Pregnancy Series Part 7: Postpartum

It’s been many months since I have gotten to properly work out. Like push my body, sweaty and high on endorphins working out. Whose idea was it to stack late pregnancy, birth and then postpartum back to back to back? Someone should really work an off-week in there somewhere. In the early weeks after giving birth, when I felt like I was drowning in blood, sweat and breast milk, I told myself: “just get to 6 weeks.” I had heard from countless sources that the magic 6 week mark is when everything would change: I would go back to having sex, my baby would turn a sleep corner and, most importantly, I would be able to exercise. And, of course, when you tell an athlete she’s going to be able to exercise, she thinks: Super. I’ll go for a 30 minute run, or an hour long bike ride, or I’ll fire my gym membership back up and start a simple program. Just something easy to get back on track. 

I was at my 6 week appointment when the midwife told me she was going to check my pelvic floor. She stuck her fingers up my vaginal canal and instructed me to do a kegel (contract my pelvic floor muscles). I was clenching as hard as I could when she said, “Okay, whenever you’re ready, do it!” 

Insert melting emoji. 

I didn’t need that appointment to know that I wasn’t ready to go for a run. Everything felt weak and my pelvic floor hurt when I walked more than 20 minutes. My breasts were constantly full of milk and so heavy I couldn’t imagine trying to move at a pace quicker than a stroll. Everything still felt so soft and sore and heavy and sweaty and clingy. Also, I feel like it doesn’t really hit until you do it, but the baby cannot be left alone like… ever? 

It has been a crazy bind. In some ways, I need to work out more than I ever have in my life. Working out helps me regulate my moods and my sleep, both of which could seriously use some regulating during the postpartum period. I desperately want to feel more at home in my body. I want to feel strong. I want to be able to strap my baby to me and go for long rambling hikes, feeding her on the path like a beautiful hippie goddess. At the same time, I have very little energy to work out, and working out doesn’t bring even close to the same level of goodness and relief that it once did. It leaves me feeling sore in places I’ve never felt sore, sticky, smelly and exhausted. As an athlete, it’s demoralizing to have working out, even a little bit, feel like slogging through mud. Oftentimes it feels not worth it. When I have a moment to myself, all I want to do is sleep. Or just be by myself. Firing up to do tiny amounts of exercise feels bad not only physically, but also it makes me feel guilty. 

We talk a lot about the pressure to bounce back after pregnancy, but in my experience, there is now a sneaky new pressure that is a confusing mix of empowering and insidious. This pressure is to not bounce back, and instead embrace your new, squishy body without making any changes (empowering, perhaps). But it also comes with an unwritten message that a desire to change your new mom bod is selfish and unnecessary (insidious). The messaging is that your body now belongs to your baby and whatever the baby needs (or society or social media tell you the baby needs) comes first. If the baby needs you to never leave in order to exercise, you never leave. If the baby refuses to be handed over to your partner so you can do PT exercises, or shower, or poop, you let that baby velcro herself to your body.

The sacrifices that I felt like I was expected to make during pregnancy pale in comparison to the sacrificial expectations that American society has for new mothers. Wanting things for myself, and especially wanting my bodily autonomy back, feels selfish. I have the most loving and supportive husband of anyone I know, and I still feel wracked with guilt when he spends a long time looking after our daughter alone. She feels like my responsibility, and that the correct thing for me to be doing is destroying my physical and mental well-being on her behalf. As a retired athlete, there’s no longer a financial reason why my body can’t belong solely to my baby. I was talking to my sister in law about how hard it’s been to transfer the baby from sleeping on me to sleeping on another surface. She replied, “But where do you need to go?”

I thought I would be really changed, as a person, by motherhood. Turns out I’m the same person that I was before. I still have insomnia (Truly unfortunate. Many nights my baby sleeps better than I do.) and a bottomless well of patience for mundanely hard and boring activities (just as useful for baby caring as it was for rowing or riding bikes). I love my baby fiercely and protectively, and some days all I want to do is snuggle her head into my neck and hold onto her. I also still want to be strong, and fast, and feel good in my body. I want my body. Period. And more than anything, I don’t want my love and care for my daughter to feel like a sacrifice: I want it to feel like a choice. Before having our daughter, my husband and I said, “We don’t want our lives to change. We’re just going to bring her along to whatever we do!” This is a classic saying only ever said by people who have never had children. Of course our lives have changed. How could they not when there is a whole new person living in them? But my body hasn’t stopped belonging to me. 

Say it with me: your body doesn’t belong to your baby.

I hope that I can teach my daughter that her body belongs to her alone. I hope I can teach her lessons about autonomy and consent, about power and possibility. I hope if she ever decides to have a child, that she will get to feel all of the magic that comes with being able to create life in and with her body, and less of the guilt that comes from protecting what’s hers. Because while she may be my daughter, she’ll never belong to me. She’s already a powerful, independent woman in the making, and, as the kids say, I love that for her. 

Pregnancy series part 6: Birth

Many, many times during pregnancy, when I told people that I had had a career in professional athletics, people would rush to assure me that birth was going to be “so easy.” I feel really lucky to have a few close athlete friends who have gone through pregnancy and birth to know that none of this is easy. However, it was hard to shake off the idea that because I’ve been through tough physical challenges, this one wouldn’t be that bad. The reasonable voice said, “You don’t know what this is going to be like: don’t have any expectations.” But the little voice of pride and comparison also said, “They’re right! You’re tougher than most people you know. If she could do it then you can definitely do it, no problem.”

It was my intention to try to give birth without anaesthesia. There are a lot of reasons women choose to do this incredibly difficult and painful thing without the help of painkillers, mine mostly involved research I had read about a slightly shorter labor and slightly lower risk of tearing or a cesarean section; all things I was interested in. I was not that curious about pain. Between lots of intentional pain cave visits and my fair share of injuries, I don’t feel the need for any more pain. But, like I said, I figured this pain I could handle. 

In endurance sports we talk a lot about being “on top” of an effort. It’s a feeling that can translate to a lot of things: a busy schedule, a to-do list, a meeting with an insufferable mansplainer or just the everyday bustle of being. It’s essentially the feeling that you have control over the task at hand; it’s not controlling you. I’m too risk averse to surf, but I imagine it’s something like riding the wave versus getting tumbled and pummeled by water. 

