Being a Marathoner

by Shaker TC, who has spent a career working for the QUILTBAG community at places like GLSEN, PFLAG, and SIECUS, and for the AAPI community at places like the South Asia Resource Action Center and the National Coalition for Asian Pacific American Community Development. He now gets to live out his dreams supporting the work of intersectional leaders at the Rockwood Leadership Institute. His personal best for finish the marathon was 5 hours 7 minutes and 41 seconds.

[Content Note: Violence; terrorism; racism; xenophobia.]

Jessica Luther's Being a Marathon Spectator was profoundly moving for me. You see, I'm a marathon runner. It's taken me two full marathons and four half marathons to say that without qualifications, but here I am.

Jessica's experience as a spectator highlights the beauty of marathon running—you are not alone. For those of us who run, marathoning can feel like a very selfish activity. It necessitates, at minimum, training runs of four hours which end up taking six when you count warming up and cooling down. We are acutely aware of the accommodations people in our lives make to ensure we are sufficiently trained to cross the finish line. Along with frequently taking on a greater share of the chores and child care, there's the scheduling that means regularly cutting evening short and going to bed early preceding morning runs.

I have completed the Marine Corps Marathon in Washington, DC twice. The Marine Corps Marathon is known as the People's Marathon. There's no qualifying time you need to have. You just need to sign up and hopefully be trained enough to finish. Around 40,000 people run the Marine Corps and you get to run with members of Congress, Hollywood folks (hey Blaine from Glee!), and Olympians. In that throng of people, there is a real sense that we are all in this together. I once ran into one of the runners who actually had a chance of winning and told him that I was hoping to finish in around five hours, approximately twice the time it would take him to run the very same 26.2 miles. His response? "That's amazing you can run for so long!"

I am part of a running crew with someone who has run 18 marathons and folks like me who are on their third. Our motto is: We're all in this together. At each water stop, we all pause long enough for anyone lagging behind to catch up. We collectively know that if it weren't for the crew, none of us would have paced ourselves enough to finish. So we are all committed to finishing together no matter how long it takes.

That sense of "we" extends to everyone who put the race together and cheers the runners on. Whole cities are put on pause just for a bunch of people to run 26.2 miles. Hundreds of volunteers are clearing trash, handing out water and Gatorade, and directing runners. In Oakland (where I run the half marathon), the local welding group BUILDS A FIRE ARCH for the runners. Seriously, a FIRE ARCH, just so I can run.

My marathon t-shirt says: "My name is TC. I am fat, diabetic, and ahead of you." People who have never met me are yelling my name and giving me high fives. And without that encouragement, I would never finish. There have been so many times I've kept myself running just to get the next high five. Our pit crew of friends and family is there every five miles for us to hand off sweaty headbands, wipe ourselves down with towels, and give us powerbars. I say all of this to make the point that for marathoners, we are all in this together—runners, friends, families, and strangers.

I am sad about the bombing at the Boston Marathon for the immediate destruction of unity. But I am also sad at the thought that the bombing could have longer-lasting effects that undermine unity.

I'm upset how little it takes for racism and xenophobia to rear its ugly head. We're already seeing some pretty nasty racial profiling with an injured Saudi man being taken into police custody AS A WITNESS. As an injured victim of the bomb, he should have been helped, but instead he was chased and tackled by other bystanders who assumed that he was responsible.

What will it mean for people of color who want to participate in, or spectate at, future marathons, if the bomber is black or brown? It shouldn't mean anything for us, like it won't for white runners if the bomber is white, but that is not how these things go. Arab, Muslim, and South Asian runners and spectators shouldn't have to worry about being profiled—this should be OUR safe space, in which to run and to cheer.

Marathoning doesn't exist in a void, and the prejudices of the world already infiltrate marathoning in various ways; the unity of which I speak isn't perfect. But as I did my six-mile run last night, I kept thinking of the elite Arab, Muslim, and South Asian runners who might be made to feel like interlopers in a place they once felt welcome. I kept thinking of my Arab, Muslim, and South Asian friends who are always there for me, to splash a cup of cool water in my face.

I am a fat, diabetic runner of color in a sport where I am made to feel welcome. I want everyone to have the same welcome I have.