She Was Asked To Run a Race Barefoot
(and she won)
She showed up on race day feeling ready. Her optimism was shown in her big smile. The race was organized in late Fall, and the weather forecast predicted rain.
She was also told, ahead of time, that the race would be a bit “unorthodox”.
“No problem,” she thought. “I like challenges.”
Standing at the starting line, her heart raced with a mix of excitement and apprehension. The sight of fellow runners lacing up their shoes filled her with a sense of joy and camaraderie.
Lost in her thoughts, she was surprised when an organizer approached her with the unusual request of removing her running shoes.
“Remove my running shoes?” she inquired. “Why is that?”
“Well, some runners will run barefoot. It’s a test. Some of you were selected by chance.”
The argument didn’t sound too convincing, but she was there and she had traveled a long way to participate in the race. The reassurance that everything would be fine, coupled with the reminder that the primary goal was simply to finish, helped ease her concerns.
“And don’t worry about the weather,” they added. “It should be fine too. You shouldn’t encounter many problems, but if you do, we’re here to help you. Just focus on crossing that finish line.”
To her own surprise, she agreed. These weren’t the challenges she had anticipated. As she removed the shoes, the grass, tickling her bare feet, reminded her of the “unconventional” nature of the race she was going to run.
Shortly after the start, she observed a peculiar detail about the other runners’ footwear: despite the colors and models, they all appeared to be wearing the same brand. She asked the runners where they got them. They revealed that the organizers had provided the shoes several months prior, giving everyone else enough time to train in them.
Feeling a mix of confusion and frustration, she reached out to the organizers to question the apparent disparity in their treatment. They promptly reminded her that she had agreed to run barefoot and that the others had requested their shoes.
“I didn’t know I could ask for shoes let alone saying no to the request to remove them,” she replied.
Her concerns were met with silence. They pretended not to hear.
Further into the race, the organizers assigned her a pacemaker to run alongside her, presumably to offer support and encouragement. However, his intentions became increasingly dubious as he began to make suggestions that didn’t align with her best interests.
“Perhaps you should take off your waterproof vest,” he proposed.
Taken aback by the suggestion, she hesitantly replied, “But the weather forecast predicts rain. I think it’s best if I keep it on.”
The pacemaker’s response was prompt and decisive. “It’s unlikely to rain. I suggest you remove your waterproof vest,” he demanded. Mismatching his words, the tone left no room for dissent.
She reluctantly complied with his request too. As she removed her vest, a chill ran down her spine. The cold air seemed to seep through her layers, causing her to shiver involuntarily. She had exposed herself to the cold and couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of vulnerability.
Uncertain and feeling increasingly uneasy, she wondered if she had misjudged their motivations.
Her mind raced with doubt, desperately clinging to the belief that the pacemaker had her best interests at heart. “Maybe he knows something I don’t,” she thought, trying to rationalize his peculiar instructions. She wanted to trust him. She wanted to believe that their partnership would lead to a victorious finish, but the first few raindrops started to fall from the sky and her unease only deepened
As the rain poured down, soaking her to the bone, she thought of her vest.
“Maybe it wouldn’t have helped much, anyhow,” she told herself, and the pain in her body reminded her of the shoes and the decision to participate in this questionable race.
The race she was excited to join had turned into a strange test of endurance, and she wondered how much more she could take.
A sense of helplessness washed over her. She wanted to drop out, but she really couldn’t. They were halfway through the race and in the middle of the forest; the only sensible thing to do was to keep going. She kept moving forward.
“We couldn’t have anticipated the weather,” the organizers claimed. “You were unlucky.”
Immediately after pronouncing these words, she was asked to run on a different terrain.
“This is not the official one,” she opposed. “It’s harsh and rugged.”
“But there are trees,” they assured her. “The trees will protect you from the rain.”
This time they all escorted her leaving no room for her to keep going through the official route.
As she stepped onto the alternative path, occasionally she caught glimpses of the pre-established terrain where the other participants raced ahead.
