Running to Redefine Normal

I ran two uplifting races this weekend, the annual Pride Run and the Achilles Run for Hope and Possibility. It was hot and almost unbearably humid on both mornings and so I was grateful for the feel-good atmosphere of both events, without which I'm not sure I would have made it.

Rainbow bracelets for the Pride Run

With the recent Supreme Court decision, I expected the Pride Run to be more wild and crazy than usual, but it felt about the same as last year. People still dressed in wacky costumes and there was still a great turn-out, but otherwise it felt just like any other Pride race I've run. The race felt pretty typical, with a few key differences. The anthem was sung as usual, but it was performed by a cast member of Kinky Boots and was one of the best race-day renditions I've heard. The race instructions were given by an enthusiastic man with an effeminate lilt to his voice who told a few jokes that had us tittering. We heard a few more brief speeches than usual, and I learned that this was the 32nd annual Pride Run. Wow. Leave it up to New York City to be that progressive. Thirty-two years ago, however, the race was small and most runners avoided it for fear of being ostracized. Now the New York Front Runners, an LGBT running team, has more than 900 members. Times change. We were thanked for coming out as LGBT community members and allies, and then the gun sounded and we set off on a sweaty, five-mile slog. I saw rainbow tutus and a guy in a red speedo wearing a rainbow flag as a cape, and the runners were more attractive than usual, but otherwise it felt like a pretty normal race. What a race for the history books, however! I wondered how many of the spectators on the sidelines were cheering for a same-sex partner, and how many of the children had two moms or two dads. I was thrilled to know that they finally could enjoy equal rights under the law.

Sunday morning, I left the registration tent for the Achilles race with a different goal than usual. Instead of heading for the corrals, I found a bench just behind the announcers' stage and parked myself on it. Last year, Jon Stewart had made a speech at this race, and, figuring that this was one of his regular charities, I was determined to see him. A few minutes after I sat down, two white women and a black women approached, and the black woman sat next to me. She had long, carefully curled hair and meticulous Pumas on, and sipped from a travel mug. In a few minutes, a man with a clipboard approached and shook her hand. "Thank you so much for coming!" he gushed. "I'm so honored to meet you." Whoa, this was someone important. I slyly pulled out a headphone, the better to eavesdrop. The man waved another man over. "I want you to meet someone," he said. "This is Anthony Edwards. Anthony Edwards, Gloria Gayner."

Let me put that into perspective for those of you who are as thick as I am: "This is Anthony Edwards."

As in, sitting-next-to-Tom-Cruise-as-Goose-in-Top-Gun Anthony Edwards

"Anthony Edwards, Gloria Gayner."

"Oh, not I/I will survive/As long as I know how to love/I know I'll stay alive..."

It was only during both celebrities' speeches a few minutes later that I put together who they actually were. Edwards, who played a fighter pilot and later a doctor on E.R., was committed to races for people who are differently abled. Gayner's song gives inspiration to thousands of athletes who have more to overcome than the average runner. One of the white women, who seemed to be Gayner's assistant, explained that the man who'd initially approached her was Toby Tanser, director of the race and founder of an organization called Shoes4Africa that sends used running shoes to people in need. Just when I thought things couldn't get any cooler, I recognized a very familiar and admired face coming over to introduce herself to Gayner.

Mary Wittenberg, president and CEO of NYRR, got a lot of flack after the Hurricane Sandy/marathon debacle. I am a huge fan of hers, however. I think she was put in an impossible position, made even more impossible by Bloomberg's announcement that the marathon was still on (the wording of which made me think she probably didn't have much of a say). She was going to piss people off no matter what she did, and I really felt for her. I love her organization, I'm impressed that she, as a woman, runs one of the largest athletic companies in the country, and I admire her for welcoming all the runners before each race, then hopping off the stage and running among us. She's probably in her 50's and is tall, slender, and pretty. She introduced herself to Gayner, then looked at me. "You ran the Pride Run yesterday!" she exclaimed, I was wearing the t-shirt I'd picked up from the race, and stammered out that I had and that it was awesome. She beamed at me and then turned to greet the CEO of Cigna, who was standing there with his wife and kids, all in matching Cigna jerseys. Goodness. I'll have to hang out by the stage more often. 

The race itself was a bit of a mess, as the division containing all the blind runners with guides and the people intending to complete the race on crutches started about 7 minutes before the able-bodied runners did. Needless to say, things got pretty impacted as we caught up to them, but most of the participants who were really slow turned to make a smaller, 1.7-mile loop, about a mile in and then things opened up. I always find it inspirational to watch people running in spite of all kinds of disabilities: prosthetic legs, missing arms, vision loss, paralysis, etc. One of the wheelchair athletes was Mery Daniel who lost her log in the Boston bombings. I saw a man I recognized from last year who looked to have some sort of cerebral palsy. He doesn't seem to have command of his arms, so he turns his wheelchair backwards and propels himself by pushing off with his legs instead, needing his two guides only for steering. It was a hot race, again, and I was glad when it was over, but a really great one to be a part of. 

I love running for many reasons, but participating in events like this in New York City has added a few more to the list. I love coming into contact with fascinating people, even if we don't interact beyond simply exchanging a smile as we run or wheel alongside each other. I love that my race entry fees help fund organizations that promote equal rights and athletic opportunities for groups that, while gaining acceptance, are still marginalized. And I love that simply by showing up, I can swell the crowds a little to show my support for alternative lifestyles and my acceptance of athletes of all abilities.