In February 2024, I started my routine search for a half-marathon trail race to do in the spring, and the only one I could find within reasonable distance was in Fruita, CO. It looked perfect: a timely date, a gorgeous location, spectacular landscapes, and ideal weather.
When I tried to register, I found only the usual two options of “Male” or “Female” for gender. I reached out to the organizers explaining that I am a nonbinary athlete and asking if there was any possibility for me to register in a different category that would recognize me as such. Their reply was a polite dismissal: “We’re working on this for the future, but for now you can only register as ‘M’ or ‘F.’”
The discrimination felt like a slap in the face, and my first thought was, “I cannot run this race because I’m nonbinary.”
Then, a few days later, my attitude shifted, and the thought came to me: “Yes, I CAN run this race! I CANNOT REGISTER for it, but I CAN RUN it. And I WILL RUN it!”
I was ready to act. I knew, however, that I couldn’t do this by myself. I couldn’t drive almost 300 miles away and run a steep, technical half-marathon in the desert with no support. I also knew that I might be denied hydration or assistance if I needed it because I wasn’t registered for the race.
Fortunately, I have wonderful friends from all over who sent their support with text messages, advice, tips, and even swag I could wear for the race. Some even went to Fruita with me.
My nonbinary friend Moss joined me for emotional and moral support, and my running buddy Matt brought his family. Everyone who wasn’t running the race would wait for us at the finish line holding gender-affirming protest signs decorated with rainbows, nonbinary and trans flags, and phrases like “Gender is a spectrum — Running is for everyone.” Matt ran the race with me in case of trouble since I wasn’t registered.
The morning of the competition, Matt and I got to the trailhead just in time to start. My mouth was parched, and my heart was racing. But my buddy, and ally, was right beside me and the rest of the crew was on the sidelines showing their support. As the race was about to start, I was scared — scared the runners around us would be hostile, scared the organizers would stop us before we even started, scared we would be flagged at the aid stations along the trail.
We got started, and none of that happened. After the first couple miles, my body started going from “anxious mode” to “race mode.” I got into my pace, with Matt shadowing me and counting aloud every mile we gained: “three miles; four miles; five miles, six miles, seven miles.”
Once we passed seven miles and the second aid station, I knew we had this. We had covered more than half the distance. At the 12-mile mark, we stopped briefly for me to put on the trans flag as a cape for the last stretch and to cross the finish line.
A finish line had never felt so far away and so close at the same time. We could see it from the top of the last big hill. My legs were very tired, but the joy, the sense of empowerment, and the pride kept me going.
As I approached the finish line, Matt’s child showed up on the side of the course holding the progress pride flag and handed it to me, so I ran the last quarter mile and through the finish line wearing the trans flag as a cape and waving the pride flag in the air.
It was one of the most beautiful moments of my life.
Best of all was that I wasn’t doing this by myself or only for myself. I was doing it with the support of loved ones, friends, and allies who believed in the cause. Together, we were all doing it with the hope that next year nonbinary athletes will be allowed to register officially for this race, run it, be awarded fairly, and get the official recognition they deserve.
Yes, I did this for myself, because I’m not going to let someone tell me I can’t run a race if I don’t pick “M” or “F.” I’m not going to let anyone discriminate against me because of my gender.
But I also did it for all the other nonbinary runners who have been told they can’t run a race.
We are making progress though. After I had many conversations with the organizers, the GNAR “Staunton Rocks!” trail race on August 24 will include a nonbinary category both for registration and awards.
Nonbinary runners, unite!