From what she could see, the official path seemed smooth and even, a stark contrast to the rugged, rock-strewn terrain she now faced. Every edge and sharp stone served as a painful reminder of the dubious choices that had led her to this point.
She kept going, but she lowered the intensity to make sure her feet didn’t bleed.
Finally, the rain stopped and as the clouds parted, golden rays of sunlight pierced through the clouds and the trees. The forest’s scent intensified. Her senses filled with a soothing earthy smell.
The songs the birds were singing felt like an encouragement on her quest. She thanked the trees and the birds and slowed down to take in the view; it was enchanting.
Eventually, she accelerated and all of a sudden she spotted the finish line.
“At last,” she thought.
“You’re disqualified,” the organizers announced as soon as she crossed the finish line. “It took you too long to finish the race.”
She saw words coming out of their mouths, but couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
“I didn’t have shoes or a vest and it was raining. And the path wasn’t great either…” She paused but immediately continued as if to remind herself of the rules. “The time that it took me to finish the race is still within the official rules.”
“Yes, but we provided you with a pacemaker and yet, you were the last contestant,” they replied to her growing surprise.
“There’s not much we can do about it, you were slower than everyone else.”
Her heart raced. Her hands trembled with a mix of shock and disbelief. She struggled to find her voice, her protests drowned out by the dismissive replies of the organizers. The sinking feeling in her chest made her realize the harsh truth: the race was rigged against her from the start.
As the reality of the disqualification sank in, she couldn’t help but feel a profound sense of betrayal. The organizers, who were supposed to ensure fairness and provide support, had become the architects of her unfair treatment. The pacemaker, assigned to guide and assist her, seemed to be the mastermind in the plan to hold her back.
She thought back to the moments when she had voiced her concerns, only to be dismissed or misled. Each memory felt like a knife in her gut.
Her trust had been manipulated repeatedly. The people she had relied on had become obstacles in her path, exploiting her willingness to accept their guidance.
Her mind once again raced with questions and doubts. How could she have been so naive? But looking back, she saw all the signs she had dismissed.
She realized that she had been made to run a different race than everyone else, with rules that were hidden from her until it was too late.
As she stood there, shaking with a mix of emotions, she knew she couldn’t let this injustice define her. She knew that she would learn from this experience and emerge stronger, more aware, and more resilient. Nobody could ever take away her spirit or her accomplishments.
It was a victory, but a a bittersweet one.
I wrote this story as a reminder of the systemic barriers faced by women and minorities in this race called life. For many, unfair treatment and manipulation are all too common. Yet, the people in charge keep not changing and putting up a façade of inclusive environments.
Many of us have faced absurd situations like the runner in the story. These situations have made some of us silence ourselves and others to speak up.
In the past, I had a silenced voice, too. I have a loud one now.
Every time I use my voice to speak up against unfair races, I remind myself that this is not only to empower myself to speak out against injustice and dismantle barriers that hold so many back but also to be the voice for voiceless others.
For those who wonder about the motives of the organizers, sometimes there are no real motives except the pure joy of tearing others down. And the choice of “victims” is never by chance. The preys are always outsiders, broadly defined.
Perhaps we’re not like the Roman emperors who enjoyed watching gladiators fight to the death, but we are their descendants. The inclination towards seeing others in struggle, for some, still holds a dark allure.
The arenas have changed, but the essence of the spectacle and the nature of the audience may not have. In our modern races, be they literal or metaphorical, the gladiators have transformed into everyday people facing systemic challenges.
Many of us facing the realities of barriers and power imbalances must remember that change is possible. Every voice that speaks up against injustice and every effort to challenge the status quo brings us closer to a more equitable world.
I believe that we can reshape the arenas of our modern society, ensuring that every individual has a fair chance to succeed. We can choose to lift each other up, celebrate our differences, and empower those who have been silenced.
So to those who refuse to take part in unfair races or organize them: Keep fighting the good fight — it’s worth it. 😊
