This story is part of “Latinx in Fitness,” a series of articles showcasing the unique experiences of Latinx trainers, athletes, and gym owners within the fitness community. Read the rest of the stories here.
Hector Espinal, as his friends affectionately call the 33-year-old “We Run Uptown Crew,” co-founded a running club for people of color in New York City in 2013. Over the years, he has run all six Abbott World Marathon Majors, as well as more than 20 5Ks, 10Ks, half marathons, and even 200-mile relay races. Runner’s World magazine named Espinal its 2023 Runner of the Year. His experience as one of the few runners who narrowly missed the time limit at this year’s Boston Marathon helped spark an important conversation about major races and accessibility standards for all runners.
Still, he often encounters people who assume he’s never run a race simply because he doesn’t look like a typical marathoner (he describes himself as a “fat Dominican runner”). Espinal recalls watching his fiancée and 8-year-old son run a recent 5K in Harlem. “They were so proud and cheering for Hendrix to be the youngest person to finish an adult race,” Espinal told Men’s Health. “And the woman next to him was like, ‘You should do this next year. You’ll love it.'”
Confused, Espinal asked, “What should I do?”
“How about running five kilometers?”
Espinal pointed to the logo on his WRU Crew T-shirt to prove his running prowess, especially since he’d run the race four times. “The way she fixed the confused look on her face,” he says of the scene. “She couldn’t imagine that someone my weight would have done something like that.”
We spoke with Espinal about the challenges of running as a Dominican, exploring body diversity in running, and how she’s learned to reframe negative experiences as lessons.
Men’s Health: What made you start running?
Hector Espinal: I started running because I was having an identity crisis. I was in survival mode. And I started to realize that other people were feeling the same way. Maybe they lost their jobs, or they lost their family. Whatever it was, we found some kind of solace in this environment. We realized that common experiences and common struggles build community. And the common experience was coming together every Monday and Wednesday to run together. And that common struggle was… Living in a favela, everyone has some kind of struggle. Whether it’s the environment, relationships, no pude pagar mi renta (I can’t pay the rent), mi mamá está enferma (my mother is sick), whatever it may be. As black and brown people, we’re already starting at a disadvantage. A lot of us are in survival mode. I feel like by bringing all these people together, this beautiful, blossoming community forms.
And a lot of it was born out of my struggle with the NYPD. We started running because we were in the era of stop and go, and the local police departments knew about me. They knew I was a jerk. So it was like, “Why are you all running? What are you doing?” They stopped us, they asked us to put our hands on the wall in the middle of the run, they searched us. At that point, I wondered if I should even keep running. We talked to both of the local police departments, the community affairs, and we ended up pitching to the WRU crew. We said, “Hey, we do this every Monday. This is why we’re doing good for the community. Guys, stop bothering us. Can you just let us do something awesome? Let us run. We’re not doing anything wrong.”
MH: Have you ever felt in your career that you were the only person that looked like you in most rooms or running tracks you were in? How do you navigate that space?
Him: I consider myself an outsider. I’m a fat Dominican runner. I’m the only fat person, if not the only Latino or Dominican or person of color. Before, I had to be really careful not to run into people (on the road), especially in the winter when I was wearing a ski mask, because I didn’t want to scare them. But now my perspective has changed. If you live uptown, you’ve definitely seen the WRU crew.
I’ve never felt like I was a minority in New York because of my ethnicity.[Latinos]are taking up space, and I’m confident that wherever I go I’ll find people who look like me and believe the same things I do. But I’ve felt that way when I travel. I pulled up to a running club afterparty in San Francisco, and it was a great event with great people, but there were no black people there.
There was no one else like me there, except the people who came with me. But that’s okay. I don’t dwell on it or stress about it. Wherever I go, I am me. That’s the way I am. I will always be authentically me. I’m not going to dim my light. I’m not going to change the way I walk, talk, or dress because that’s how I got to be who I am. And if that makes you uncomfortable as the majority in that space, then you have to look within yourself.
“Running is for me Confidence “Sail America and the World.”
MH: As a Latino, what do you see as the biggest challenge in the industry you work in?
HE: Like I said, I think the hardest part is being in survival mode. But also, as a plus-size Latinx runner, the hate from my community. One of the nuances that comes with being Dominican, or just Latinx, is that your biggest insecurity becomes your nickname. If I had big ears, people would call me Olejón. If I had a big nose, people would call me Naris. Your insecurities are used unconsciously as weapons against yourself.
My job as a leader is to be diplomatic and understand that this is new in my community. People come to me for answers, but I have my own issues too. I’m in therapy. I’m doing everything I need to do to be healthy, but you can’t pour from an empty cup. Whether I’m having a bad day or a good day, I have to stand there on Monday with my megaphone in hand and make sure everyone is OK. That helps fill my cup. Because I feel that’s my service to Uptown.
MH: What do you think would help make the industry more equitable?
HE: It starts with community leaders speaking up and taking a stand with so many of our light-skinned peers. I was just invited to run the San Francisco Marathon and my first thought was, “I want to bring the community along.” I’m rooting for the WRU crew. So I asked if I could have 10 bibs. I got five. I’ll take them because five people are experiencing this now and bringing it uptown. We need to protect our community and be really selective about who we work with. Otherwise it all ends up looking like a NASCAR jersey with all these different logos everywhere. It loses its essence.
MH: What do you think is the importance of being a bigger runner and how does it affect your daily motivation?
Him: Before I started running, my weight was an issue. But now I know it’s what sets me apart. Wherever I go, I’m definitely the biggest guy and usually the last. If it’s hot and sunny, I’m shirtless. If you’re uncomfortable with the way I look, work out. You can’t use my weight as a weapon against me. You can’t use it to bully me. It’s my responsibility. It’s not an issue anymore. Running has given me the confidence to move across America and the world.
MH: Why do you think it’s important to reframe DNFs (didn’t finish) and do you have any tips for others on doing so?
Him: It’s important to be patient with yourself. Why do we hold average runners to a higher standard than elite athletes? Elite runners can DNF sometimes because the conditions are unsafe or they have an injury and don’t want to make it worse. But if I don’t finish, people make fun of me. “Hector did this because he’s fat, he’s slow, he doesn’t train. He shouldn’t run marathons.”
I’m a father, a business owner, a community leader. I work a 9-to-5. I’m a spouse. There are so many other components to my life. My life doesn’t revolve around my training. My training revolves around my life. At some point in the process, you start prioritizing your health and life instead of your goals. And that’s the way it should be.
Want to read more first-person perspectives from Latinx fitness pros about overcoming obstacles, breaking barriers, and achieving success? Click the links below to read all the stories:
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