Last November, I ran the New York City Marathon—my eighth marathon in just four years of running. But that was just a blip on my fall racing calendar. A few weeks prior, I’d finished an unusually muggy Chicago Marathon; in two weeks, I was signed up for the New York Road Runners 60K.
I’d been training under stressful circumstances. In August, I was grieving from the miscarriage of my twins and received emergency surgery for endometriosis. Emotionally fragile, but with the encouragement of friends and family, I told myself I’d push through these last races. If I changed my mind, at least I’d leave with a bang—alongside 50,000 other runners in New York City.
I may not be a pro runner, but I have trained and raced enough to know you cannot prepare for everything. Still, I didn’t expect the hurdle that would greet me between the 22nd and 23rd mile, at the corner of Marcus Garvey Park in Harlem: a tall man who leered at me and said, “It’s gonna take your fat ass forever, huh?”
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Now, I’m no stranger to heckling. I am the blogger behind Running Fat Chef, where I am exceptionally transparent about my fitness journey as a plus-size athlete. I’ve encountered my share of harassment from random strangers, but I’d never encountered anyone who would make such a crass statement at a race.
Overwhelmed with emotion, I wanted to assault him, but I knew he wasn’t worth it; two female runners witnessed the incident and convinced me not to waste my energy. Unfortunately, the damage was done. I’d let a smug man get in my head at one of the most crucial points of the race. Nevertheless, I finished the marathon—I had supporters and friends who’d brought their smiles, positive energies, and snacks—in a few minutes over seven hours.
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And when I got home, I wrote about the fat-shaming—first on my blog and then, after hearing other women share similar experiences on a Facebook group, in New York City Marathon The Root. Initially, I didn’t think anyone outside the running community would care. But within hours, I was receiving random friend requests on Facebook. I was happy that a conversation was developing, but still, I was skeptical. By 6 p.m., the messages hadn’t stopped. My formerly abandoned Twitter account How Des Linden Is Adjusting Her Training Instagram followers nearly tripled. Yup, I’d gone viral.
The next morning, my inbox was pregnant with emotional emails from random strangers. Walking my son to school, typically a 15-minute trip, took forever—people I saw along the way wanted to meet the “strong athlete.” I even learned some of my neighbors’ names (this is New York, where you can go decades no more than grunting at those who live next door), and it strangely didn’t feel awkward. When I went to the gym, though, it was weird. My phone was going off, and gym regulars who never used to speak a word to me would either stare, wave, or insist on giving me a hug.
By noon, I was drinking a beer, one of many I would indulge in that week. This experience was overwhelming, and I didn’t know how to process being an inspiration. After all, I’m a recovering self-defeatist, and it’s a daily process to speak kindly to myself. When the surrealness of the experience was too much, my friends and family suggested I take breaks. One evening, my husband and I went for a seven-mile run on one of my easier routes. A bright-eyed woman startled me when she started shrieking in excitement, spotting me as we were running an 11-minute pace. An exciting moment for her, but nerve-wracking for me.
I spent my first two days engulfed in emails, DMs, and comments. My inbox resembled flowers in the form of thank you messages and personal narratives that pricked like thorns. Hundreds of people told me about their fitness journeys, starting from a Couch-to-5K program to becoming a triathlete, and I accepted video chats from high-school students. One of my favorite emails came from a woman who also suffers from endometriosis:
“I am a two-time triathlete and do not have an ‘athletic figure.’ What I have are two thick legs that carried me across multiple finish lines, a core that helped power me miles in a pool, and the ocean and arms that supported me while biking hundreds of miles.”
Unfortunately, some stories sat on my heart like stagnant water. An older woman told me she’d lost her mother and her job within months, but felt discouraged about going back to the pavement:
“Honestly, I never had a problem starting over, but this time is different. I can’t seem to grasp it. I’ve always enjoyed running when I was in middle and high school. I want to run again, but I’m embarrassed and concerned about people making fun of me.”
My mission was to let people know they weren’t alone—that they, too, can push past disparaging, unsolicited comments. I am not a fan of downplaying a stereotypically lean, fit body; instead, I want to show the world that all bodies are capable of phenomenal things. In an interview with the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation, I encouraged listeners to talk about inclusivity, how we can embrace all walks of life and not view it as some sort of promotion of obesity.
Likewise, I didn’t want to utilize my platform just to shame and ostracize my heckler. Rather, I wanted to find my balance between understanding his thinking and not allowing his or others’ comments to sabotage me. Was he simply trying to get his opinion across, or had someone hurt him like he tried to hurt me? I tried to feel compassion for him. There’s so many people like him—some of you don’t even know that you might be him.
After all, it doesn’t take much to retort with an equally offensive comment. But what do you gain from it? Honestly, I’m not always compassionate in my responses, but when I have the opportunity, I prefer to stimulate a conversation, even if we continue to have opposing views.
By day seven, my story had circulated to more that 15 outlets, including People, D.L. Hughley’s The GED Section, and Refinery 29, and I regularly scrolled through tagged Facebook posts. Overall, the positive feedback outweighed the negative, but this, too, was a lesson in how to handle myself on social media.
What Happened After I Spoke out About Fat Shaming at the NYC Marathon Buzzfeed story about plus-size athletes, I got into an online feud with a woman who stated that I “must eat like a horse.” This go round, I promised myself I wouldn’t challenge every negative statement. And so, when one Instagram commenter accused me of promoting obesity, all I did was hold my tongue and let out a sigh of disgust.
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At the same time, several women on Facebook didn’t think I was “qualified” to write this story because I wasn’t “fat enough.” (In some people’s eyes, because there’s not much visible loose cellulite on my body and my hips are slightly wider than my core, I am an “acceptable” form of fat.) Whatever the platform, whatever the response, I thoroughly enjoyed the honest dialogue, most of which was people encouraging one another to pursue their fitness endeavors and sharing their evolving goals.
For some of them, I get to be their inspiration. I participated in a Blink Fitness campaign about setting attainable fitness goals throughout the year, and now I’m working with Tampax to encourage women to stay active during their menstrual cycles. (Did you know physical activity sometimes relieves cramps?)
It’s a big change from my pre-viral life, when my audience was an intimate one, and I’m both sad and thankful that being heckled was my gateway to reaching the broader public. My experience has actually restored a bit of my faith in humanity, but do I think the fat-shaming dialogue will change drastically? Not immediately.
History has shown us that change is hardly welcomed without a fight—and more than ever, I am willing to speak out against harassment. I think it’s going to take years of educating the public and encouraging elementary levels of respect, not to mention healing those affected, whether they’re an offender or a victim.
I’m much better at balancing my day-to-day tasks, practicing self care, and making running a priority in my life. At the moment, I’m training for The North Face Endurance Challenge 50K in Washington, D.C., and facing another fear—learning how to swim for the New Jersey State Triathlon. I want to add more trail races, particularly ultramarathons, to my roster.
I remain thankful for these legs that push me through boundaries and guide me on countless adventures. There may be bumps in the road, but I feel exceptionally optimistic.