I went into labor just around midnight, and the first hours of labor were more or less what I had expected. Intense contractions became increasingly painful and closer together while I breathed and bounced on my swiss ball. (When people say birth ball, this is what they mean. Please don’t buy anything special: it’s not different.) I opened the door to the endurance pain cave of my brain and made myself at home there like I had so many times before. I wouldn’t say I love it there but it’s familiar. The floor is cold and the furniture isn’t great, but I know where not to bump my knees and the surfaces are worn from my persistent presence. I’ve spent hours here, alone and in companionship. I was prepared for a long stay: I even was looking forward to brushing the dust off the familiar corners. Pregnancy is a time of anticipation, and I was ready for the active submersion into difficulty. 

I’m sure, dear reader, that you know where this is going. 

We went to the hospital in the morning, and I wasn’t so deep in the pain cave that I couldn’t backseat drive. But not long after we arrived, the pain changed. While before it had been intense, now it was showing white behind my eyes. The pain was pointed and searing, like someone was repeatedly sticking a sharp knife into my pelvis and slicing it up across my uterus. On the way up, its rusty edge scraped a staccato across my bones and nerves. I was prepared for pain, but not for this. What’s more, I was only about half a centimeter dilated (the pushing stage of birth begins at around 10 centimeters of dilation). Giving birth no longer felt like something I was doing, but like something that was driving me somewhere dark and helpless. There was nothing familiar about this cave. There was a sense of dread looming over every contraction, and one bled messily into the next in a pool of pain and tears. I was screaming, my partner was sobbing: the wave and the pain was everywhere on top of us.

After about four hours of this, I made the decision to get an epidural. This was absolutely the right decision for me during my labor: it allowed me to breathe. To rest. It allowed me to have moments of connection with my body, my partner and my baby during labor that felt joyful. It brought me curiosity and even laughter. It allowed me to be lucid enough to find humor in the fact that my daughter was born to “Tennessee Whiskey” by Chris Stapleton in a public hospital in the north of Spain. I feel very lucky that I didn’t get pummeled to the end: that I had some moments of riding on top of the wild wave that brought me my daughter. 

Birth is a wild process, and it’s difficult enough without any expectations put on top of it. My hope is that if you have a birth plan, you also plan to be surprised by birth, and open to its changes. In some ways I felt prepared by my athletic experience for birth, but, unlike so many of my sports’ experiences, race day felt nothing like practice. Not only the physical pain, but also the emotional roller coaster of meeting the life that had been growing literally inside of me (still so trippy). It’s an experience that is helped by preparation, but also goes beyond preparation. 

This is also your permission slip to do whatever you need to do to not only have a healthy birth, but, if possible, to find some joy in the journey. Birth is hard. Parenting is also incredibly hard. There are an unlimited number of people out there with an unlimited amount of opinions about what you should and shouldn’t do during pregnancy, birth and when raising children. Furthermore, these people can make you feel that if you don’t do what they’re recommending, you’re a bad parent and person who doesn’t care about your baby or their future. I think, if you move towards joy and spaciousness, and away from punishing yourself, you’ll be on the right track.

***

Originally published May 11, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 6: Birth” Property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Pregnancy series part 5: Third Trimester

This blog needs a disclaimer at the top. After competing in the 2024 Games, my husband and I decided to move from California to Girona, Spain. We made a first trip with our stuff in August of 2024 and when I stepped out of the taxi into the city I almost turned around and got right back in. It was hot. We don’t even live in the hot part of Spain! I was promised that the climate was very similar to the Bay Area, but, let me assure you, the summers are not created equal. I was sweating from the moment I woke up to the moment I went to sleep, and, actually, most of the moments I was asleep as well. (Europe is famously not famous for its air conditioning.) 

When I was contemplating a very positive-looking pregnancy test back in November, I frantically started counting. And then recounting. I swear I could already feel the sweat gathering at the base of my neck, running down my spine and pooling under my breasts. Due date right in the middle of August. I was melting in discomfort the summer before without a huge belly: how on earth was I supposed to get through months of stifling heat while putting on more and more weight? Would I be able to sleep? Breathe? Walk? Exist without being such a drama queen that I threatened the stability of my marriage before the baby even arrived?

So. All this to say. My experience of my third trimester of pregnancy has been extreeeemely colored by the heat. And it’s been just about as uncomfortable (at times) as I imagined. 

There is something very official sounding and feeling about being in your third trimester. In most places with good NICUs, if your baby were to come out once you’re in your third trimester, they would probably survive. Cue the panic preparing for an outcome that is unlikely (but not impossible! It could happen any day! Screams my brain.): the baby could come at any minute.

The third trimester brings continued changes in both physical and emotional flavors. 

The physical changes for me definitely began to hit. Swollen feet (and fingers!), insomnia, increased fatigue and really just in general it is more difficult to do things when you have a huge belly that wasn’t there before! Everyone around me was saying, “Wow! Time flies! You’re so pregnant!” But honestly it felt like the longest 9 months of my life. It was hard to remember a time when I wasn’t pregnant, and I found myself looking at pictures and videos of my former body with a strange fascination: who was that? Is that agile woman somewhere inside me? Will she emerge again? The third trimester of pregnancy is uncomfortable. At times almost unbearably so (see disclaimer at the top). It’s difficult to roll over in bed, get out of a low seat in a car, wash dishes or walk quickly. Lifting weights was a humbling experience y’all. Walking up the stairs at times left me breathless. But, as with so many challenges in sports, the real battle was happening on the inside. 

Emotional changes were definitely an influx of hormones of one type or another (lots of crying), and also yet another type of pregnancy induced anxiety. You start thinking more about the reality of birthing a small human, and, even more intimidating, about actually having a small human in your home. The birthing and the parenting require an insane amount of decisions to be made in a way that pregnancy sort of prepares you for, but really doesn’t. The big ones for me were: labor, feeding the baby and sleeping the baby.

Are you going to get an epidural or not? What about vitamin K shots in the newborn baby’s eye? Delayed cord clamping? Do you want to labor in your own bathrobe? What type of yoga ball do you want to bounce on? When is the right moment to go to the hospital? Which hospital? You should definitely co sleep with the baby. You should never co sleep with the baby! What type of muslin swaddle did you buy? How will the baby sleep safely with that swaddle?? You must exclusively breast feed the baby. Feeding the baby with formula will allow you to sleep, and this will prevent childhood trauma! There seems to be an insane amount of pressure on making the right decisions, but shockingly little consensus on what the right decisions are. 

