I ran my first marathon a few months ago, and it was a marathon that was including nonbinary runners in the race for the first time. I signed up and I wrote to them beforehand saying, "Hey, you have prize money for men and women, but not for nonbinary runners. What's the deal?"

I didn't hear a response. Still, I ran the race, and was sitting in the warming tent after, because it was freezing. I was going through this app to find my results but they only have results for men and women runners.

I couldn’t find my race results, I didn’t know how I did, I was cold, tired, and hungry – I'd just run a marathon, and all of these feelings were coming up.

Turns out that the app could only support two genders in race reporting. All of the nonbinary runners, regardless of how they identified, were put in the men's category.

This was a particular concern to me, because with the time that I got, I qualified for Boston – something I was really hoping to do. I was concerned that if I wasn't correctly reported, I wouldn’t qualify for the next race.

So I'm writing to my race team, and so many nonbinary running organizations and people wrote to the race directors on my behalf, when I felt like my voice was not being heard.

It took three or four different groups of people pushing the button to be like, "hey, hey, hey" – people who have much more connections and are much louder about it than I am.

What I take from that is that the community has been so important. They’ve sought me in a way that I’m also seeking them.

As trans and nonbinary athletes, we are part of a larger network than we even realize. We’re all seeking each other, and seeking to create those connections and allyships, because it really does take four different groups of people writing on our behalf to get the attention that is owed to us.

[As told to @Ragi Gupta — continued]