness.

While there are times Harder admits they still grapple with feeling self-conscious about their gender identity even around teammates who have become friends and allies, there is also something greater at play.

“I think it’s important to remember that trans athletes are just people, too,” he said. “We deserve to be in the sports that we love. And we deserve to get a chance to compete and do everything just as other people do.”

As children across the U.S. head back to classes and practices for fall sports, four more states are expecting their K-12 schools to keep transgender girls off their girls teams.

Kansas, North Dakota and Wyoming had new laws in place restricting transgender athletes before classes resumed, and a Missouri law takes effect at the end of this month, bringing the number of states with restrictions to 23.

North Carolina could enact a ban later this month, and Ohio could follow in the fall. A few laws, including ones in Arizona and West Virginia, are on hold because of federal lawsuits.

This year’s new restrictions are part of a larger wave of legislation across the U.S. against transgender rights. Republican legislators in some states have banned gender-affirming care for minors, restricted transgender people’s use of school and public restrooms, limited what public schools can teach about gender and sexuality and barred schools from requiring the use of a transgender student’s preferred pronouns.

The sports laws have been imposed since 2020, and most are aimed at transgender girls. A majority cover less formal intramural contests organized within a single school’s student body as well as contests among different schools, and some restrict transgender boys as well. Almost all say other students and their parents can sue schools that don’t enforce the restrictions.

Lawmakers expect a child’s earliest birth certificate to determine which sports teams they can join. Principals and coaches are expected to be the enforcers.

“Those are uncomfortable conversations,” said Jeanne Woodbury, interim executive director of the LGBGT+ rights group Equality Arizona. “Everyone is going through that process.”

She added: “For trans kids, it’s never been a walk in the park, but now they have this law to contend with on top of everything else.”

In Oklahoma, where a law has been in place since 2022, athletes or their parents must file an annual affidavit “acknowledging the biological sex of the student at birth.”

Kansas and other states expect school officials to review a child’s earliest birth certificate if questions arise about an athlete’s eligibility.

Bill Faflick, executive director of the Kansas State High School Activities Association, said his state’s law has been greeted by a “matter of fact” acceptance in rules seminars for administrators and coaches.

“It has not been met with any resistance and has not been met with any outpouring of support or opposition, one way or the other,” Faflick said.

Even before the laws against transgender girls on girls teams passed, some states largely blocked the practice by handling questions or concerns on a case-by-case level at the school or state athletic association level.

Supporters of the restrictions argue that they’re protecting fair competition and scholarship opportunities for young women that took decades to win. They say that well before puberty, boys have physical advantages over girls in speed, strength and lung capacity.

“It’s a puzzlement to me that more people aren’t feeling sympathy for the girls whose sports careers are ruined,” said Tom Horne, the elected Republican state school superintendent in Arizona, who is defending his state’s law in federal court.

Doctors, parents, and LGBTQ+ rights advocates counter that boys’ physical advantages come with a surge in testosterone during puberty — changes gender-affirming care blocks.

Critics also argue that transgender athletes are so few that schools and associations governing school sports can handle their individual cases without a state law.

For example, in Kansas, the State High School Activities Association recorded 11 transgender athletes during the 2022-23 school year, and three were trans girls. Before Florida’s law took effect in 2021, its High School Athletic Association had cleared 13 transgender students to play in the previous eight years.

Becky Pepper-Jackson appeared to be the only transgender girl seeking to play girls’ sports in West Virginia in 2021 when the then-11-year-old and her mother, Heather Jackson, sued the state over its law.

Because of their lawsuit, the West Virginia law is on hold, and Becky, now a 13-year-old entering eighth grade, threw the discus and the shot put in seven track meets this spring.

The state is trying to persuade a federal appeals court to let it enforce its law, and in a filing last month, it cited the longer distances Becky threw this year as a reason. The state said any time another girl finished behind Becky in either event — more than 180 times — the other athlete had been unfairly “displaced.”

Jackson said the state knows her daughter only “on paper,” and Becky improved by training relentlessly at home with her own equipment.

“As a parent, all we want for our children is for them to be successful and happy, period,” Jackson told The Associated Press. “That should be an opportunity for everybody, every time, everywhere in this country.”

Educators and LGBTQ+ rights advocates argue that transgender kids aren’t the only athletes likely to feel the effects of the laws. Some worry that parents will challenge the right to play of cisgendered girls who are taller or more muscular than their peers — or just a whole lot better.

One of athletes who sued Idaho over its 2020 law was a 17-year-old cisgendered girl, listed only as Jane Doe. The lawsuit said she had an “athletic build” and wanted to avoid ”invasive or uncomfortable” gender tests.

“It’s going to create this feeling in some people that, ‘I can go question someone’s gender, and it’s my right to do that,’” said G.A. Buie, executive director of United School Administrators of Kansas, an association representing public school leaders.

Parents, doctors and LGBTQ+ rights advocates say restrictions on transgender athletes are less about sports and more about trying to make transgender kids disappear from society.

“What lawmakers fail to understand is that transgender people, nonbinary people, intersex people, have always been here,” said Anne Lieberman, policy and programs director for Athlete Ally, a group that advocates for transgender athletes. “Unless it is known that a student is trans, it is very hard to keep somebody from playing sports.”

Female transgender athletes who transitioned after male puberty will no longer be able to compete in women’s races, world cycling governing body the UCI said Friday.

The decision came after American rider Austin Killips became the first openly transgender woman to win an official cycling event earlier this year.

“From now on, female transgender athletes who have transitioned after (male) puberty will be prohibited from participating in women’s events on the UCI International Calendar — in all categories — in the various disciplines,” the international federation said in a statement.

The UCI said the ban, starting on Monday, was necessary to “ensure equal opportunities.”

Killips rode to victory in the fifth stage of the Tour of the Gila, one of the marquee U.S. stage races. Her victory provoked a negative reaction by some cycling fans and former racers despite the 27-year-old athlete having adhered to a policy put in place by the UCI last year requiring transgender athletes to have serum testosterone levels of 2.5 nanomoles per liter or less for at least 24 months before competing in women’s events.

The UCI said Friday it “has taken note of the state of scientific knowledge, which does not confirm that at least two years of gender-affirming hormone therapy with a target plasma testosterone concentration of 2.5 nmol/L is sufficient to completely eliminate the benefits of testosterone during puberty in men.”

It also noted the difficulty to “draw precise conclusions about the effects” of gender-confirming hormone therapy.

“Given the current state of scientific knowledge, it is also impossible to rule out the possibility that biomechanical factors such as the shape and arrangement of the bones in their limbs may constitute a lasting advantage for female transgender athletes,” the UCI added.

Despite the ban, UCI president David Lappartient said “the UCI would like to reaffirm that cycling — as a competitive sport, leisure activity or means of transport — is open to everyone, including transgender people, whom we encourage like everyone else to take part in our sport.

It also noted the difficulty to “draw precise conclusions about the effects” of gender-confirming hormone therapy.

“Given the current state of scientific knowledge, it is also impossible to rule out the possibility that biomechanical factors such as the shape and arrangement of the bones in their limbs may constitute a lasting advantage for female transgender athletes,” the UCI added.

Despite the ban, UCI president David Lappartient said “the UCI would like to reaffirm that cycling — as a competitive sport, leisure activity or means of transport — is open to everyone, including transgender people, whom we encourage like everyone else to take part in our sport.