As an athlete, I’m great at following a plan. I’m super disciplined. Give me a goal and a training plan and I will never miss a day. This is because, from all my years as an athlete, I’ve learned that preparation is the best way to prepare for success. The “fail to prepare, prepare to fail” mantra has worked its way into all of our consciousnesses as athletes, one way or another. 

One of my self-talk phrases before a race is, “I’ve prepared for this.” Another one is, “I know how to do this.” My confidence in race situations comes from good preparation, and an intensive understanding of what I am about to attempt. This confidence comes from years of execution, both in practice and on the field of play. The first of anything is almost always a wash. “Well, it was your first nationals!” “It was your first pro race!” The underlying expectation here is that it is a-okay to mess it all up the first couple go rounds. How is anyone supposed to get anything right on their first try? Sometimes we surprise ourselves, but there is rarely an insane amount of pressure on the first attempt.

Late in my third trimester, in an attempt to ease my anxiety, my husband said, “You can’t prepare for this.” I broke into tears. How was I supposed to approach my hardest physical challenge yet without my most basic tool? 

This was true and not. You can prepare for birth. You know best how you react to stressful and painful situations, and packing a hospital bag full of your favorite comfort items will help. You can surround yourself with your best race day support team. You can prepare some of your favorite snacks. But I think the most important preparation is somehow understanding that you cannot be fully prepared for something you’ve never done before. I know! It seems intuitive but let me tell you that is not the messaging that is out there. There is a weird pressure to be incredibly certain, prepped and ready for something unknown. (Everyone looooves to ask the question, “Are you ready?” as if there is some mock test to take and pass that will determine readiness for birth.) It is normal not to be prepared for this particular challenge. One more time, louder for the people in the back: it is normal to be unprepared for something you’ve never done before. It’s normal to be unprepared for something you’ve only done once, or twice, or three times. For me, the self-talk changed from, “I am prepared for this,” to “I trust my body and my birthing team.” “I trust that, whatever happens, I have the strength to handle it.” 

Lastly, it is okay to make mistakes! You are not a terrible person if you make a mistake or change your mind. This is also not really talked about! Because, if you are doing the absolute right thing from the beginning, why would you change your mind? Gentle reminder that there are very few things in this process that are the objective “right thing.” You have the right to change your mind as your experience and circumstances change. As my obgyn friend likes to say, “it’s a lawless land!” You get to make your own laws, which, while incredibly terrifying, can also be freeing.

So. As birth approaches, remember that there’s no training plan for this race day. This one’s more like getting ready to ride the biggest roller coaster you’ve ever been on. Strap in and try to enjoy the ride. 

***

Originally published April 28, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 5: The Third Trimester” Property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Pregnancy series part 4: Second Trimester

Oh yes, oh yes! The famous second trimester!! When you have loads of energy and you feel amazing and all you want to do is glow and have sex! 

In my opinion and experience, a little overhyped. 

I suspect that part of why the second trimester feels so magical for so many women is because it is not the first trimester. But since my first trimester was not that bad, my second trimester just didn’t feel significantly different, especially in terms of energy level. During my first trimester I felt vaguely more tired and at times a lil nauseous. In my second trimester, I felt largely the same. I could continue to work out and live my life pretty much as normal. I didn’t feel more glowy, or beautiful, or really any different than I had before. 

But although I wasn’t experiencing ground shattering changes emotionally, my body was definitely starting to change. And of course, as an athlete, it’s hard to have one without the other. As I started to see physical changes taking shape, the gravity of what was happening to me slowly began to sink in. It struck me, in a way it hadn’t before I was actually pregnant, that some of the changes coming could be permanent. My breasts might never be the same. My stomach might never be the same. My vagina will never be the same. Will my hips ever recover? Will my pelvic floor? Yet another disorienting (and for me, unexpected) part of pregnancy and childbirth is that it is impossible to predict the degree of these changes (a lot, a little) and their permanency (forever, temporary, somewhere in between?).

People who give birth are asked to sacrifice an unknowable amount of themselves, physically but also emotionally, mentally and temporally. There are, of course, sacrifices made by everyone who is involved in the having of, and caring for, a child. But the birthing person is the one who gives up their bodily autonomy; the version of their body as they know it. They are also the person who society expects to say, “any amount of sacrifice is worth it!” in regards to carrying and birthing a child. When you think about it, this is kind of bonkers given the amount of certainty you have in hand when you begin the process of a pregnancy. When else do we ask people to blindly agree to an undetermined amount of sacrifice, subject to shift at any time? Especially when the reward promises even more sacrifice and uncertainty down the road?

During my second trimester, it was still difficult for me to think of my growing baby as a baby, and not as a little bunch of cells making me tired. Which, of course, made me feel guilty. I had friends who said, “I mean, I’d do anything for my baby,” and, “how can I already love him this much??” at 15 weeks. I just didn’t feel that way. I didn’t feel as though my connection to my baby at this point in the pregnancy was strong enough to justify any sacrifice. I did not know, for sure, what I would and wouldn’t do if called upon for a fetus the size of a cherry tomato. Would I live in the hospital for months? Would I go on bed rest for weeks? Would I inject myself with insulin multiple times per day while on bedrest at the hospital? Maybe I would. But I didn’t feel sure that I would, no questions asked. 

Thinking about your body as your own during pregnancy is seen as a very selfish act, it seems. Your body has turned from a power house powering your dreams to a vessel for someone else’s benefit in the blink of an eye. Thinking about your physical, mental or emotional needs as equal to, or even more important than, the baby’s, is seen as selfish and incorrect. 

We should be allowed to acknowledge that pregnancy is not only a joy and a blessing. (I feel guilty even writing that! Eep!) Of course, a wanted pregnancy is a joy and a blessing. But, especially in the world of sports and the lives of athletes, a pregnancy is a huge sacrifice that at least half of the sporting world will never have to make. It can often mean a loss of income, opportunities, partnerships, competitions, seasons, selections and yes, drastic changes to the bodies that many of us have worked so, so hard to bend to our craft. Drastic changes to the way people interact with us, with the way we are treated. Drastic changes to what types of behaviors are acceptable and not, (“Cover up! You’re a mom now!”) and what our careers look like moving forward. Even as an athlete who had planned to step away from sports during my pregnancy, I grieved many of the changes that have taken place in a body and identity that for so long has been malleable and, most importantly, mine.

