I was raised as a boy, with the societal expectations of, "You're going to be tough, you're going to play sports."

My family is back in Minnesota, which is a very hockey-centric place, so I was put into hockey right away, along with soccer and baseball. I played all the teams sports, and none of them ever seem to really click. I always felt different, and didn't really feel welcome or included. I eventually found art and theater, and that was where I ended up putting a lot of my energy and time into for a while.

As I came into my adult life, I started to do more individual activities like biking and running and started to really fall in love with them. These were activities I could do on my own, without worrying about other people accepting me or welcoming me into a team or community.

It wasn't until I moved to Seattle and joined the Seattle Front Runners, which is an LGBTQI+ running club here, that I found that it is possible to run with a group that will affirm you, that will support you, that will encourage you to be the best version of you — the best runner, the best person.

In a way, my journey with running has really been a reclaiming of my place in sport, and my place in these very binary systems and binary worlds.

When I was younger, I didn't necessarily have the language to understand that I am nonbinary, and I always felt like I was being pushed out of those spaces. Now, I am taking that space back by encouraging and helping the running industry as a whole carve out space for people who exist outside of the gender binary.

People think running is already an inclusive sport, but that's not the reality

When I started running, it was just this thing that I could do on my own. It wasn't until I joined the Seattle Front Runners that I started to think critically about the state of the running industry, and the way that gender was at play.

Every time I registered for a race, I had to either register as a man or a woman. I would be getting a t-shirt that's either a men's shirt or a women's shirt. The awards and prizes were categorized based on the men and women's divisions. So for folks who fall outside of that binary, a space didn't exist.

We know that people who exist outside of the binary have been around forever. How can we start to help shift the running industry or help it evolve so that it can be inclusive of all gender identities?

There are so many ways we have yet to make this sport inclusive for BIPOC folks, disabled folks, and transgender and nonbinary folks. Many people think that running is already an inclusive sport. They're like, "You just need to show up with a pair of shoes. We'll accept you and you can participate.”

But we know that's not the reality. There are so many marginalized communities out there who are still running into barriers when it comes to trying to access the sport. So I started thinking: What can I do to be an advocate not only for nonbinary folks in the industry, but also other folks who are being excluded? And how can we work together to move this industry forward?

My advocacy work really started about a year ago, when I started to email race directors and say, "Hey, I want to run your race, but I don't see my gender identity reflected here. Is there a way we can work to fix this?"

We need a solid understanding of ourselves to combat the hate that follows advocacy

When I started reaching out to race directors about addressing the exclusion of nonbinary folks, they had all sorts of questions on how to do it. I didn't have those answers, so I set out to gather information from industry professionals.

I was trying to educate myself so I could talk more intelligently with race directors and organizers, and realized that I now had a resource that could be shared. So that's how my guide to nonbinary inclusion in running was created — I sent an email to advocate for a space for myself, and realized I could use my voice and my experience to help enact change in an industry for an entire community.

That has been really exciting, rewarding and exhausting.

A couple of months ago, I started to get hate mail, trolled and whatnot on social media. In order to combat situations like that, one has to have a solid understanding of who they are, what they are doing, and what their purpose is.

When other folks are stepping into an advocacy-type role, I encourage them to have a strong foundation, because it is crucial in giving you the strength to go out into the world and to advocate for a community.

For me, resetting is about sitting with that foundation and making sure that I have the tools, energy, and resources to come back, and continue that fight. Because at the end of the day, I'm human and I have all sorts of things that I'm dealing with as well.

I want to make sure that I am the ‘best possible me’ when I step into these spaces and if I don't feel ready to do that, then I shouldn't be stepping into those spaces. I have to take care of myself first, whether that's reading a book, spending time outdoors, going for a run, shutting my phone off, or closing my computer.

That's really the goal — continuing to enter, re-energize, reset, and make sure that I'm taking care of myself before I continue any more advocacy.

Lifting the weight that comes with being a nonbinary person in a binary industry

Navigating an industry that was so binary definitely helped me discover my true identity. Before running, I would think that I'm just gay. But the binary nature of the running industry led me to think about the roles and expectations assigned to men and women.

Running and sport was the vessel for those thoughts. They created that foundation, where I started to think, "Well, are men’s and women’s divisions the only options? I don't really fit into either of these within this industry. What does that mean?"

My experience as a runner and my experience as a queer person, wove together to finally get me to this place where I discovered who I was. I was able to find the terminology to understand that I am nonbinary and I exist and participate in a different way than other folks in the industry.

Although running is my way to escape the stress that follows advocacy work, there is a weight of anxiety and fear that comes with participating as a nonbinary person in a binary world or in a binary industry: “Will I be misgendered? Will I be harassed? What am I stepping into?”

That comes before all of the regular nerves and worries that all participants have. I want to lift that weight by creating a space where athletes can show up, participate as their authentic self and not have to worry about that burden, regardless of what their identity is.

This work is not easy and it's going to come with a lot of challenges. So as we are resetting and taking care of ourselves, we need to find other sources of joy — whether it’s our community, our friends, our family, or our surroundings.

I moved to Seattle to be closer to the water and mountains, because that connection with the land brings me a lot of joy. And we need to keep finding those instances that bring some happiness into our lives, especially at times when the work becomes really challenging or difficult.

Society tells us to conceal, but pushing boundaries shows us why we're here

While advocacy work can sometimes get stressful, it has also been really affirming — it affirms my purpose and existence, and that brings a lot of joy and happiness. Any time I participate in a race, I'm always making sure I have my nonbinary flag, and that I've got some physical representation of my identity.

When I was younger, I barely knew anything other than a cisgender heterosexual life, and that is why I'm here — to show the nonbinary person who is cheering me on that, "You exist. You deserve a space here as well."

The more that I can do to make sure that I am being that representation for the next person, the more joy it brings. My hope is that the work that I'm doing and the space that I am carving out, is going to help the next generation, the next person that comes along.

Even if it's just that one person, it is entirely worth it. And to my younger self, who didn’t have this representation, I would say:

What you're feeling is valid. You may not have the language to describe it, but continue to lean into that and don't let anyone else dim that light or tell you that those feelings are invalid or wrong. Continue to explore, to be curious and to be playful. These are the big pieces that we forget as we get older. Society tells us to conceal everything, and to not navigate out of the lines. But the more we can do to push those boundaries and discover more about who we are and why we're here, the better.