The other day in my Apple News feed, there was an article asking, “How to Make Running More Inclusive and Accessible?” It struck me as absurd. A pair of shoes and some clothes you can run in seems just about as inclusive and accessible as you can be. But it’s entirely possible that as a middle aged, white guy, I am not entirely aware of how my sport of choice is exclusive. But seeing the headline of this article did get me thinking about the first time I ran a serious road race and how much of an outsider I felt like at the end.

It was a couple of years after college graduation and I was living with my schoolmate Tom who’d been a very athletic defensive tackle. After work, we divided up our fitness time into lifting pretty serious weight down at a local gym or running, completely flat out around Cambridge’s Fresh Pond or the Charles River. To say we had little understanding of how one was supposed to train for running would be a monumental understatement. From the second we walked out the door to the moment we returned across the threshold, we were in 6^th gear. Injury flare ups were ignored, we pushed through most everything.

Today, I stand at a not very intimidating 5’8” 147 lbs. But back then, believe it or not, your humble narrator was pushing about a buck seventy and yes, I was almost a full inch taller. So, though I’d run for general fitness almost my entire life, I was definitely not built like a runner. Just a few years from football, I was still putting 225 on the bench and banging out reps with relish.

So, when Tom and I decided to try our hand at a 10K along the same river we ran almost every day, we had slim chance of turning too many heads with our performance. Our kit, however, grabbed all the attention we could ask for. For my inaugural race, I wore a powder blue, cotton T-shirt from a lawn service I worked for several years prior. Because my arms were considerably larger than they are today, I’d cut off the sleeves of said shirt. Back then, I did not have running shorts. So, I wore a pair of “bike shorts” with nothing underneath. In case that wasn’t enough of a poor decision, they were cherry red. This is how I toed the line. Whatever Tom wore, I can’t really remember but I am certain it was as absurd and meatheady as my own sartorial choice. At 6’4” and 235lbs, he probably was a bit more of an eyesore than I was.

But, we were both pretty Goddamned fast. In a starting field that was significant, we ran towards the front. In the last mile, on a very hot summer morning, Tom dropped back a bit and I got into a group that, though I looked nothing like them, we all seemed comfortable banging out a 6 teenish pace. They were a bit older than me and decked out in split shorts and singlets with club names on them. Having competed in enough sports over the years, I was familiar with the general animosity they were sending my way, the interloper was clearly performing at a level they felt was reserved for them.

When we got down to the last 600 meters or so, things got serious and though I didn’t drop the group, I finished right in the middle of them, much to theirs and frankly, my own surprise. My time and place left me quite pleased but I was conscience of the fact that while there were handshakes all around for the group that I finished with, only one guy came over to shake my hand. The rest ignored me. I felt something that I’d experienced before after a lifetime of sticking my neck out in unfamiliar places: I was not welcome among these dudes. But, I wanted to be.

I’d loved running my whole life. And in that moment of standing on the finishline as an overwhelmed guy that felt like he had some talent, I wanted to be part of the group that I’d hammered home with.  Standing there all jacked up and looking like someone’s fitness apparel nightmare, I did not fit in and I knew it.

Today, we’re encouraged to be our authentic selves and that is an idea I fully endorse. But like Free Speech, being authentic doesn’t come without consequence and one of them is that some people might not accept you. Groups form because people like to share similarities, just ask any ERG participant, you sign up for the group you most relate to. I related to the way those cats ran and I wanted to be accepted. Inclusion wasn’t going to come from them until I made some changes. And so I did.

I dove into running on my own. There wasn’t anyone to lead me by the hand. I found a store that offered books on the topic, I asked questions, I started doing reasonable workouts and I kept racing. I learned the lingo, bought the right clothes and I was pretty fast. It didn’t take that long and soon I found myself part of a community in Cambridge that was quite large. I lost weight, dressed running clothes and had large groups of friends that I would hit the road and trails with. While we found many things in common, the thing that mattered, the thing that unified us was wanting to go fast. And going fast took a huge effort on all our part and that provided the spirit for our friendships.

Maybe running does need to be more inclusive and accessible. But I know that the transformation I made in becoming a “real” runner served me in every way. It was a humbling experience to learn that the way I was, my authentic self, wasn’t going to get me where I wanted to go. It was me that had to change, not the sport.