I am so, so happy to be pregnant. I am so, so lucky to be pregnant. I am beyond lucky to have had a healthy pregnancy when that’s not everyone’s reality by a long shot. There is an abundance of abundance in pregnancy, but, even in a healthy one, there is loss, too. You don’t only have to feel grateful, and in love with your baby and your body during pregnancy. Especially if you’re an athlete, of any level, the changes can feel disorienting and disheartening in unexpected ways. One time I was brought to literal tears in the gym watching someone do Russian twists: sometimes it just gets ya. I think the takeaway, like always, is that it’s okay to feel however you feel: this journey is hard and complicated. And when it all gets to be too much, this girl recommends a snack. Works pretty much all of the time.

***

Originally published April 8, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 4: The Second Trimester” Property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Pregnancy Series Part 3: First Trimester

After the science and action items of trying to conceive (take supplements, time sex juuuust right), the first months of pregnancy honestly felt…anticlimactic. There is, quite simply, nothing to do. You really just have to wait around, hope that the pregnancy sticks, and go about your daily life. It’s way too soon to start preparing for an actual baby, but it’s too late for any of your conception best practices. 

I was very lucky in that I experienced few of the classic first trimester symptoms: some nausea and a little fatigue but no vomiting or anything truly debilitating. The great part of this was that it let me live my life pretty much as normal. The strange part was that this huge thing had happened to me, and no one could tell, not even me. The biggest change wasn’t physical, but rather was an onset of anxiety that has followed me throughout my entire pregnancy. This anxiety in the first trimester boils down to a worry that something you do (or don’t do), could harm a barely implanted group of cells, endangering their journey towards becoming a baby. 

In a lot of ways, this anxiety felt like the same flavor of worry that followed me during my career in sports. As an athlete, I constantly worried about my body, wanting to keep it safe and healthy. Avoiding sickness and injury is one of the best ways to set yourself up for baseline success as an athlete. There’s not much you can do to perform better if your health isn’t where it should be. As someone who loves ticking all of the boxes, this led to years of carefully controlling my habits, behaviors and environments. Was I getting enough sleep? Eating enough or too much? What if I tripped going down the stairs, broke a leg and missed my race season? I probably shouldn’t go downhill skiing. I probably shouldn’t eat that. It’s too late to eat that much, I need to sleep. Can I take this cold medicine? Is it WADA and USADA compliant? I should check that protein powder, does it have the right batch number? 

It’s a feeling that your body doesn’t quite belong to you: that the consequences of your actions aren’t yours alone to bear. As an athlete, an injury or a doping sanction doesn’t just affect you. These are not only setbacks against all of the time, care and effort you’ve invested into yourself and your career, but they also set back teammates, coaches, staff and family counting on you: counting on your body to do its job.

Pregnancy comes with its own list of rules, recommendations and regulations. There’s a list of medications you can and can’t take, foods you should and shouldn’t eat, activities you are encouraged to continue and things that you have to sacrifice for now. Perhaps the most infuriating thing about pregnancy recommendations is there are rarely reasons for why you should or shouldn’t do xyz. Outside of getting punched in the stomach, smoking, hard drugs and heavy drinking, the lines around acceptable behavior are hazy. It’s essentially impossible to do thorough, ethical research on pregnant women (you can’t tell one group of pregnant women to drink a lot and see what happens), so most of the recommendations we have to go off are best guesses or conclusions based on extrapolations. The bottom line ends up being, “it probably won’t hurt but best to avoid” for many behaviors, foods, environments.

The underlying anxiety of “my body doesn’t belong only to me” returned in full force and, with the ambiguity surrounding good decision making, it felt a little paralyzing. If “it probably won’t hurt… but it might!” is the official opinion regarding any choice, it’s easy to think that the best thing to do is say no to everything. Here are some of the action steps that I took during my first trimester that helped me through it and not feel absolutely insane:

Got off social media

As soon as you text a friend “I’m pregnant!” or, god forbid, download a pregnancy tracking app, it’s all over. You get targeted ads for pregnancy products on every screen you possess, and the social media algorithm feeds you uncannily specific videos. Whether I was 5.5 weeks pregnant or 12 weeks pregnant there was someone on Instagram exactly the same amount of pregnant as me, ready to tell me a horror story about her experience. No one wants to watch a video of someone saying, “wow I’ve had an extremely normal pregnancy so far and nothing is wrong! Stay tuned for a lack of updates!” However, we do get sucked in by, “I just lost my 5th pregnancy and my husband is leaving me for our fertile next door neighbor. Also I’m losing my house and my dog just died.” Deactivating my social media accounts helped me walk through life and my pregnancy at my pace and without the harbingers of doom scaring me about what might happen every time I opened my phone. 

Found one source of information and stuck to it

It’s a cliché at this point, but googling pregnancy symptoms or questions is one of the most surefire ways to increase your anxiety. If you can, just don’t do it. Sometimes sources like Reddit can be helpful, but inevitably there will be information in these threads that will freak you out. Or, I guess, freaked me out (maybe you have the ability to read worst case scenario stories and know they don’t apply to you). I found Expecting Better by Emily Oster to be a great resource. She is an economist who puts an objective lens on a lot of the thorny pregnancy debates, and I really appreciated how she gives information, not recommendations. She recognizes that everyone is different, and will make different decisions based on the same data. I decided early on that that was the only pregnancy book I would read: all other questions I would save for my healthcare team. Is this limiting? Yes. But there is an unlimited amount of information out there about pregnancy, so honestly, putting limits somewhere is one of the only ways to keep your head above water. 

Got support with my exercise

As a former professional athlete, what feels normal to me and my body in terms of exercise isn’t quite what most people have in mind. However, with the American College of Obstetricians and Gynecologists still recommending that pregnant women not lift more than 30 pounds, it’s easy to have exercise feel like yet another that needs to change drastically during pregnancy. Best stick to prenatal pilates and swimming, just to be on the safe side. I have been really lucky to have my strength programming written for me by a coach who has years of experience with pregnant athletes. Having a program has just taken the question marks out of my head: should I do this exercise? Is this one safe for my current stage of pregnancy? If you have access to someone with expertise and want to keep exercising or training at a high level, I definitely think it’s worth it. Even though I’m not training or competing at a high level any more, keeping movement as an integral part of my pregnancy has been a way to feel more like myself and connected to something familiar during a brand new experience. It’s something I recommend to everyone, even if you don’t identify as an athlete! If you’re looking for resources, Girls Gone Strong is a great one recommended to me by the US Olympic and Paralympic Training Center staff. They have free courses on pregnancy and postpartum, as well as sample exercise programs and much more. Super whether you’re a pregnant person, or a person in fitness looking to support anyone else who is pregnant!

