Sara Banks

b. March 1984

I think I always expected, because of my artsy family and sort of anti-athletics, to never have this sense of pride about not just my body, but my capabilities and teamwork. It was just like all of these things that were totally outside of how I perceived my world to ever be. 

I am a very eclectic person. I was in orchestra for most of my childhood. I went to music school where I then picked up dance. The second half of my life has been mostly something of a hyperembodied state.

Frisbee was early on in the embodiment journey. I started dancing at the same time that I started doing frisbee, and also around the time is when I transitioned. All of those new information and new conceptions of my body were all sort of happening parallel. Also on that front is my lack of socialization beforehand. I was a very socially engaged person, but I didn’t know how to relate to people. I just had a really big collection of acquaintances. It was after transition, after women’s spaces and very intentional relating, that I started to realize what friendship and community actually was, and how you’re actually supposed to do it. 

I transitioned at the end of the previous era, where stealth and reassimilation was still really relevant, and I was stealth for a few years. I dated people who didn’t know I was trans, and that was weird and terrifying. The outness is kind of like my activism, where I don’t shy away from having conversations with strangers that can test your patience. I am not a big petition or marching person, but I don’t shy away from a teachable moment.

I don’t naturally socialize with a lot of trans people. I find a lot of trans spaces make gender their identity. I’m just like, this is exhausting. I also recognize that there is a mountain of privilege behind the fact that transitioning was very easy for me, and passing was also very easy for me. I found that in most women’s spaces, cis women were easier for me to socialize with. 

There have been times where I forget that I’m trans, and then I’ll be like, “Right, that’s not a thing I can do.” It’s nice to not have to think about it all the time, and other trans people, of course, remind me of it. 

I have become more social with the other trans people that attend the [She/They/We] league. I have to remind myself that just because they are also gender variant, they are very much not specifically my gender or my gender experience, and I don’t have to immediately project myself onto them or them onto me.

I think there is a type of person around frisbee that has always felt really good. Because I am not really an athlete and I was sort of undersocialized, it was always an uphill battle. But I always felt that, being at frisbee, my efforts would pay dividends. If I made the effort, I would feel better, and I would get more sense of community.

Someone once commented on the fact that it was so enjoyable to toss with me because it seemed like there was never a disappointment. It was just like, everything is part of the journey. I think being able to diffuse any sense of embarrassment or lack of skill or familiarity, I think even more of that is welcome at younger levels, as a tool to make mistakes with friends. In those kinds of social environments, gender experimentation can easily weave in, and that’s one of the great things that ultimate has to offer.

With the sports conversation around gender and how perfectionistic and achievement based a lot of other kids' sports has become, ultimate keeps saying, “we’re not” in the face of all this competitiveness and aggression. I don’t know if that solves problems at the Olympics, but I think we all have a lot of growing to do. The only way to have hope of growing in those contexts is to have a foundation of self-love and acceptance. Spaces where you can make mistakes with friends are really necessary, and ultimate is that.