Before Trumpism had its name, I felt its presence at the family dinner table. Growing up, my family was quick to 'other' individuals who didn't conform to their understanding of life. They made jokes that hinged on the diverse identities of many people in my life, like my friend Habtamu, who immigrated from Ethiopia, my boyfriend, Juan, and my great-aunt, who is a lesbian. When I stood up for them or felt upset, I earned the label "too sensitive." Someone always had to be the brunt of the joke, and it hurt me just as badly when it was anyone else as it did when it was me.Fortunately, from the moment I joined the cross country team in sixth grade, I could excuse myself for a lap around the neighborhood. In my first cross country portrait, I see myself for who I truly am. It is a snapshot of my freedom to be myself, somewhere between childhood and the socially imposed norms for expression that are recklessly enforced in middle school.I loved everything about cross country. How hard and social it was, and how free I felt running through the woods or hopping a teammate's back fence to eat frozen blueberries, hoping our coach wouldn't see us sneak back onto the sidewalk like none of it ever happened. My leadership skills in the running space came naturally. I brought people together and energized them, making them feel like running mattered and, most importantly to me, like they mattered.After my four years at Grayslake Central High School, increasingly characterized by my severely strained familial relationship that worsened when I came out as queer, I began a tenuous running career at Saint Louis University, for which I was grossly under-resourced. Without athletic financial aid and a sufficient mileage base, the burning pavement of Saint Louis and an Easy Mac-forward diet only took a few months to crack my femoral neck.Despite the pain, I desperately clung to movement, only stepping off the road when my teammates, wincing, told me I was limping so badly I should probably stop. The injury washed over me like a grief tsunami. I stepped up as a social justice leader on campus, where my empathy was an asset, and realized by graduation that maybe Missouri wasn't for me. This prompted my move to San Francisco for a fresh start. Amidst the chaos of my first year of teaching, I realized I am trans. In May of 2019, just a year after I moved west, I started my medical transition. This brought my family, who had by this time allied with Trumpism, great dismay. Cal in Japan. Carter K. HoweDays after my top surgery that July, I was dancing around my little carpeted bedroom on California Street. As soon as I was cleared to do so, I laced up a new pair of running shoes and hit the road, this time without a shirt. It was a clumsy moment, for sure. I still had a prevalent sports bra tan line, and my scars were fresh, but I did not care one bit. I was just ecstatic to be witnessed in the world as my new self. As my transition progressed, my evolving body and identity no longer felt aligned with the mandate to choose male or female to register for a race. This dichotomy troubled me as I stared at the two empty checkboxes on each race's website, feeling it would be dishonest to click either. How can I return to running, I wondered, if there's no way to do it as myself?This dilemma inspired me to initiate the addition of equitable non-binary divisions in races worldwide. Some races responded positively. But there have been many hiccups, which I largely attribute to the mass disinformation about trans people. Namely, the "unfair advantage" myth. Another roadblock has been the devaluation of the category due to its number of participants, whilst ignoring the cultural precedents. A conversation I had with Kathrine Switzer taught me that in 1972, the first year women were officially allowed to compete in the Boston Marathon, only eight women ran.In her footsteps, I refused to be disheartened by the challenges. I began reaching out to race organizations that host the World Marathon Majors, the world's most prestigious marathons. It has always been my dream to run in each race, and I wasn't going to give up just because I'm trans. Emails, Zoom calls, and in-person coffee meetings lasted years. By 2024, beginning with the New York City Marathon and ending with the Tokyo Marathon, all six of these races had instituted non-binary divisions. And by 2025, starting with the Chicago Marathon and ending with the London Marathon, I had placed first or second in each of the six.And what a gift these races were. Running through Boston knowing that I played an integral role in a profound moment in history, defined by the world's oldest annual marathon, legitimizing the existence and competition of non-binary athletes. 2:51, second place; the streets of Chicago were lined with people from my life before and after my transition. 2:48, second place; just past the Queensboro Bridge in New York City, a cyclist speaking into his headset, "Cal Calamia from San Francisco." 2:48 again, first place; the cool composure of Berlin, where I kept thinking Running is global. 2:41, second place; hardly sleeping in a room full of trans friends before Tokyo race day, then turning the corner to the vibrant downtown before heading back to that same room to eat onigiri in bed. 2:43, first place; showing up in a trans-flag-inspired custom kit for London, running strong and proud across Tower Bridge. 2:46, first place; becoming the first person ever to podium in all of the World Marathon Majors in a division I instigated felt like my life expanding before my eyes. Cal running in the Berlin Marathon.Keeley ParenteauMy younger self, teary-eyed at the dinner table, would be so proud not only of my pursuing passions but also the space I am creating for more people to live authentically and proudly.Throughout human history, we have made attempts to erase and ignore each other in an effort to justify the unjust world we live in. This year, a record-breaking 996 anti-trans bills have been introduced in the United States. Over a third of states have passed bills that prohibit trans athletes from participating in sports consistent with their gender identity, from elementaryschoolers to professionals. The conversation is worldwide, from the alt queer history of Berlin to the emerging trans representation in Japan. Meanwhile, politicians in countries like the United Kingdom and the United States attempt to restrict transness in public life by reducing gender to an "ideology" and fumbling new definitions of biological sex. And I fumble another attempt to get my family to understand the ways I am hurting.Under this administration, everything is at stake. Access to lifesaving resources, including sport, is being stripped from trans people against the advice of medical and mental health professionals. The assault multiplies for trans women, especially at the intersection of other identities like race and class.It is through running that I have learned that in life, between the start line and finish line, we are all just on our way. Beautiful, relentless, disciplined, and passionate in pursuit of our goals. Driven by the things and people we love most, we are constantly committing to outdoing ourselves beyond our wildest dreams. We're human. What is so hard for people to grasp about our togetherness?When it is all said and done, the qualities that distinguish us from each other are spectacular and inevitable. We will always find our way back to what makes us the most us: the places we come from, the songs we can't help but dance to, the sound of our laughter, the way our feet patting from left to right to left to right again create our own perfect metronome. So what, then, is there to do but to include, uplift, and celebrate across and beyond all differences.So much of what I have done has relied on me standing out and speaking up and being exceptionalthe first, the only. My great hope is that the footsteps I have left on all of these World Marathon Major courses and so many other trails, paved by others or blazed by me, will be trampled over by millions, billions, trillions of people of all kinds. I dream of a world where we, standing shoulder to shoulder in those jam-packed corrals, can look around and think nothing except "I love you. Good luck out there."Cal Calamia (they/he) is a trans marathoner, inclusivity activist, poet, educator, and community builder. Like and follow them on social at @calcalamia.Opinion is dedicated to featuring a wide range of inspiring personal stories and impactful opinions from the LGBTQ+ community and its allies. Visit Out.com/submit to learn more about submission guidelines. We welcome your thoughts and feedback on any of our stories. Email us at voices@equalpride.com. Views expressed in Opinion stories are those of the guest writers, columnists, and editors, and do not directly represent the views of Out or our parent company, equalpride.