It was little things. Things that were probably only evident to me. Things like the fact that my team jersey had to be specially ordered, or that the jersey itself was a slightly different texture and color than everyone else’s. The early nineties were not a time of body inclusion. So when it came to ordering plus-size jerseys for high school sports, options were limited. Limited to things like my best friend’s mom sewing a panel in my cheerleading skirt.

These small things are the reason why I’ve often felt on the outside when it
comes to exercise. This feeling was reinforced by the fact that until a few years ago, I could only find my size athletic wear online or at one or two plus-size stores in the mall. I always felt like I wouldn’t belong until I was smaller. There was a pay-to-play feel to fitness, and the price was weight loss.

My choice of exercise became walking, especially during the pandemic. I could
walk with the best of them. I could walk like an Egyptian. I could do the walk, the
walk on by, and sometimes I would wear special boots that were in fact made for walking. You named it, I could walk it.

After months of walking, I wondered if I could run. I mean, I wouldn’t be a real
runner. That was for that elite group of people who could find their sizes on the
rack at Target. But maybe I could sneak a few steps in when no one was looking.

When I would mention to people that I was thinking about running, I was often
told by well-meaning folks that it would be awful on my knees or that I would
get plantar fasciitis. Advice like, “Running isn’t actually healthy for a girl your size.” or “Walking is just as good of an exercise, if not better.”

But I wanted to run not just because it was the “best exercise”; I wanted to run
because I wanted to run. I wanted to cover miles. I wanted freedom in my feet. I was about to discover there was a whole other side to running with people who believed just that.

Sandra Mikulic of @bigfit_i_run has made a name for herself as a plus-size
runner. She runs or walks a 5k every day for her mental health and has for
several years. When I first saw her on social media, I loved her perspective. She wasn’t running to lose weight but for all the other benefits that came from running. She was a revelation to me. A voice against all the nay-sayers telling me what I could or couldn’t do.

Sandra was running marathons even though she didn’t look like a stereotypical marathoner. Merely seeing her gave me the permission to think I could be a runner, and that I could be a runner…now. Not when I’m thinner. Not when I’m stronger, or when I have the best shoes, but now. Right now. So armed with inspiration, I started putting one foot in front of the other in something slightly faster than a walk.

I started running a few small stretches, and boy, was I bad at it. Lungs like fire,
legs like lead, it was a rocky start. Soon a few feet became a block, then a block or two.

Once I started running, I began looking for a book on running. I was looking for
something of a runner’s creed. What Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance is to Hippies – what The Art of War is to generals and obnoxious bankers – what Joanna Gaines’s books are to white women. I found it in Christopher McDouglas’ Born to Run.

Born to Run is the story of a journalist for Runners Magazine and his journey to understanding the world of Ultramarathoners. He spends time with and learns from the Tarahumara tribe of Mexico, “The Running People.” This reclusive tribe has honed the ability to run hundreds of miles without rest or injury. It’s a book about endurance and mental fortitude. It’s as much about thehistory of distance running as it is about the human spirit and what it’s capable of, and it reads like a thriller. I couldn’t put it down.

It spoke of running as it should be. That there is a joy in running we once
understood as children and how it can be that way again. It states that the joy
and comradery of running might just be the difference that makes 100 miles as
possible as 1.

“That was the real secret of the Tarahumara: they’d never forgotten what it felt like to love running. They remembered that running was mankind’s first fine art, our original act of inspired creation. Way before we were scratching pictures on caves or beating rhythms on hollow trees, we were perfecting the art of combining our breath and mind and muscles into fluid self-propulsion over wild terrain.”

I went on to read two other books by ultramarathoner Scott Jurek–Eat and Run and his lovely masterpiece, North. He describes running as a source of clarity and problem-solving. He spoke of finding a sense of home in the rhythm of your feet and learning to love the feeling of your body moving through space at a certain speed.

I also love how these authors spoke of the concept of nothing being lost. Every
step of running was building on the one before it. With every block I covered, I
was writing something on my bones. Every time I ran I became a runner, and
every time I came back to running after a break, I had the peace in knowing that
my body would remember. I only had to keep putting one foot in front of the
other, and my body would remember.

I began reading about running and running in between reading. When I started, since I knew I couldn’t keep up with the average runner and that I didn’t look like the average runner, it was easy to feel like I wasn’t a real runner. As if there was some real runner qualification, a certain amount of times a week you ran, or a certain distance, or a certain speed. I was putting on the shoes, and I was sweating, but I knew my jersey was slightly off from everyone else’s.

But the message that was echoed by the plus-size runners on social media was the same as the ultramarathoners in my book. What do you need to do to be called a runner? Run. For fun, for distance, for speed, for miles, for mental health, for weight loss. Whether you are chasing your dreams or the ice cream truck, if you run then a runner you are, and nobody can take that from you.

The distances I ran and the speed at which I ran them were nothing of note but they were mine. I began noticing small encouraging changes such as being able to stand longer on my feet. I was more sure-footed. If I stumbled I was able to catch myself more readily.

With a background in improv and general Tomfoolery, running gave me another outlet, making silly videos for social media. These goofy videos are about my struggles as a plus-size athlete, which include:
● People thinking that you are having a heart attack when they see you
winded, but didn’t see you running.
● My propensity to make dolphin noises when really out of breath.
● The series of lies I use to trick myself into running.

Each video helped me stay motivated and kept me from being too hard on
myself.

Running also led me to a fantastic community of athletes of every size. A whole world of plus-size dancers, aerialists, gymnasts, volleyball players, figure skaters, and more. For so long so much of the world of sports felt off-limits for me. Now there were all these athletes stretching out their arms and inviting me to join them.

I could dive into this community for encouragement and for answers. Answers to questions like, how do you protect your knees–and what do I need to know about shoes, socks, leggings, and chafing.

I can’t tell you what it means to be a part of a community that sees me running and doesn’t tell me to stop or that I should go farther or faster. The running community has such a good knack for meeting you where you are while also cheering you onward.

What has been surprising about the running community is that there is an absolute sense of togetherness. Runners like to read about running, talk about running, meet early, and go for runs in ridiculously large groups. But at the same time, there is such a strong sense of individuality. Everyone is beating their own times, setting their own goals in speed, distance, and endurance. We are together, but we’re not competing. And even when we are, it is with a sense of comradery. I don’t know if it’s the endorphins or all the time in the fresh air, but runners are
some of the nicest people.

In the early hours of Thanksgiving morning, I shifted from one foot to the other waiting for the start of my first 5k. All of us–young and old, big and small–gathered for our 3.1-mile pilgrimage around our designated route. The uniform for such a race varied from athletic wear to matching family shirts to full turkey costumes. But when we pinned that number to our chest, we were all on the same team.

*This article was first published in Run Your Life magazine in October of 2023*