It’s Not About Hating Men: What SheRACES Teaches Us About Real Equality
Hello!
I’m swinging into your inboxes earlier than usual this week with a debrief and a deep dive from my recent experience with SheRaces, which I’ve been really looking forward to, as you’ll know if you’ve been here a while. (If not, you can read all about SheRaces and my role as their ambassador here).
Before that though, I just wanted to give you a quick update about changes to my posting schedule over here. I am really proud that for over a year now I have consistently posted every week (often twice a week!), which has been no small feat. Now, though, I’m needing to devote a bit more to some exciting future projects, so I’ve decided I’m going to let myself have a well earned break from weekly posting for the foreseeable. Don’t worry, I’ll still be regularly landing in your inboxes with all my thoughts and feelings about running and life, of course!
As always, I’m really grateful for all of you reading along here, and I always love reading all of your messages and comments, so please keep them coming. Thank you, and see you soon!
Verity x
I don’t remember the exact moment my brother and I weren’t treated the same but I know it started early. My mum tells me the Easter I was 3 years old I asked my Grandma why my egg was smaller than my brother’s- surely it wasn’t because he was a boy, and I was a girl? That’s so UNFAIR!
This same determination not to be treated differently because of my gender persisted- I remember as an almost teenager being “allowed” to write “WOMEN RULE OK” in big, black capital letters on the (previously) white wall of my neighbours house, which happened to be an all male household. I fear I was probably humoured…
This drive didn’t leave me as I got older far from it, I grabbed at every opportunity determined to make my point, ready with my soapbox, whether I was delivering lessons on Equal Pay or ranting about the unfairness of women getting into nightclubs for free while the boys had to pay… I got my male friends involved, “right on sister”, they’d say, as we exchanged clothes in seedy nightclub entrances, giggling as we made a performance out of equality; them in my skirt, me in their jeans. Equality was easy, right, just treat everyone the same, that’s fair.
When I first started running, I carried this binary framework of equality with me, and with the same gusto of my feisty teenage years, believing that men and women should have access to the “same” resources as each other, that we should stand equally on the same start line and finish on the same finish line; to me gender specific races weren’t progress, they were regression, why would we separate the running community into two gender silos?
And my passion knew no bounds as I typed a scathingly worded email to the race director of a local ladies only race, encouraged by (supportive?) male friends asking, “what about the men? surely feminism is about equality for all?”. I remember hitting that send button with pride.
But now, I hang my head in shame at the memory, and feel toe curling embarrassed at my own naivety and ignorance- because I was so, so wrong.
In my defence, I was a victim of the reining belief that diversity and inclusion should be focused on representation, and none was yet talking about equity. So I was happy to be said “representation”, turning up to race after race, but something still never sat right, I felt and saw a friction that I couldn’t quite name – that was until SheRACES helped me see the weight I’d been carrying.
The friction was a sense of what more do you want as I watched and experienced that equality wasn’t about being the same, that inclusivity was about equity. I absorbed it all, and I asked my runners to absorb it too, encouraging women to show up, shouting that we all deserved to be on the start line, in with the pack, regardless of the uneven rules.
But we had to shrink ourselves to fit in, absorbing the amount of extra energy spent scrutinising cut off times deciding what races were accessible because, no shit, if you didn’t make the cut off time, finish lines were barricaded off and celebratory fanfare arches deflated, unceremoniously moved onto the pavement as roads re-opened, with the lasting legacy of a DNF after your name.
We took it on the chin as sweeper cars revved behind us in the first mile of our marathon, as self-proclaimed “real runners” raced past us at the local parkrun, shouting “get out of the way, runners coming through” reinforcing our own self-doubt that we really shouldn’t be there. We took it all, the “unisex” finishers t-shirts that didn’t fit us at all, the comments, the “banter”, the unsolicited advice thinly disguised as encouragement, the questioning of whether we were runners, or on the right course; it’s just a joke, lighten up – no need to write another email.
My mistake was believing that if we just tried really hard, we could mould ourselves within the parameters of equality and not recognising sooner that the reality was so different from the “All Abilities Welcome” on the poster.
For me, with every difficult race, and every difficult interaction, I convinced myself I was building resilience, I was building character, mental strength, and a stoicism that would be in abundance if I ever needed it.
I’d not noticed the weight of second guessing what I looked like in race photos, open for all to see, the pressure to not only look like a runner but a perfect one at that, not a hair or pace out of place. The burden of visible start lines, public tracking, and stats that bore the gatekeeping and legitimisation of what the definition of a runner was.
Then there was my experience last weekend, at the first SheRACES Trail Series. The race was in the Peak District, and designed for women by women; a gender specific silo that felt like home, and I can’t begin to tell you how much I needed to feel this warm, comforting, and gentle embrace.
I’ve thought long and hard about last Saturday’s race day experience, asking myself if I’ve been in an unhealthy relationship for the last 25 years with racing, because was my bar so low? My expectations and experiences so internalised that I didn’t think I deserved any care or thought in my race day experience?
So how was SheRACES different?
The journey home began with the assured pre-race emails of fine detailed logistics, of mandatory kit clearly reasoned, of the reinforcement of the message NO cut-off times, yes, really we mean it, of flexible start times, anonymous start lists and tracking, of female and unisex toilets, of single sex changing areas, baggage tents, tracking devices, personalised responses to medical notes on sign up forms, the tone always authentic, welcoming and up to date.
The morning of the event, crucially, the set up was as described, female only toilets with sanitary products, in clear, clean plastic containers that offered choices- someone had thought this through. The conversation was calm as children ran freely, not an eyelid was bat as, for some, their pre-race warm up involved the breast feeding of a baby.
Number collection was a breeze, we moved along the line collecting T-shirts designed with a women’s body and shape in mind, a tracker placed in our running vests, it all felt so much like they had our back.
The starting pen was calm, no jostling, but most importantly, no last-minute snot rockets, just the countdown to something new. And to me, it was new, I eased into my pace, a quiet respect of those around me.
Until, that is, the newness slightly lost its shine.
“Lean forward” she said as she appeared on my right, flanked by 2 other runners, I looked at her quizzically, surprised. She continued “If you lean forward, momentum will carry you” What? Was she providing me with unsolicited advice, correcting my running style, my gait, my technique?
I was speechless with the sour taste of disappointment, as it slid down my throat into my stomach. But she hadn’t finished! She zipped in front of me, turning her head, smiling directly at me, “You ran really well down that last section” as though her praise was really important to me.
Did it burst my bubble? It did, just a bit, I won’t lie- so I ran past the trio, avoiding the first aid station to get some distance and perspective between us, to run alone, with the views and the silence to untangle the mess. And then I felt it, I felt the weight lift as I was given the space to just be, as I followed the well-marked route, knowing that I could take as long as I needed, that there would be people at the finish, waiting for me when I was ready.
On the homeward stretch of a narrow, root riddled path, I heard another voice, I braced myself, “Is it ok if I pass you when it’s convenient?” What? Another shock, but a pleasant one, of course you can as I stepped to one side.
The experience was everything I didn’t know I needed, and it really showed me why female only races have a place and a role.
SheRACES are proving that races can be adjusted and re-designed, change is possible to how it’s always been done, and that everyone deserves to have the same chance to finish safely with the feeling that they do belong. SheRACES has shown that races can be adapted for “all abilities”, different bodies, different life stages and actually mean it. That inclusion doesn’t always have to result in discomfort, embarrassment, or an eye roll of, what more do you want?