In this edition of Author Talks, McKinsey Global Publishing’s Raju Narisetti chats with Alison Mariella Désir about her new book, Running While Black: Finding Freedom in a Sport That Wasn’t Built for Us (Portfolio, October 2022). Since the murder of Ahmaud Arbery, Désir has sought to bring awareness to the systemic inequities threatening Black runners, and Black Americans overall, and to help non-Black folks learn ways to promote equity in their communities. An edited version of the conversation follows.
What prompted you to write this book?
The book tells my personal story of what it’s like to move through space in a Black body. The inspiration for this book really was me having my son in July of 2019. I went through postpartum depression and anxiety, and I finally felt able to be in the outside world in February of 2020, about seven months later. Shortly after that, I found out about the murder of Ahmaud Arbery.
While my whole life I had known and felt the pain of Black and brown people being killed by vigilantes or being murdered by police, now that I had a young Black son, I had a vision of what the rest of my life would be: constantly worrying and having fear over what could happen to my son.
I started to think about that experience and how unique that is to being a Black person in this country, and I wrote an Op-Ed. In the Op-Ed, I talked about the unique experience of being a Black mother, of being a Black woman, and of the dangers—physical and psychological—of moving through space.
That Op-Ed went viral, and I found that many White people were shocked, confused, had never really heard that experience. In that moment, I said, “OK, I have to write this book. I have to share what it’s like to move through space. I have to share what it’s like to be in an industry that centers White men in a space where Black and brown people don’t have the same access or opportunity.”
In that moment, I put pen to paper, and it mostly flowed out of me.
What is the meaning of the book’s title?
The title initially was The Unbearable Whiteness of Running. About midway through writing the book, I decided to change the title to Running While Black, because I thought that Running While Black really captured my experience.
What I wanted to do through the book was humanize and share the experience of moving through space in a Black body and bringing awareness to folks who are non-Black of what that’s like and what it means for us. There’s still a chapter in my book called “The Unbearable Whiteness of Running.”
And in that chapter, I talk about, “What is the culture of running? How does Whiteness show up? What does it mean that most running races are disproportionately White? What does it mean that most people who have power in the industry, whether they are CEOs of brands, businesses, or events, are White?” The unbearable piece of it is that the industry and the community are disproportionately White, so that chapter still gets that in there.
“Running while Black” also is something that is known colloquially. People often talk about the experience of doing mundane things—whether it’s running, eating, traveling, or—God forbid—sleeping like Breonna Taylor—the tragic things that can happen simply by living in a Black body in this country, because we have never truly had the same access to rights or space as other people.
Why do you say that going outside as a Black woman is a ‘political act’?
The experience of running while Black, moving through space while Black, is something that probably every Black person has felt. If you think about the history of Black people in this country, it’s been one of exclusion, and that has really dictated where we can go, who we can marry, who we can love, and where we can go to school.
Our whole existence in this country has been about restricting our access to space and movement, so when I talk about going outside as a Black woman being a political act, I mean that it’s this act of claiming space and claiming belonging in a country—in a world—that has marginalized me and told me what I can and can’t do.
The stories that we hear about racism or White supremacy are blatant, terrible things like Ahmaud Arbery being murdered or, if you think historically, crosses being burned. Those are the images [of racism or White supremacy]: these blatant, violent, terrible occurrences, but there are also smaller slights.
When I talk about going outside as a Black woman being a political act, I mean that it’s this act of claiming space and claiming belonging in a country—in a world—that has marginalized me and told me what I can and can’t do.
You could call them microaggressions, although there’s nothing micro about these aggressions: the way that people look at you and are surprised to find you in a certain neighborhood, the way that people say to me, “Oh, you run?” the way that people make assumptions that I must be a beginner, the way a cop might see me running and roll by and look at me funny, making me feel like I have to say hello. All of these are indications that I’m supposedly in the wrong place, doing the wrong thing—that I don’t belong.
Another example is showing up to run a race and finding that I’m one of only one or two other Black people. All of these things are signals you pick up on that give you a sense that you don’t belong and that these spaces aren’t built for you. That’s a lot of what I talk about in the book.
The hope is that people see that both the macroaggressions and the microaggressions are indications of who this space was built for. My hope is that, with this book, we can change that.
What will it take to change your running experience?
If you think about what it requires, for example, to go out for a run: it requires safe streets, it requires clean air, and it requires, of course, running shoes. If you think about environmental racism, those are not things that everybody has equal access to.
There was an article recently that talked about the ten best places to run in the United States, and in each of those places, 90–95 percent of the population was White. The best places to run were also the Whitest places, the places with the most amount of shade, with clean streets, and with great lighting—all of those things play into the systemic nature of the community.
In the running industry, the same is true. It’s no coincidence that White middle-class males have the power. If you think about the history of Black people’s movement and access being monitored, denied, and restricted, then certainly those who had the ability to open up a running store in the early 1970s and ’80s, when the long-distance running boom started, were White folks.
In order for the industry to change, I think the biggest piece is awareness. I find myself in spaces where I’m the only Black woman, and I’ll say that to a colleague of mine, and that will prompt them to open their eyes and say, “Oh, my God. I never realized.” So the first piece is an awareness of a lack of equity. From there, it’s about taking intentional action.
When you learn true history, when you ask questions, and when you’re more skeptical of the single story that you’ve read, you learn that there are lots of Black and brown people who have been contributing to the sport of running.
When you look at history books, the experiences are centered on White people. The stories that are told are often not the truth. There’s one particular instance of this in the book that I talk about, and it relates to the origins of the New York City Marathon.
I won’t give it away, but you’ll be surprised to learn the true origins of the New York City Marathon, the ways in which that story has been distorted, and how credit has been taken from the creator of it.
When you learn true history, when you ask questions, and when you’re more skeptical of the single story that you’ve read, you learn that there are lots of Black and brown people who have been contributing to the sport of running, for example, without whom long-distance running would never have experienced a boom.
What is your advice to an individual runner who is not a person of color?
My advice to an individual runner who’s not a person of color is to be more curious. I think that curiosity goes hand in hand with awareness and is the first step toward creating change.
For example, when you show up at a race or you’re in a running store, be curious about, “Why is this running store here and not on the other side of town? Why is everybody in this running store or in my running club White? Why is it that when I go to certain races or events, the space is disproportionately White?”
Once you start to get curious, you start to see the inequity, you start to think about the lack of access, and then that can help you make more informed decisions as a voter, for example. Local politics are everything.
If you think about the way that resources are allotted in your town, if there’s one side of town that has great lighting, great tree coverage, and well-maintained streets, that’s probably the side of town where more people are running, and where the running stores are located. Start thinking about how you can be civic-minded and engage in electing officials who are more concerned for the entire town.
Be curious, and from that curiosity, take the action you can. That may be small, but it’s the accumulation of small actions that can lead to broader institutional change.
The way that you bring this up is important. Shame gets us nowhere. When people feel ashamed, they turn inward, but when you bring people along in the journey through conversation and help them in seeking change, I think that’s a powerful way to go about it.
Be curious, and from that curiosity, take the action you can. That may be small, but it’s the accumulation of small actions that can lead to broader institutional change.
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