​Sometimes I feel as if I’m a runner with Stockholm’s Syndrome. I’m deeply infatuated and in love with a sport and community that leaves me feeling invigorated, inspired and broken. My limbs gleefully seize up from each extension; my thick legs reverberate the sounds of an internal protest – this is oftentimes welcomed and expected. I didn’t account for the sounds of my peers telling me that I am not wanted here or how my body is a force of repulsion. My thoughts are not always welcomed in spaces that I once considered safe. I don’t know exactly when I shifted from being a person once invited to join a collective of asphalt clapping runners to being a nuisance in the community but I know how it made me feel once I acknowledged the shift. Despite my treks through unfamiliar terrains, this void feels foreign. These days, I don’t find solace being in a group with like-minded strangers. I learned how to run alone and at times, I find it hard to muster the courage to not feel broken in my solitude.

After spending four days in Fairbanks, Alaska and experiencing below twenty something degrees for the first time, I was reminded by my messy desktop that the other parts of my reality awaited me:  Hate Mail. Although this is nothing that anyone should brag about, I can say that I have a metaphorical trophy the size of Texas worth of disturbing comments -- so much so that I've abandoned this very open ended diary for months at a time.  It's hard picking up the pen or clicking away at a keyboard when your inspiration for blurbing shifts from wanting to talk about your many successes and failures without censorship to flicking off comments from yet another person who hates you.  These calluses are so thick that I rarely feel the cuts anymore.  Some would say that I am maturing; I think I am normalizing absurdity; perhaps I will know the answer to that in another decade.

The positives and negatives of being so visible and transparent about your adventures is knowing that with the power of anonymity gifted from the internet means you are opening yourself up to even more unsolicited advice and harassment -- even if you know who, what and where the source comes from.  It's more of a shit show when people expect you to get over it because it's under the guise of "knowing what you signed up for" or it's easy for others to speak on something that they don't have to experience on a daily basis.  In my worse experiences, I've been physically approached with more than just verbal lashings and vitriol.  If you ever find yourself in my reality, I want to reassure you that you're not alone and there's nothing okay about these situations.  Do whatever you need to do to protect yourself at the moment and when safe, report it in to the proper legal channels.  At the end of this blurb, you can find a small list of resources that may be helpful for you.

As a plus size athlete, fatphobic comments run steadily like water.  And being a black woman, I have enough traumatic stories to keep you drunk for an entire month.  Bring the Johnny Walker and we could have a marvelous party in self pity -- but I prefer to not indulge.  Instead, I love running or doing gym bro shit.  Scaring the shit out of my 62 year old mom as I tell her about traveling to another trail in an affluent community that will try to search my locs as if I'm holding onto a special strain of marijuana is more of my thing.  I know how harshly the world views me and others who share some sort of attribute that comes with living in this body -- and the media knows it too.  Since they're so knowledgeable about it, these so called 'professional' publications and corporate companies found gimmicky ways of generating buzz.  This weeks' anal chafing came from an opinion piece written by Tanya Gold posted in The Telegraph -- and I'd be dipped in hushpuppy battered shit if I'm posting a link on here.  

The internet is a gift and curse to many.  Through social media, I literally went from being a novice athlete who worked out for fun to being sponsored and partnered up with some dynamic companies.  And while I don't regret posting up my regimen, sharing highlights of my day through ASMR style cooking videos and occasional rants here and there, know that it's not as glamorous as it appears.  In fact, I recently jumped up close to a thousand followers in the last 36 hours at the expense of being a target of heckling on social media.  Oftentimes I am conflicted on calling people out, turning the other cheek or being vulnerable about the degrees of hurtful exchanges produced by strangers who hate me for breathing.