What it looks like in real life, why it still falls short, and how we build running spaces that truly see the people inside them.
If we’re being honest, running loves to call itself “welcoming.” The whole “anyone can run” marketing angle is strong. But if you’ve spent enough time in this sport—as a runner, as a coach, as someone from a marginalized or underrepresented community—you know that “welcoming” and “inclusive” are not the same thing.
You can show up to a group run and still feel invisible.
You can stand on a start line and still feel like an outsider.
You can join a training program and still feel like you’re in someone else’s space.
And that’s the part the running industry doesn’t like to acknowledge: access isn’t the same thing as belonging.
As a coach, an Indigenous woman, and someone who works with athletes whose identities fall outside the default “runner archetype,” I spend a lot of time thinking about what belonging actually looks like—and what it takes to create spaces where people don’t just show up, but feel seen.
Let’s get into the real work.
The Intentional Steps I Take to Build Inclusive Training Spaces
Inclusion isn’t vibes. It’s structure. It’s tone. It’s expectations. It’s knowing that people bring their entire lived experience into every run, every workout, every coaching relationship.
Here’s how I build that into my coaching:
I lead with curiosity instead of assumptions
Different bodies need different things. Different backgrounds come with different barriers. I don’t assume what someone needs—I ask. I listen. And I pay attention to what they don’t say out loud.
I coach the whole person, not the performance
Some of my athletes are parents. Some work shift schedules. Some are chronically ill. Some are navigating menopause. Some are BIPOC runners who have never felt embraced in local run groups. Inclusion means building plans that actually work inside their lives, not expecting them to perform inside mine.
I create training structures that keep people from feeling “behind”
If you only celebrate speed, the slowest runners feel like background noise. If you only talk about PRs, the runners healing old wounds feel dismissed. I build environments where progress looks different for everyone and every version counts.
I use language that honors identity, journey, and agency
Names, pronouns, gender identity, culture, body size, life stage—these matter. Athletes should never feel like they have to shrink themselves to fit into a program.
I build communities instead of cliques
My She Runs This Town group, my Game Changers involvement, my RER work, my coaching roster, coaching at Sweat Club—these spaces aren’t about hierarchy. They’re about connection. And that means I actively disrupt the elitist, speed-obsessed energy that can make running feel cold.
Why Seeing Diverse Coaches and Leaders Matters
Representation isn’t a “nice to have.” It changes who believes they belong.
When you’re a runner from a marginalized identity and you see someone on the sidelines, at the front of a group run, or on a panel who looks like you, thinks like you, or has lived experiences similar to yours, something shifts. You stop feeling like a guest in the sport and start recognizing that you have ownership in it.
As an Indigenous coach, I’ve watched athletes—from different backgrounds—exhale the second they realize I bring a worldview that honors their humanity instead of flattening it into splits, mileage, or metrics. That representation isn’t about me. It’s about what it unlocks in them.
And the ripple effect is real:
When runners see diverse leaders, they show up more. When they show up more, they stay longer. When they stay longer, the space becomes more inclusive by default.
How Coaches and Organizations Can Actually Reach Underrepresented Runners
This is where most people skip steps. You cannot reach BIPOC runners—or any underrepresented group—by slapping “all are welcome” on a flyer. You have to build trust. And trust takes time, transparency, and follow-through.
A few approaches that work:
Go where the community already is
Partner with local groups, cultural centers, Indigenous organizations, LGBTQ+ groups, and community leaders. Don’t expect them to come to you.
Show up consistently
One event isn’t inclusion. It’s a photo op. Consistent programming, ongoing partnerships, and real community relationships are what shift culture.
Offer coaching and resources that acknowledge lived experience
Don’t pretend everyone is entering the sport with the same history. Address the realities: safety concerns, access barriers, cultural differences, and the ways running has excluded people in the past.
Diversify who’s running the programs
You can’t say you support BIPOC runners if everyone leading the program looks the same and comes from the same background.
The Running Industry Has Skin in This Game
Let’s talk brands, race directors, clubs, and big-name organizations.
If the sport feels isolated for BIPOC runners, it’s not because runners are imagining it. It’s because the systems weren’t built with them in mind.
The industry needs to:
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Diversify leadership teams and decision-makers
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Stop centering marketing around one archetype
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Create safer race environments and enforce policies that protect marginalized runners
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Offer scholarships and financial access points
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Support community-led initiatives instead of replicating them
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Fund programs long-term instead of doing performative one-offs
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Listen when runners tell you what the gaps are
You can’t build belonging from the top down.
But you can absolutely remove the barriers that have kept people out.
Signs You’re In a Truly Inclusive Space
It’s not the tagline.
It’s not the merch.
It’s not the Instagram post.
It’s the energy.
You know a running space is inclusive when:
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No one is shamed for their pace
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Leaders use correct pronouns and model respect
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BIPOC runners are present AND comfortable, not just present
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Strength, rest, and mental well-being are valued alongside performance
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People in larger bodies aren’t treated like beginners by default
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Communication is clear, culturally aware, and not one-size-fits-all
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The slowest runner is celebrated, not tolerated
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Decisions are made through the lens of “who does this exclude?”
Spaces built on care feel different.
You can feel belonging in the bones of it.
What I Want Runners Who’ve Ever Felt “Othered” To Know
This sport was never meant to belong to just one kind of runner. You do not need an invitation to be here. You do not need speed to take up space. You do not need permission to run on your terms.
Your story is valid.
Your body is valid.
Your pace is valid.
Your presence changes the sport—just by being here.
And if you’ve ever been made to feel small or invisible in a running space, I want you to hear this:
There are communities being built with you in mind. There are coaches who will celebrate the runner you are, not the runner the industry tries to mold you into. There are people who want you here, not in a symbolic way, but in a real, lived, daily way.
You deserve running spaces that feel like home, not hurdles.
And if you can’t find one?
You’re absolutely allowed to build one.
For Leaders, Coaches, and Organizations Who Want to Do More Than Talk About Inclusion
If you’re ready to take intentional steps—not performative ones—to make your running community, program, or event more inclusive, that’s exactly why I created Representation in Motion.
It’s a consultation designed for coaches, run clubs, brands, DEI teams, and race organizers who want to build spaces where underrepresented runners genuinely feel seen and supported. We look at your current structures, language, leadership, programming, and community experience, and we make your space more aligned, more welcoming, and more human-centered.
If you’re ready to move from awareness to action, you can book a session here:
Representation in Motion: Inclusive Coaching & Community Consulting
This is where change actually starts.