When I was 25, I ran a marathon. A few years on from being a college athlete, I was out of shape, overweight, and missing my recently lost athletic glory.
Living in San Diego, I did my training runs along the Mission/Pacific Beach boardwalk. Even in winter the beaches were crowded and the weather was warm.
The boardwalk was three miles long. For my six mile runs, I'd run back and forth. For twelve mile runs, I'd do it twice, or extend into Mission Bay.
For the longer runs, I'd run to downtown San Diego and back––past Sea World, Ocean Beach, Seaport Village, the Harbor.
After every run, I was exhausted, dripping sweat, and sore as hell. And progressing toward my goal.
I ran for three months, lost twenty pounds, and completed my marathon in mid-February.
Never once on my runs did I feel threatened. Never once did I feel unsafe. Never once was I questioned or stopped or attacked.
Never once was I shot by vigilante racists claiming they were looking for a burglar.
And I didn't die on any of my runs.
Ahmaud Arbery was 25, like me. He was going for a run, like I did hundreds of times.
The difference? I am White. He is Black.
I was seen as a human going on a run. He was not.
Someone asked me recently why I do my work.
I answered: to elevate humanity.
My own and others.