We Ain’t Hiding and Y’all Will Deal: On Sha’Carri Richardson and Black Girl Bodies

In another version of my life, I am a track star. In that version I actually went to high school and that’s where everybody learned I could beat all the boys on the block. Well, not lil Marcus. He was a lil Usain beast before Usain was even here. Lil Marcus ain’t get to live out no track star dreams neither. But everybody else, I could smoke. I’ve often thought about how my body seemed made for track or gymnastics. Surely this lifetime IBTC membership had some purpose. One of my favorite compliments is being mistaken for a runner. This body that could have been a track star in another version of my life has done so many other things in this one. Even as it aches and very noisily reminds me that I can no longer drop it like it’s hot. At least not as low as I used to. You better believe I’mma still drop it though.

But I haven’t been so nice to this body lately. I lost quite a bit of weight over the last year that looked like no other year my body had ever experienced. Some days I beat my body up like she had a choice. Ask her why she failed me when all I wanted was a few extra pounds. Ask her why she make me work so hard for the thickness I felt was mine by birthright. Some days I look in the mirror and make plans to buy another maxi dress. I can cover what does not make me happy. Some days I look in the mirror and make plans to buy more Air Force 1’s. High tops make my legs look thicker.

I was going to hide her.

This body that birthed three babies with no pain medication. This body that jumped out of a three-story building to keep me safe.

I was going to hide her.

This body that fought off two attempted rapists at the same time with strength I didn’t know she had. This body that worked her way back from severe patella tendinitis and is trying so hard to do the same with tricep tendinitis.

I was going to hide her.

This body that listened to me tell the world I wasn’t an athlete over and over again when the truth is that she’d simply never had the chance to show she was. This body that had been tortured with gluten for so many years because doctors don’t care to ask what you put into your body.

I was going to hide her.

This body that worked to reject all of those pills until activated charcoal did its job. This body that didn’t shut down the many times my mind did because she knew we had reason to hold on even when I didn’t.

I don’t know her, but I imagine Sha’Carri’s body done seen a lot. Statistics and Black girl shared experiences tell me that maybe her body seen some of the same things as mine. Most recently her body saw her through the passing of her birth mother as she prepared for one of the biggest events of her life. And then it saw her through securing her spot in Tokyo. Her body has seen her through what she describes as “so much” we don’t know about. And while some of us can imagine, we still can’t know.

Sha’Carri has chosen to adorn the body that serves her so well. With tattoos, long bright nails, mink lashes and long colorful hair, she draws even more attention to the body that folks will claim is too masculine. Sha’Carri appears void of fucks to give about what anyone thinks of the body that will take her to gold. And maybe there was a time when she had fucks to give. Perhaps sometimes, rarely, she finds herself wanting to hide it because every day there is a struggle to push back against what the world wants her to believe about her body. About her existence and insistence on being here. But what she also seems to know is that she ain’t meant for hiding. That the world needed to know what she already knows. She is “THAT girl.”

They know now sis.

In another version of my life, I am a track star. In this one, I am still running. Always running. Whether I am running to or from something is the only decision I make daily. But running from this body ain’t on the table no more. Because in this version of my life, I can still smoke every boy on the block.