The long and short of the first trimester, for me, is that it was a time to try to set up strategies that would serve me later on in my pregnancy. I think that, rather than focus on the baby (who really isn’t doing that much or needing that much at this point), try focusing on yourself and what you need to have a healthy and happy pregnancy. And please remember, in case this didn’t come across, what you need is not what anyone else on social media tells you you should need! It’s the beginning of a wild ride that is all your own. 

***

Originally published February 21, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 3: The First Trimester” Property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Pregnancy Series Part 2: Trying to Conceive

The process of trying to be pregnant felt incredibly strange to me, and has for many of my friends. As women with athletic dreams, we spend most of our teenage and adult lives trying not to be pregnant, so the moment when you try to be pregnant feels a bit like whiplash. Traditional sex ed will tell you that any time you have unprotected sex, a baby is a likely result. This is just absolutely not the case. The chances that sex (or an IUI or IVF cycle) will result in a pregnancy are actually not that likely, which makes it amazing that 1. The human race continues and 2. People actually do this on accident!!  

I quickly realized that there were things to learn (re master) about trying to conceive. 

As a lifetime athlete, I’m good at working hard: it’s like, kind of our thing. I know that no outcome is promised, but I do know that I can stack the deck in my favor. How do we stack an athletic deck? With hard work. Discipline. Consistency. Doing all of the little things right so that on race day the big thing is simply an execution, not a long shot. From the information I was both actively and passively consuming, conceiving a baby seemed like a very similar process: I couldn’t ensure the outcome I desired, but I could stack the deck in my favor. In other words, I wouldn’t necessarily win, but I would try my hardest (aka the hardest), just like I always had. 

So I downloaded period tracking apps and read studies about what types of food promote fertility. I tried temperature charting and swabbing my cervical mucus (yes, this is a thing). I diligently waited for my most fertile days and then anxiously waited for my period. I wanted to be the best at getting pregnant, just like I’d wanted to be the best at every stage in my sports career. 

But it wasn’t working. My husband and I had sex on the right days, I ate lots of fish and got lots of sleep. I constantly scanned my body (and the internet) for signs that I might be pregnant. But every month my period would come (insert google search: can I still be pregnant if I got my period?). It also wasn’t that fun. Stressing out about scheduled sex tends to suck some of the fun out of it, and turning it into a goal oriented endeavor is a strange and tricky thing to navigate. 

Fertility is a hot topic these days. The trend of encouraging people to make their own healthcare decisions has people thinking about having children inundated with information and an unlimited amount of ways to spend money. There are countless products and services that essentially promise to give you more choices: freeze your eggs now and you’ll be able to decide about having kids later. Or, take this 12 step test to determine how worried you should be about your fertility. A super duper early pregnancy test that you can take before you take the regular pregnancy test. Extra genetic screening and testing to help you decide whether to use IVF and if you should control for certain risk factors. Special pee sticks to determine when is the optimal moment for baby-making sex. The limit truly does not exist. 

In most ways, these advances are incredible, and really do give people more choices around their decision to have, or not have, children. However, all of these services and products also work together to give the illusion of control over a process that cannot be controlled. The danger of this illusion, other than making us spend a ton of time, money and energy when perhaps we don’t have to or shouldn’t, is that it can make us feel personally responsible for a negative outcome. It can make us feel like if only we had bought the right supplement and used the right tracking device, then we would be pregnant. Or if we had tried earlier or harder or longer then we would have a child. It can, and does, make women feel badly about themselves and their bodies: like they are failing in something they “should” be able to do with little to no effort. 

It seems like a trivial comparison to bring this back to sports, but I think there are lessons we have learned in the sports community about control that we haven’t quite yet acknowledged in the fertility space. When we have prepared everything perfectly but on race day fail spectacularly, we seem to have reached an understanding that sometimes there isn’t anything we could’ve done differently: it was just a bad day. We seem to acknowledge that the preparation and the outcome are related, but the first is never a promise of the second.

Realizing this helped me loosen my grip on the outcome of trying to conceive. It did not mean that I stopped being a pretty particular over-preparer, but I did include meditation alongside the period tracking, and got off social media. (If there is one action I wholeheartedly condone in the pregnancy process, it is this. Please do not play the comparison game on social media with this process. It just has so little benefit and so much potential harm.) 

In the end, I did get pregnant. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who might say, “See? You got pregnant when you stopped trying so hard!” No! This is the whole point! I didn’t get pregnant because I started, or stopped, doing anything. I set myself up for success and then got lucky. Also, I would be remiss to finish this piece without specifically mentioning the type of luck that comes with being in a heterosexual relationship. When I say, “set myself up for success” I mean having lots of sex. There are, of course, difficulties with this method. (See above about it not being that fun sometimes to turn your love life into work.) However, it is free and readily available and did I mention free? I have friends and family members who have gone through IUI and IVF and I can’t imagine the extra pressure that thousands of dollars per attempt puts on the outcome. On top of the money, there are hormone shots and so, so many appointments, and the chances of success are far lower than you’d think.
So. All this to say: yes x1000 to giving people more options, choices and information around fertility. Yes x1,000,000 to helping female athletes take control of their parenthood journeys. But to anyone going through this process, be kind to yourself. Do not believe all the sleek marketing that tells you you can control this outcome: you can’t. Just like with sports, try to set goals for yourself that don’t have anything to do with your result. And also like with sports, there’s a true community of women out here for you: you never have to do any of this alone.

***

Originally published February 21, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 2: Trying to Conceive.” Property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Pregnancy Series Part 1: Deciding to get pregnant

Welcome to the pregnancy series! 

My name is Skyler and I’m a sort of, all the way, maybe, in denial recently retired athlete and am pregnant! This series of blogs will talk about my experiences as an athlete and as a pregnant person. These blogs are strictly personal, and do not contain any type of medical advice. Thank you for coming along for the ride!

One of the many difficult things about being a female athlete is the busiest, and most lucrative, years of your career are also the years during which, if you want your own biological children, you are supposed to be making them. Most of my friends and I have been lucky enough to choose when we want to try to have a child, but carving out a viable window in an athletic career is really quite difficult. Carving one out in the “ideal” fertility window? Nigh impossible.

