“Pro-America,” read the bumper on the car ahead of me at a traffic light one day last week. “Pro-Freedom!”
I wished I had one just like it, only with a third line at the bottom: Anti-Trump!
A T-shirt would be even better. Knowing I was going to a big race on Sunday where runners often dress in all sorts of goofy costumes, I began fantasizing about how satisfying it would be to add my own human billboard to the mix, challenging the absurd notion that rightwingers somehow “own” patriotism.
I never got around to having the T-shirt made up, primarily because I didn’t want to draw attention to my missing race bib. We’re budgeting pretty tightly since my husband got laid off, so when our youngest asked to run the River City Rat Race I paid her registration fee but decided I I’d just tag along for moral support. It was my first time running “bandit,” and I didn’t feel great about it, so even though it was hot I resisted the urge to grab a cup of water or any postrace goodies.
It was my first race of any kind this year, actually – I’m STILL dealing with plantar fasciitis – and I’d almost forgotten the simple pleasure of “running with the herd,” especially on such a gorgeous (if unseasonably warm) fall day.
In the end, I was glad I’d opted against wearing a political statement. Given how hard it is to go a single day without being reminded of this Uncivil War blasting all around us, it was almost intoxicating to be part of a moving mass of humanity and not know or care which side anyone was on.