When Running for Faith gave me a run filled with hope.

“Guess what we are doing Sunday?” I texted to Melissa on Wednesday afternoon. “What are we doing?” came the reply. “We’re doing a race!” I messaged back, and then waited for the response. As usual, the response was “Ok.” Fantastic! I had wanted to do this race a few years back and since this was the last year it was being held I did not want to miss it. It would give me a chance to exercise, for us to do something fun, and would keep me from thinking about my girls who are having a blast in Orlando without me.

Running through Chiltonville is amazing, and a little dangerous. There are crazy turkeys who hide in the brush in between houses just waiting for you to run by so they can rush out and literally scare the crap out of you. The sidewalks are warped with the gnarled tree roots, anxiously awaiting to break your ankle. Sometimes it’s almost like they are laying dormant until your shoelace is caught on a random branch that technically shouldn’t be there but is because the tree root is 6 inches out of the ground. Don’t even get me started on the fact that there are NO sidewalks on some of the roads and there aren’t much of a shoulder so if you are running and a car comes from either direction, you better hope there isn’t poison ivy in the foliage you just jumped into.

So why try to run in that area at all? Who on earth would have a road race there? Someone who knows and loves Plymouth. Someone who knows that sometimes good runs are about the views, and not just an easy terrain. Beautiful untouched fields and meadows, brooks, and farm land just minutes away from the ocean. It’s like a piece of Vermont was placed next the beach. Gorgeous.

Of course, it was also one of the hottest days we have had in a while. I’m fine with the heat, but Mel is like Chris- they hate the heat. Both of them come back to life when sat in front of an air conditioner. We still had a great time walking through the trails and by the small brooks behind the houses. People were really friendly and I saw a few friends whom I haven’t seen in a while. It was a great time but something extraordinary happened that I completely did not expect.

Melissa wanted to be more like herself for this race. We went to Kohl’s and found a sports bra that would fit her. As we went through the day preparing for the race, I became anxious thinking about how Mel would do around a lot of people dressed as herself. I felt lightheaded. She asked me what was wrong and I asked “Are you going to be ok with this or are you going to start to freak out and feel like everyone is staring at us?” She looked at me directly in the eyes and said “I will be fine.” I did not share that confidence at all. I mean, we were shopping in the grocery store and she had an anxiety attack while wearing a pink shirt that anyone could have been wearing. This time, she will be wearing an actual sports bra. What if she freaks out and we have to leave?

Melissa assured me that she wouldn’t. I tried to relax but it made me nervous all night. The next morning we got ready and began putting our gear on. I was washing my face when she was getting into the sports bra. I was disappointed that I missed the event – a feat that is very hard to do in the summertime and I really wanted to see the spectacle but she managed to get it on without dislocating a shoulder. She put the yellow tank on over the bra and I could barely see it. I breathed a sigh of relief. We were good, we were okay, and we would blend in. We get in the car,  made our way to Plimoth Plantation and towards where the starting line was.

Here’s where the miracle happens…we get to the race, park the car and debate when to head over to where the runners are supposed to be. People are starting to come in and I am enjoying the growing excitement that seems to spread from one runner to the next. We walk with a few people towards the registration area and I turn to say something to Melissa. I realize that her purple straps are starting to show and I look around. No one was paying any attention. People walked by and said hello. No one yelled out “Are you wearing a bra, dude?” No one cared. All they cared about was getting through this heat, and having a great time doing something they loved.

You see, the running community could have cared less that a transwoman was in the race. They were happy there was another person there. It didn’t matter if that person was 6 feet tall, with a ponytail, who needed a shave and had a purple sports bra on. They were happy to share the road with us. No one said a word. Then it hit me. When you are a participant in a race or part of the running community, we are all on the same road. We each want the other to enjoy what we love so much , it doesn’t matter what you look like or whether you are a speed demon or not.  This aspect of the running community has always been attractive to me, and on Sunday, it shined. It inspired me to not give up on my running, or on us being out. It showed me that there are people in this town who are truly good people and aren’t I fortunate to be part of that.

 

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