Perhaps fortunately then, I had such a hard last couple of years as an athlete that the desire to take a break from high level sport and the desire to have a child coincided nicely. But even the ideal window takes some planning. My husband and I had a busy 2024: I was going to take part in the Paris Games, then we were going to move overseas, then we were going to try for a pregnancy. Because of the logistics of international health care, I decided to get my IUD removed a few months before our move, right before the biggest sporting event of my life, and many months before we would actually start trying for a pregnancy.

My body (and mind) went absolutely haywire.

My periods were incredibly irregular (very normal after having an IUD for a long period of time), and I think I took about 8 pregnancy tests in 3 months. I was convinced that I was pregnant despite the fact that my husband and I were having protected sex, and I actually wasn’t even with my husband half of the time because I was preparing for, and then taking part in, the Games. Despite knowing better, I would spiral about how I would get access to early prenatal care if I was pregnant, what color I should paint the nursery, where my child would go to college… extremely temporally relevant things like that. My body and mind were reacting to both the stress leading up to Paris, and the fact that I’d chosen to mess with my hormones in perhaps the most significant way possible at the worst possible moment. I think it was my first sign that no matter how well you think you plan these things, this is a process that is largely out of your control. (Processes out of your control can be difficult pills to swallow as athletes, but more on that later.)

For all of us, athletes or no, I think the idea of pregnancy and the sudden possibility of it are worlds apart. As soon as I thought I might be pregnant, the idea took on a life of its own. 

I desperately wanted to be pregnant. I think, at the time, being pregnant represented my life after sports. Like I said, the last push of my athletic career was incredibly difficult, and I felt emotionally ready to move on. I wanted the next part of my life to start as soon as possible. Furthermore, the idea of being able to say, “I’m pregnant!” as a response to “why aren’t you competing anymore?” felt incredibly reassuring. It wasn’t that I’d given up, it was that I’d chosen to have a baby, one of the most untouchable reasons for really any type of behavior. My pregnancy could serve as my justification, both to others and myself, of why I was stepping away from sports. Being pregnant immediately would help bridge the gap between my life in sports and my life after in a neatly tied up fashion. 

I also desperately wanted not to be pregnant. I wanted to focus on the Games ahead, and think about a potential baby with my husband afterwards, away from all of the noise. I also had (and still have) athletic goals left on the table. I didn’t feel like I’d reached my ceiling, or the end of my rope. Lastly, and this one probably packed the heaviest punch, putting aside a career that I’d worked incredibly hard for to have a child felt regressive. Choosing pregnancy and eventual parenthood instead of continuing my career in sports felt like letting the women and girls who look up to me down. Of course I know that true female empowerment means having the choice to choose anything, but it felt difficult to see how women’s sports media celebrates the strength of women who continue to compete while pregnant and after giving birth, and feel that that wasn’t the right choice for me. I wanted not to be pregnant because I wanted to continue my career, on my terms, with all of the bodily freedom possible. 

Ultimately, Abby Wambach’s commencement speech at Barnard College is part of what allowed me the freedom to make my own choice. In 2018, Abby spoke about her experience of leading from the bench when she was taken out of the starting lineup during her last World Cup. She talks about how we, as women, might one day find ourselves “holding babies instead of briefcases,” watching our peers leave us behind. I definitely felt that. That by holding a baby, I would be held up. But Abby said, “…the fiercest leading I’ve ever seen has been done between mother and child. Parenting is no bench. It just might be the big game.” I’d heard those words seven years earlier, and they still felt fresh in my mind as I navigated this change in my identity. It’s such a strong testament to the power of representation, and the salience of female athletes’ voices. Will I ever be anything like Abby Wambach? Of course not. But having her validate parenthood as “the big game” allowed me the space to consider it as not a step backwards, but a step in a different direction. 

So. I decided to take a big step away from sports after the Games, and try to get pregnant. (I was, you will be shocked to learn, not pregnant after months of protected sex.) I think my biggest takeaway or piece of advice from this stage is that no one but athletes can possibly know how hard it is to be an athlete. Furthermore, pregnancy and parenthood are choices that are extremely personal, and not a test of your ability to “girlboss” or “get ahead.” Whether you decide to leave sports or stay, to leave forever or just for a little while, whatever choice is best for you is the best choice. This sounds cliche, I know. But it felt easy, for me, to get sucked towards a choice that would have been right for some, but wrong for me. Pregnancy (and parenthood) is a bitch of a logistical, practical, financial, emotional, temporal, seasonal, life-altering choice. Making that choice shouldn’t be like any other choice you make as an athlete: this one’s not about the team. This time, it’s all about you. 

***

Originally published February 6, 2026 as “An Athlete’s Pregnancy, Part 1: Deciding to get pregnant.” property of Parity

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Mothers, or, Fuck ICE

You cried when she was born, I’m sure of it. 

You might not have felt love when she first wrapped her tiny, wrinkled fingers around your tired one, but you felt something. 

In the weeks and months that followed, you felt everything. You felt scared and supported, alone and overwhelmed. But between it all and over and under it, you felt her. 

Her. 

You felt her soft soles and her gummy eyelashes. You felt her squishy stomach and her hungry lips. You felt her cries and her smiles, her sighs and her first haltering giggles. You felt her eyes follow you and her fingers wrapped tightly in your hair. 

And, at some point, I don’t know when but it happened, you loved her. And not long after, you knew you would protect her. Protect her from everything, with everything. 

I know this because I know you. I understand you. I know this because I am you. 

But what I can’t understand is the pain of what you’re going through. I can’t imagine the pain of not being able to protect your child. To see your child hungry and not have food. To not see your child at all. To be taken from them. To lose them. To lose them for now, or to lose them for good. 

Something may happen to my child.

I may feel something of this pain one day. 

But she will never be taken from me, because I have the money, power and privilege to keep her. 

How disgusting and impoverished are things like money next to love. How inconsequential is status compared to her small hands. 

And while I understand that, by some lucky twist of the universe, I am able to have a daughter who will likely grow safe and sound, there’s something still I cannot understand. 

Who is doing the taking?

And how?

Who are these people who can rip life off growing bones? Which children who were cherished and cried over became men who murder? Who sends bombs towards cities full of babies wished for and treasured? 

And how.

How, when every one of us was, at some point, the child of someone.

How, when many of us, become the parents of someone else.

How can families be separated by force? How can people, real people, real, human people, be thrown or sprayed or beaten or spat on or shot?

How can people, real, human people, do this to you?

How can they do this to your baby? Because whether she was born yesterday, or months or years ago, she’ll always be your baby.

