Alright, I’m going to attempt to document my journey back to fitness. Yesterday, I made a 21 week training plan to prepare for the Robinhood Half Marathon on 27 Sept 2020 in Nottingham, UK. This was the last Half Marathon I ran, in the same shoes pictured above - that was three years ago. It was also three years ago that I felt happiest, safest, and most comfortable in my self and my body. I was training for the Robinhood Half, I had walked for 3 weeks in Yosemite carrying about 25-30 pounds, and I was transitioning into the biggest move of my life - from the U.S. to the U.K. Little did I know that this would become a permanent move. I vowed at that time to sustain that “good feeling” in my self for as long as possible. What was possible was only about 2 months into my move to the UK.
UK weather, a secondary trauma, and the intensity of doing insider/outsider research as a survivor scholar overwhelmed me. I had to unlearn unhealthy ways of coping - pushing myself to the max, being the “best” at recovery, not letting my guard down, etc. etc. I let myself eat what I want, lie in bed instead of making myself run, and just recalibrate. Last year around this time, I cycled the Coast-to-Coast route with Snowdrop Project, hoping that would motivate me to regularize my exercise. In the summer, I joined Sandwell FC to see if football would spark my motivation. Although both of those helped me stay in some level of fitness and remind myself of how good it feels to feel physically capable, it has been the acceptance of my long-term, chronic, emotional pain, that has allowed me to get running again.
During this pandemic, there’s more of an acceptance of “do what you need to take care of yourself”. This should be true of every day life. However, in non-pandemic times, we (individually) and we (systemically) do not allow ourselves to do what we really need take care of ourselves. The rat race of a capitalism built for the few, mostly white, privileged men, makes it hardly possible to cook healthy food, shop ethically and organically, spend enough time with family, exercise when we want and not in some forced window of time, pick up different hobbies, stay in touch with friends, and on and on.
For me, I’ve tried to adapt the rat race by making a career out of my vocation - building and sustaining myself and my community of survivors of slavery and human trafficking. But this vocation, requires extra care taking. Most people would understand that someone with a physical disability might need to make accomodations to live the life they want to. If that person is in a wheelchair, they have to give extra time to travelling to and from places. If the person is visually impaired, they will need talk-to-text software, and maybe someone to help edit and format communications. All of these take time, money, and human resources. We often have to fight for these resources, or at least navigate cumbersome bureaucracy and poor company wide communication about policies and entitlements. We have to follow up on multiple referrals and spend weeks figuring out the best provider or source for our needs. If the resource doesn’t exist, we are spending time filling the gap for ourselves and others, advocating for the service, or someone just dealing without the needed resource.
So, today, I started off my training plan with a 1.5 mile goal. I did that and just that.
I paused at 2.23km to honor Ahmaud Arbery. A young man who was murdered for just existing. Ahmaud was 25 years old. At the age of 25, I went on my first backpacking trip with Balanced Rock Foundation. With tuition assistance and a program focused on supporting women of color to get in the backcountry, I found my true home - Yosemite. That trip led me to the trip of my life in July 2017 at the age of 33. I cannot imagine life without that trip.
For Ahmaud and his family, this run is for you. For black folks who are criminalized by others just by existing. You are not a criminal. You never were and never will be.
For survivors of slavery and human trafficking who read this - join me. Walk if you aren’t able to run. Swim if you aren’t able to walk. Sing, dance, pray, whatever it is - join the movement for social justice. We are not alone. We have a shared struggle with others to be alive, to love ourselves, and to heal. Our collective health is a rebellion.
“I rebel, therefore I exist.” - Albert Camus