Conviction and a Commitment
When I first heard Ahmaud Arbery’s story, and in these past few weeks the stories of Breonna Taylor, Christian Cooper, and George Floyd my initial response was shock, heartbreak, and sadness.
But underneath those initial feelings was something else and unsettled feeling I couldn’t put my finger on.
Conviction.
What I felt was conviction. I felt convicted of my own ignorance when it comes to issues of race and white supremacy. I grew up in a small town in New Hampshire, in a family that avoided conflict and controversial subjects. We didn’t talk about race or difference, because I think we assumed that pointing out the difference was racist. We were supposed to be colorblind.
We weren’t exclusive, I remember having many exchange students stay with us throughout my childhood. When we studied the Civil War as a kid, I can remember thinking we were the North, we were the good guys. I’m not sure my simplistic view of racism in America has changed that much since then. It expanded somewhat in college and then again as I assumed a position as a high school English teacher, thanks to a great mentor teacher who challenged my curriculum. But I largely assumed it was enough that I wasn’t a racist myself.
What I lacked was an understanding of the pervasiveness of systemic racism in our nation, but also in the running community. The community in which I am most involved. The community in which I have built a business.
Whenever I talk about Rise.Run.Retreat. the predominant message I get through my DM’s or email is:
“I want to come, but I am afraid I won’t be fast enough.”
I spend a lot of time debunking this myth and touting the fact that Rise.Run.Retreat. is designed for every woman, regardless of age or pace.
I wondered this weekend, is there a message I am not getting? One that people are afraid to voice:
“I want to come, but I am afraid I am not white enough.”
Before our retreats start, the one thing I tell my staff is that whatever happens, whatever logistics go wrong or whatever balls get dropped, that what matters most is that every woman attending feels seen, heard and loved
What I am beginning to realize is that helping women, all women regardless of age, pace or race, feel seen, heard and loved begins far before they walk through the door and into the retreat. It starts in the planning stages.
Helping all women feel seen, heard, and loved starts with who I invite as our guest speakers and quite frankly, up until this year, all our guest speakers have all been white women. That responsibility falls squarely on my shoulders. In the past, I’ve have pulled guest speakers from my Instagram feed and by polling my audience. Admittedly, both my feed and my audience look a lot like me: white.
As a result, there has been little representation of people of color at Rise.Run.Retreat. And that lack of representation may in fact be perpetuating the idea that Rise.Run.Retreat. is not for everyone, despite the fact that I say it is.
And so this unsettled feeling, this conviction, is really just me knowing that I haven’t done the work.
And so I’m committing to the work here, to not just giving inclusion lip-service, but actually educating myself on issues of race and inequality, so that Rise.Run.Retreat. is synonymous with being seen, heard and loved.
-Sarah