Yours. 

I’m sorry. 

I’m so, so sorry. 

***

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Good Trouble: Naya Tapper

Naya never set out to play rugby. But perhaps younger Naya knew something that was destined to hold a special place in her heart. When she was a child, and dreams were unfettered by the reality that comes later, she wanted to be the first woman to play in the NFL. Becoming a co-captain of USA Rugby, an American record holder and working towards her second Olympic team is not the running back future she envisioned, but it might be even better. 

Naya grew up in North Carolina, where she threw herself into track and field. There was rugby at her high school, but Naya was laser focused on track, so she didn’t think twice when she decided to pass up on the opportunity to try it out. When she started college at UNC, Naya made the conscious decision to reprioritize, putting sports behind her and bringing a social life and her academics to the forefront. She is a smart, thoughtful and creative woman and she wanted to let other parts of her personality breathe. Between sports medicine and Spanish classes, new friends and a new life, Naya’s heart was almost full. But there was a part of her that missed the excitement and challenge of competition, so she went in search of that high. That search led her, not back to the track, but on to the rugby field. Club rugby was the perfect piece Naya had been missing: she got to return to sport in a supportive environment, and participate in a way that still left room for other things. Better yet? This sport came with friends included! For the first time, Naya experienced the magic of true teamwork. She could have the best game of her life, but if she and her teammates didn’t lift one another up, they might lose the game. For the first time, Naya got to be a piece in a puzzle, and didn’t have to build the whole thing alone. As a former track star, she was a very special piece. Her coaches realized that with her speed, the only thing Naya needed to learn how to do was catch the ball and let her legs do the talking.

And boy did her legs have something to say. 

Naya might not have been an elite level rugby strategist yet, but she was fast, and people noticed. Just a few months into playing club, Naya went out to the Chula Vista Elite Athlete Training Center and was offered a contract. While she felt herself falling in love with rugby, there were other things she wanted to do first. She wanted to prioritize getting her degree, but what was delayed was not to be denied, and she packed up her car to make the long trip out west in 2016, where she would join the national team and finish her last semester of school remotely. 

Naya had been scouted for years before she joined the team, and some might think that that would mean the transition from club to national team would be seamless. The expectation couldn’t have been further from reality. Naya was moving away from her family for the first time, across the country, and working at Buffalo Wild Wings to support her fledgling dream. On top of trying to make new friends and afford gas twice as expensive as back home, Naya had to learn how to play a whole new game, transitioning from playing 15s in college to 7s at the national team level. Her inexperience was evident in the early months, and she was cut by a new coach. He offered her a spot on a development team to get her skills up to scratch, but that didn’t feel like the promise that had inspired Naya to move 2,500 miles away from home.

She called her parents and was surprised by the advice coming down the line. Her mom had always encouraged her athletic pursuits, but it was her dad’s words that struck home. He told her he believed in her, and to stick it out. While studying medicine in school, Naya had dreamed of becoming a physical therapist. Now, with the support of her family and friends, she was imagining a new future for herself. Setting down this new path was scary, but she knew that putting OLY after her name would open doors to the rest of her life. So Naya stayed, put her head down, and got to work. 

All her hard work showed in a big way. Naya went on to become the first American woman with 100 tries, and the all time record holder for most tries. She reached her goal of becoming an Olympian in Tokyo, stamping her name in the record book and helping lead the US to a strong 6th place finish. In a way Naya already had what she came for. She could sign her name Naya Tapper, OLY, and go home with her head held proud. But USA rugby had woven its way under her skin, and she somehow knew that she had more work to do. Team USA Rugby was competitive on the world stage, and produced some of the world’s strongest players. But the team’s culture needed changing. 

Naya never imagined she would be a leader helping affect that change. 

Naya laughed as she remembered she was “always in trouble for something.” She described how she was never afraid to question authority, loudly and often. She wanted to create transparency, honesty and integrity where there were closed doors and avoidance. Naya said that she “never thought she would be a leader,” which surprised me. Isn’t frankness and honesty what we want in our leaders? Isn’t someone who isn’t afraid to speak out the most qualified woman in the room to step up? But while we envision leaders as being bold and unafraid, the reality in sports is that often these athletes are branded as troublemakers, or even disruptive and undedicated. You don’t like the way things are? There’s someone else willing to work quietly who can fill your shoes. To speak out the way Naya has takes an incredible amount of courage, and an unshakeable self confidence. Naya had to have known that speaking out could have cost her her place on the team. 

That’s perhaps why she was so shocked when captain Lauren Doyle asked Naya to help her turn the captaincy into a shared position. Naya said she would agree to the co-captain role on one condition: that Lauren would have difficult conversations with her. She would never be a “yes man” to Lauren, or anyone else. Lauren agreed, and together they challenged the team, the staff, themselves and the culture, to build something better. Being a leader is one thing, but being a leader who wants to make change is a completely different thing altogether. The world of sports is drenched in tradition and an opaque hierarchy, and Lauren and Naya wanted to infuse the culture of US Rugby with accountability, transparency, trust and love. 

There is always a cost to responsibility, and Naya has paid up. She needs to make sure she is ready, physically and emotionally, to play at her best. At the same time, she is checking in on her teammates, ensuring there is staff and player buy-in to new accountability agreements and managing external commitments and speaking engagements. Naya wants to give back to the sport that has given her so much, establishing a scholarship to help mitigate the costs of rugby, and always being open to those who need advice or support. All of this, she admits, sometimes drains the joy out of the game she’s fallen in love with. In those moments, she has learned that she doesn’t have to do this alone. Despite some very strong early resistance, she now counts her relationships to her sports psychologist and therapist as some of the most crucial. Naya says she can’t overestimate the impact that this work has had on her, and when you’re someone like Naya who has an impact on hundreds and thousands of others, the inner work that Naya does has a ripple effect that spans continents. 

These days Naya is busy trying to make her second Olympic team, but not too busy to find joy. She loves creating and selling her signature “Naya on Fiya” merch, planning vacations and spending time with loved ones, especially her best friend and teammate, Jazzy. They search out the best local food spots together, create adorable matching outfits and help share each one another’s burdens. Naya might not be living the dream that she once imagined for herself, but she has had the courage, flexibility and integrity to create new ones at every step of her journey. Naya is a powerful force who has completely revolutionized US Rugby, all with a little help from her friends. We can’t wait to see what she does next.

