Sidney Baptista—the founder of Pioneers Run Crew, the first Black- and Brown-led running team in the Boston area—was one of the spectators confronted by police near Mile 21 on Heartbreak Hill during the Boston Marathon last month. Here, Baptista shares how the day unfolded from his perspective, his message for the Boston running community, and why the clubs that were at the cheer station still plan to continue showing up as their full selves in the future.
The 2023 Boston Marathon felt like the first time the race was fully “back” since the COVID-19 pandemic hit. The energy was high, and despite the fact that it was raining, there were tons of people out cheering.
It was the fifth year the Pioneers Run Crew had our cheer station at Mile 21, complete with a DJ and a grill to cook food, in the town of Newton. It was the third year we shared the spot with our sister club, TrailBlazHers Run Co. This year, we also invited more groups to join us, including Live Fit Army and the Boston-based chapter of Black Men Run, making for a total of more than 100 people at our station that day.
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When I knew the first wave of runners was coming in, I ran alongside the cheer squad, making sure to stay off the race course. Once the runners came around, I popped a confetti cannon for them to pass through for an extra boost of energy. Occasionally, when one of our club members or a friend or family member ran by, one of us would jump in and run with them for a little bit, give them some water, or—if it was a loved one—give them a hug and a kiss, all of which is common at road races, even if technically against the rules.
Eventually, at around 11:15 a.m., two police officers arrived on bikes, pushing against the crowd to get us back over the curb. After I popped the confetti cannon, one of the cops grabbed me by my shirt, asked for my ID, and threatened to arrest me for running in the road, even though I hadn’t been in the road or obstructing any runners. The cop later apologized after learning I was the leader of the run club.
But by mid-afternoon, several more officers showed up, claiming the Boston Athletic Association (BAA) had called them there. We explained that we actually work with the BAA on the Boston Running Collaborative, which aims to build a more diverse Boston running community. Our crew is also made up of experienced runners who understand what it takes to run a marathon and spectate an event like Boston. We’re not randos who show up to be disruptive.
It seemed like the officers’ goal was to intimidate us—if they were actually there to protect the runners on the road, they wouldn’t have been blocking us on the back side as well. They never attempted to stop us from interacting with runners, which we continued to do by cheering, dancing, and just bringing our energy. It seemed like they just weren’t sure how to respond to the joy and celebration at our station.
When we met with the BAA to talk about what happened a few days later on Wednesday, they told us they didn’t have a problem with how we were celebrating, and three days after the race, they put out a public statement vaguely addressing what happened on Marathon Monday. My initial reaction was that it didn’t come soon enough, and that it’s the bare minimum that we needed to have happen if we were going to continue to work with the BAA. Still, I appreciate that they came to our defense and admitted there is work to be done to create a truly inclusive running environment in Boston.
While I understand that the BAA can’t directly call the police out, we believe that there was racism at play, and it’s frustrating that they wouldn’t label this as what it was. We’re well aware that people jump into the course and support runners all the time at road races, including at Boston, and we haven’t heard of other groups being policed in the same way our station was.
At the same time, many participants, including pros like Des Linden, Erika Kemp, and Sika Henry have publicly shared how much joy our cheer station brought them, and how it basically gave them life during one of the hardest parts of the race. “Best party on the course,” Linden wrote on Instagram of our Mile 21.
To me, this just highlights the need for improved representation across all aspects of this event, and in the running industry as a whole. In fact, the reason our clubs set up our cheer station in Newton—one of the mostly white towns along the Boston course, as recently pointed out by Running While Black author Alison Mariella Désir in an Instagram post—at Mile 21 is because the Boston Marathon doesn’t run through our neighborhood of Dorchester. Dorchester is a predominantly Black area and one of the most diverse spaces in Boston. For a lot of runners, our station is the one place they’ll see themselves as they’re coming through, and where they know they’ll get cheers specifically for them, reinforcing that yes, you do belong at this prestigious race.
A runner gets a boost from supporters at the Mile 21 cheer zone.
This is what inspired us to create 26.True in 2020. This unsanctioned marathon (meaning, the roads aren’t closed to traffic) takes place the Saturday before Boston and covers more than a dozen neighborhoods to highlight the diversity of the city. A lot of people talk about how they don’t see themselves represented in the Boston Marathon, so it’s important for us to be able to provide an experience that shows them otherwise. And because of the diversity there, it’s also a place where we can be ourselves when we cheer, and where people feel welcome just to have fun.
Plus, it’s a whole lot more inclusive than the real Boston race—no need to run a qualifying time or raise thousands for a charity. Our event is open to anyone who wants to run it and still get a taste of running with the community.
The 2023 Boston Marathon actually marked the second year in a row that police were called to our cheer station, though last year’s incident didn’t involve as much force or get as much attention. Last year, the complaint was that we were just too loud. What I’d like to say about that is, take a look at a message displayed on our clubs’ social media platforms and on our T-shirts: “Run the Culture,” which is a statement of ownership and intent. We want to own the culture of running that we bring in. We don’t want to be invited to spaces where we’re not able to show up as our full selves and tell our own stories. We’re not asking for permission; we just want to be. And as our postrace public statement proclaimed, despite the restrictions and limits the police presence tried to impose on us, we still cheered.
As for what comes next? All of this just highlights why I started Pioneers Run Crew in the first place. When I first began running, I rarely saw other runners at my home base of Dorchester, and I was tired of having to commute to other neighborhoods to participate in group runs—and of noticing that I was one of very few people of color there. My mission in starting a club for runners who looked like me was to welcome more people to the sport and show that we belong.
While I’m not fully satisfied with the response in the aftermath of this incident, I feel like this is just the beginning. We’ll be back next year, and maybe even bigger, too. We’re also hoping we can make our station an official Boston Marathon cheer zone—one that the BAA puts on the course map and other materials, similar to the Wellesley Scream Tunnel, so that people really know to look out for us and get hyped. We want to be there and we don’t want to back down.
This is what it is to be a Black or Brown person in this country. You want to celebrate, but then you have to defend your celebration, your existence, and your being. You can’t just be, and we have to work so much harder just to be. I know it’s never going to be the same for us at the Boston Marathon. But we’re definitely not going anywhere, and we will be back.
Contributing Writer
Emilia Benton is a Houston-based freelance writer and editor. In addition to Runner’s World, she has contributed health, fitness and wellness content to Women’s Health, SELF, Prevention, Healthline, and the Houston Chronicle, among other publications. She is also an 11-time marathoner, a USATF Level 1-certified running coach, and an avid traveler.
