It all started with a marathon I wasn’t ready for.
I signed up on a whim for the 2014 Brighton Marathon and with less than two months to train. I had no idea what I was doing, but something about the challenge – the movement, the solitude, the sheer madness – stuck with me.
In time, running became more than a personal escape. It became the thing that led me to one of the most important communities of my life: a place where I could be queer, be myself and still be called a runner.
I was always interested in sport growing up but struggled to match my enthusiasm with ability when it came to team games.
Finding my place in sport
Although I wasn’t consciously questioning my sexuality at the time, looking back I’m sure part of that stemmed from the changing room anxiety that will be familiar to many LGBTQ+ people.
I came out – to myself and to others – relatively late in life and even then, I found it hard to fit in.
There were gay people in my life, but they were individuals rather than a network, and I was still searching for a sense of community.
Despite what I now realise was foolish naivety, I completed that first race in a time I couldn’t have dreamed of.
The following year I ran it again, that time fundraising for Stonewall. Running that race in one of Europe’s queerest cities was a tremendous rush.
I can still hear the slightly louder cheers from the local LGBTQ+ community as I shuffled past in my bespoke Stonewall vest, but despite this newfound pride, running was still a solitary activity.
I’d heard of London Frontrunners – an LGBTQ+ running club – but hadn’t worked up the courage to go.
Eventually, I turned up one Monday evening in Waterloo, where I found myself surrounded by over 100 runners who all seemed to know each other and were completely at ease laughing, stretching and chatting like old friends.