*** 

Originally published July 18, 2024 as “Leadership and Legacy: Naya Tapper’s Impact on USA Rugby“, property of Parity

Photo Credit: The Guardian

Written by Skyler Espinoza

Tough and Wise: Jessica Heims

If you’ve ever been lucky enough to see Jessica Heims throw a discus, it’s hard to believe she hasn’t been doing it all her life. Her prosthetic and the discus seem like extensions of her body, everything working perfectly in sync as she whirls around the circle before the discus slips powerfully from her fingers in a burst of speed and a whipping blond braid. It’s easy to forget that before this powerful athlete, there was a curious girl with a pink Minnie Mouse prosthetic. It’s hard to imagine that the lanky teenager with the Cedar Rapids t-shirt and yellow and black “Go Hawks!” prosthetic is the same graceful woman who now is a 3-time Paralympian. 

But behind every athlete is a child who was given a chance to fall in love, and Jessica was no different. In 2010, Jessica’s parents packed her and her two sisters into the family van for a special family vacation. This year, the family vacation wasn’t a waterpark or national park, but a track and field meet for children with physical disabilities. Jessica’s mom had found out about the meet on Facebook, but had very little information: Jessica was the only amputee at her school, which served all the surrounding towns. There wasn’t anyone local to turn to for answers about raising a child with an amputation, much less getting her involved in adaptive sports. The Heims family figured if the meet was a flop, they would just find something else to do. She and her whole family knew they had made the right decision as soon as they had arrived. At only eleven years old, Jessica had become accustomed to the feeling of running to catch up: she never wanted to be any different from her friends, and she wanted to run right alongside them. But often, her leg wouldn’t let her keep up, and she struggled to do the same things her able bodied friends could, especially when it came to sports. Here, at the small meet in Oklahoma, she realized she didn’t need to run after anyone. The playing field had been leveled, and now she could run alongside other children who moved like she did, cheered on by families who understood what her family had already been through. 

Jessica looked down, and realized she’d left her heart out on the track. She got fitted with her first running blade not long after, and began the lifelong journey of navigating her dual identity as an athlete competing both in the able bodied and para worlds. At school she trained and competed with her classmates, in the summer she started training and competing with team USA. In the summer, Jessica never had to explain why a certain workout wouldn’t work for her, or remind a coach about an accommodation she needed. But during the school year, Jessica’s needs were often overlooked amidst the high school chaos. Often her leg couldn’t handle the amount of volume prescribed. Sometimes the rest wasn’t enough for her to remove and wipe her prosthetic before the next set. At meets, the bus might park a long walk away from the track, something that would tire Jessica’s leg out before the meet even began. Jessica was hurting, injuring herself in an effort to not cause trouble, to be “easy to work with.” Jessica knew she needed to advocate for herself, but how? Sports so often teach young people to work hard, but can they teach young people how to set boundaries around their health and needs?

Bill Callaway, Jessica’s high school coach, taught Jessica a mantra that still rings in her ears when she’s faced with setting a boundary around her health. He taught her to ask herself, “Is this a time to be tough or be wise?” Early on, Jessica had a mentor who taught her that it was not only okay to accommodate for her disability, but that it was the right thing to do. He created the space for her to make good decisions about her health, empowering her to make a choice where before she had felt there wasn’t one. We focus so hard on teaching kids to push, we often forget to teach them how to listen to their bodies, and when the right moments to be wise are. Without these lessons, self advocacy can feel selfish rather than smart, and young women and girls, especially with disabilities, continue to think that their lived experience is less valuable than what’s prescribed on the whiteboard. 

But just because Jessica was starting to be able to advocate for herself didn’t make what was coming any easier. Jessica wanted to go to college, and she wanted to continue to compete in track and field: on an able bodied team. She had just competed in her first Paralympic Games in Rio before her senior year of high school, and she felt on top of the world. Surely any college program would be excited to have her, right? She had bags of Nike swag proclaiming that she was a member of Team USA! But phone call after phone call left Jessica feeling defeated. None of the programs she was talking to had experience working with athletes with disabilities, nor did they have any interest in recruiting one.  

Jessica made a visit to the University of Northern Iowa, where it was easy to envision herself walking to class, and building a new community. She loved the campus so much, she wanted to attend even if the track and field coaching staff proved as unaccommodating as all the others had been. To Jessica’s surprise, the coaches were open to the possibility. They didn’t make any false promises, or really any promises at all. They simply said, “We’re willing to learn if you’re willing to teach us.” So often, we think that allyship has to be perfect. We think we need to know exactly the right thing to do or say before we even try. Jessica had already built so many of the tools she needed to advocate for herself, and succeed no matter what. She knew she had limitations (she’ll never have two ankles!), but the secret to success is focusing on her weaknesses rather than her limitations, and working hard to strengthen areas that can be improved. She didn’t need a red carpet rolled out for her, she just needed coaches who trusted her, and were willing to work with her to find a way through. 

I’m so in awe of the ways in which Jessica learned to advocate for herself over and over and over. She had to educate a new set of coaches on what was going to work for her and what wasn’t, all while striving to be a true member of her new team. She had to balance international competition with college coursework through a pandemic. Jessica has had to be wise and patient beyond her years to go back and forth, managing identities and expectations, continuing to learn when to be tough and when to be wise. 

There’s always been a place where she just gets to be Jessica, and that’s with her family. We talk a lot about how many sacrifices athletes need to make to get to the top and stay there, but we don’t often talk explicitly about the equivalent sacrifices that are required from an athlete’s inner circle. Jessica spoke gratefully about how her sisters spent their vacations going to track and field meets or on trips to the prosthetist. She talks about how her parents always advocated for her while never making her feel like a burden.

When I asked Jessica about her favorite Games experience, she said an all time highlight was getting to see her family shortly before competing in Rio, her first Games. She felt like she was in a slow motion movie scene as she ran to hug them, realizing as she did so how special it was to share this moment with all the people who had helped her get there. She also felt an overwhelming feeling of unity: her many worlds were, finally, one. Her family, her childhood, all of her struggles and trials were wrapped up in the magical embrace of elite international athletics. As she toed the line to run her Paralympic debut, she could see her family up in the stands. Here she was, almost 5,500 miles from Cedar Rapids, but it felt like home.

***

Originally published as “Tough or Wise? How 3x Paralympian Jessica Heims Advocates for Herself“, property of Parity

Photo Credit: Missouri Valley Conference

Written by Skyler Espinoza