My Last Running Photo
Coming to terms with not feeling connected to running and runners (even the Asian ones)
Today is the 3rd anniversary of the day after I finished running 635 miles over 92 days- by far the most miles I’d ever run over a three month span. After I finished, I asked my wife to take a finish line photo of me. I posted that photo, along with my recap of getting into audio books while running, and my experience of having a homophobic slur yelled at me, in the Facebook group for The Great Virtual Race Against Tennessee (“GVRAT”). Then I went to sleep. While I was sleeping, my post was mobbed online by white runners sprouting white supremacist vitriol. The race director and group admin, Gary Cantrell (a.k.a. Lazarus Lake), decided to acquiesce to the mob’s demand that my finisher photo and post be deleted. Even though I disagreed with Cantrell’s decision, I gave him the benefit of the doubt. I empathized with his feeling overwhelmed by the white supremacist vitriol. It seemed to me that Cantrell felt that he had to do what the angry mob wanted, even though he labeled their rhetoric “white supremacist”, because he didn’t want to lose his community. I know what it’s like to be banished, and I understand why people will contort themselves and compromise their values to avoid being alone. A month later, Cantrell removed my team from his next event because we refused to change our team name- Black Lives Matter. This time, Cantrell acted of his own accord, not in response to an angry mob.
I tried continuing to run. I figured that Cantrell and his supporters could stay over there, and I could run over here. Then I attended a meeting of a group that’s trying to diversify the running industry, and I noticed that several GVRAT participants were present. I didn’t object to sharing space with them, but I wanted to know why they (business owners, running club leaders) had remained silent if they objected to the white supremacist vitriol. The response was that they were afraid that they’d lose customers and alienate their community members. They wanted to participate in diversifying the running industry while also maintaining their support and membership in Cantrell’s community. I felt uncomfortable with brands and business owners driving activism. I felt that what happened in GVRAT was a consequence of running brands, institutions, clubs, and runners themselves allowing corporate profitability and brand marketing interests to shape diversity, equity, and inclusion in running. The people that mobbed my finisher post and the people that silently watched it happen aren’t just over there- they’re everywhere in running, including in leadership and gatekeeper positions.
When I started meeting with my therapist about a year ago, our conversations centered around getting myself unstuck. My therapist thought that there was a way for me to get back to running, without getting mired in the mud. I tried to explain that the mud is everywhere. A couple of weeks ago, he decided to do his own research about local running groups, and he saw for himself the ubiquitous nature of running brands’ funding and control of DEI work in running. My therapist suggested that I try to create a space in running for like-minded abolitionist runners. I pushed back, telling him that I have enough on my plate, and my sense is that most runners, even the ones that might agree with me, want nothing to do with me. There can be no me over here and them over there, because running brands are everywhere underwriting everything. Lululemon seems to be everywhere and they want more.
Thus far, I’ve found that no running group or individual runner that’s willing to publicly discuss lululemon’s anti-Asian name. My sense is that many runners don’t know the origin of lululemon’s name, and the runners that do know don’t want to risk countering the narrative that lululemon is a corporate leader in the DEI area. While I don’t want people to risk losing anything for being associated with me, the refusal to discuss lululemon publicly, even among Asian runners, is alienating. The more I talk about lululemon, the less I feel connected to runners, including Asian runners, because of the silence.
My therapist paused and asked me, “are you over running?”
It felt like a breakthrough moment.
“Maybe,” I replied.
Maybe, after what feels like a very long three years of my life, I’m ready to let go of my past as a runner, and the idea that I should be a runner. I’ve still got a long way to go in what has thus far been a lonely journey, but this feels like a milestone.
This isn’t an attempt to take down running or specific organizations or individuals. Three years ago, my teammates and I offered to talk with Cantrell. I’ve offered to talk to lululemon. Cantrell doesn't want me making the white supremacists in his space uncomfortable, brands like lululemon are content to ignore me, and runners, especially those engaged in DEI work, don’t want me to jeopardize their relationships with brand sponsors and other runners. Also, they probably think I’m a repugnant, awful person, which is fair. The humor of it all is that I’ve never joined an angry mob, yelled a slur at a stranger, threatened to kill someone, or defecated on someone’s door. These are things that have happened to me. People seem more comfortable with being in community with the people who did those things, than with me. I’m labeled intimidating for calling out what happens, which makes people and brand representatives uncomfortable.
Runners run. I’ve never been able to avoid discomfort and conflict, so I delve into it, in search of understanding, which necessitates slowing down and even stopping.
I wish running and runners all the best. You know where to find me when you want to engage. I won’t be waiting, but I’ll do my best to be welcoming.