This past June I celebrated my 30th anniversary of living in Seattle. In three decades, I’ve found two homes: theatre and Seattle Frontrunners.

I was born in 1970 and my family moved to Orlando, FL before I turned one. That year witnessed the first Gay Pride Parade (commemorating the Stonewall Uprising of 1969) and was also the year that Florida completed integration of its public schools — a shameful 16 years after Brown vs. Board of Education.

Growing up gay in the 70s and 80s was a challenge. LGBTQ+ people had few role models, and the meager media representation was overwhelmingly negative: we were victims, criminals, laughable, sick. HIV & AIDS loomed over my adolescence; I was 11 when the epidemic began, well after I knew I was attracted to men and several years before I could say it out loud. Annual HIV-related deaths peaked in the US in 1995 — the same year Olympic diver Greg Louganis disclosed his HIV+ status. Retroviral treatments arrived in 1996, ushering in the present era of undetectable viral loads and PrEP.

*1980. Me, age 10, half-heartedly flexing at the suggestion of the photographer, my uncle.*

I majored in theatre design at Florida State University. FSU is in Tallahassee, the State capital, about a half-hour drive to the Georgia border. Tallahassee is more Southern than Orlando despite their respective latitudes. The capital is neocolonial, the school is brick and pseudo-Gothic, the trees are heavy with Spanish moss. In my first semester I found Rubyfruit Books, a lesbian-owned store a block off campus. I nervously bought my first gay porn magazines there — this was pre-internet — but more often picked up books on queer history and politics. When I came out to my parents in 1994, I was well prepared for debates that never came. After the initial surprise, they were supportive.

In addition to my theatre classes, I took a course called Theory and Dynamics of Racism and Oppression. The class revealed how prejudice becomes systemic, and I applied those lessons to queer oppression. I circulated petitions among students and faculty to recognize LGBT rights, attended gay student groups, served on campus diversity panels, and engaged in sit-ins and protests with ACT UP and Queer Nation. We advocated for equal protection in work and housing, for HIV/AIDS research funding, and an end to conversion therapy.

Me and a friend at the 1993 March on Washington, buttons for Tallahassee Pride, a guide to safer sex based on what we knew about HIV/AIDS in 1988, a political manifesto for the Lesbian & Gay Rights Movement of the early 90s.

*June 1993. Standing in the driveway of my childhood home, packed and ready to drive to Seattle.*

1993 was a significant year. I attended the March on Washington, graduated from FSU with a BFA in Theatre Design, met distant relatives on a trip to Europe, and moved to Seattle. That June I packed my Honda Civic and drove cross-country for the first time, visiting college friends along the way.

I found my first Seattle community in theatre. Like music, theatre exploded in the 90s. Grunge-era Seattle featured cheap rents and ample rehearsal & performance spaces. Artists could work a part-time job, pay rent, and still have time and energy to hone their craft. I joined Annex Theatre — an artist-led collective that has miraculously persevered — and was fortunate to work with some incredibly bright, gifted people. We were focused on original work and often told stories through a queer and feminist lens. It was the union of community, purpose, and creativity — a prolific and deeply rewarding time. Unfortunately, a living wage was not one of those rewards and I reengineered my skills for the first dot-com boom.

Decades later, in 2021, I found my second community with Seattle Frontrunners. COVID made me do it; I am not sporty by nurture. My parents enrolled me in swimming lessons (to survive Central Florida’s many pools and lakes) but team sports were never discussed or encouraged. My outdoor time was spent in the woods, or in casual games of hide and seek, tag, etc. Indoor time was dominated by Legos, drawing, board games, Dungeons & Dragons, and a lot of reading: comics and sci-fi/fantasy novels.

One afternoon in middle school P.E., I was hanging out with three girlfriends by the goal posts while a game (kickball? softball?) unfolded on the field. Coach North, a former football player who had not been scrimmage-ready in many years, advanced and bellowed, “If you ladies are finished with your tea party, you can come join the game.” My high school history teacher was Coach O’Brien of our track program. His lectures would occasionally feature homophobic shout outs: Richard the Lionhearted was introduced to us as Richard the “Lavender Hearted”, and Alexander the Great was “Alexander the Gay”. His attitude was clear and common — but he confirmed I wasn’t the only gay man in the history of the world. I did not try out for the track team.

There were glimpses of athletic potential: the kickball game where the outfield silently and collectively moved in when I was at bat, then watched as the ball arched past them. A 5th grade sleepover at which I consistently and accurately punted a football. A football! But these were errant and largely ignored data points.

I joined Brooks Running in 2018 as a Senior Digital Designer on the Marketing team. Brooks sponsors Seattle Frontrunners, and I would occasionally work on projects that featured the club. I had known of SFR for decades and had attended a Green Lake run in the mid-2000s. The group was much smaller at the time, and perhaps more insular. I didn’t feel particularly comfortable and didn’t return. But when COVID lockdown restrictions eased in 2021, I gave it another go. The opportunity to interact with new people in real time, outdoors, unmasked(!) outweighed my social anxiety. I wasn’t the only one feeling the absence of community and to my surprise I quickly made new friends. These new relationships prompted me to make other changes. I sold my house in White Center and bought a condo on Capitol Hill — for the density, walkability, and proximity to my new family.

*Running the 8K at the Run/Walk with Pride, June 2023*

We all run for different reasons. Some of us are motivated by the next PR or podium appearance. I run for wellness. I’m prone to depression and running helps me to clear my head. The cardio keeps me fit, and the community keeps me grounded and accountable. I feel capable and safe when I run with SFR. Representation matters, and the spectacle of our weekly murmuration through Seattle’s streets and trails inspires and invites others to reconsider their supposed limits. The club has connected me with people whom I would otherwise have likely never met. I know if I ever want to pursue a running goal, I will have full support. In the meantime, I’ll enjoy better moods and camaraderie. More of that for the next 30 years, please.

Tom Milewski