3 Reasons Why It's Hard to Be “The Only One” in Outdoor Sports

Resting atop Bearfence Mountain at Shenandoah National Park on Manahoac and Monacan land. Photo courtesy of author.

When I was younger, I spent a lot time reading about African American adventurers who were the first in their field like Mae Jemison, the first Black woman in space and Bessie Coleman, the first Black and Indigenous woman to earn her pilot’s wings.

It wasn’t until I spent over a decade as the only Black woman skydiver in my circle of friends and the only Black woman hiker I came across in my solo travels that I paused long enough to consider that being “the only one” could also be an isolating experience. My outdoor experiences were incredibly rewarding and fulfilling in so many ways but socially, something was missing; that something was the opportunity to form connections and friendships with people who looked like me. It made me think about a lot of things from Black women’s high rate of attrition in many adventure sports, to the fact that our accomplishments have a way of disappearing from the historical record; leading future generations of Black women to repeat the cycle.

I grew up in the 90s when being “the only one” was extremely common for Black people trying to break into predominantly white spaces. Respectability politics were also the norm, which might explain why being “the only one” was framed as evidence of a post-racial America instead of evidence of its longstanding racial inequality. If one Black person could make it, surely others could as well, and if they didn’t, were they not to blame?

This sort of rebranding (and victim blaming) was everywhere when I was a kid. Isolated Black success stories were always attributed to the American myth of racial equality, not to the hard work and resilience of Black people. Conversely, less favorable outcomes were always attributed to negative stereotypes about Black Americans. Yes kids, the 90s were a fucking weird time to be alive.

Sunset in the mountains. Photo courtesy of author.

Meanwhile, at home I was taught from a young age that ‘You have to work twice as hard for half as much.’ Instead of questioning why that fucked up system existed in the first place, we went all out—as a culture—to support those who excelled; those who played by the rules of racial inequality and nevertheless, made it into primarily white colleges, sports or professions. 

Fast forward to today. I still love cheering for Black people and for people of color who receive recognition for being the first person with their racial heritage in their field. It feels good and, hell, we need more feel-good moments! I love supporting those who are doing the hard work of integrating spaces that have long been predominantly white by design; that includes Black people making their mark in conservation, the environmental field and in outdoor recreation.

However, it’s time we acknowledge that being “the only one” can be a challenging and isolating experience. Here are three reasons why:

1) The Load Isn’t Equally Shared

The older I get the more aware I become of the danger of praising Black exceptionalism while ignoring the structural racism that makes those achievements exceptional in the first place.  Hyper focusing on Black exceptionalism also creates unrealistic expectations for the other 99.9% of Black people because it so often ignores the racial injustices that shape our lives.

Let’s talk specifically about outdoor adventure sports for a moment. There are hard working talented Black athletes who will never be recognized, who may never have a podium finish or claim a first ascent because it takes more than hard work—it takes privilege, wealth, multigenerational knowledge and access to mentors. It takes emotional bandwidth that is hard to come by when the headlines are full of police brutality and racial injustice. It requires the support of a community that is also organizing on your behalf so you can focus on training instead of campaigning to remove racist and transphobic route names or providing much-needed opportunities for up-and-coming BIPOC cyclists, climbers or biathletes. As trans non-binary writer Anaheed Saatchi has pointed out, the white elite athletes that we love to worship are not building safer, accessible and inclusive outdoor communities. They are single-mindedly focused on achieving their personal bests, period. So why is it that Black and Indigenous athletes are asked to do both? Achieve personal bests and organize on behalf of Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women. Train and compete at an elite level and speak out against colorism and racism. And why is it that the majority of community organizers in the #DiversifyOutdoors space are women, femmes and non-binary people of color? Why isn’t the load equally shared? 

I have spent over a decade solo hiking and skydiving around the U.S. and abroad. Photo courtesy of author.

2) Intersectional POC Identities Are Over-Policed

I am older now and more aware than ever that racism is a gendered experience. Being the first or only cisgender Black man to integrate an outdoor space is very different from being the first Black woman, femme or non-binary person. And the empathy and understanding you might expect from someone who shares your racial or ethnic identity may not always be present. Why? Because it is possible to be both oppressor and oppressed. Facing racial discrimination doesn’t stop cisgender men from aspiring to the same male privilege that white men possess. Just as facing racial and gender discrimination doesn’t mean all Black cisgender women will be allies to Black queer and trans women, femmes and enbies. 

Then there’s the fact that Black women and femmes are constantly tone policed by people of all races. This phenomenon also exists outdoors. 

If you experience any kind of discrimination in outdoor industry, other people—including people who share your race and ethnicity—will expect you to just “suck it up”, “chin up”, take it in stride and not let it bother you. The burden is always placed on us to overcome. We aren’t allowed to have an emotional response to racism and we certainly aren’t permitted to cry, feel angry, frustrated or upset. 

This often makes it frustratingly difficult to speak out against discrimination or hold our outdoor communities accountable.

3) Just Add Color Isn’t the Same Thing as Anti-Racism

I am older now and it disturbs me how society thinks simply adding more people of color to racist, toxic organizations is a cure-all. I see this all the time in outdoor communities and especially in outdoor spaces that have done little to address white supremacy within their walls beyond posting Black Lives Matter signs a year and a half ago. And yet they somehow think their organizations are safe places for people of color. I feel more alarmed by the disproportionate burden that is placed on people of color who are “the first” or “the only one” to single-handedly change predominantly white institutions from the inside out. Talk about being set up for failure! Why are marginalized people responsible for dismantling systemic racism while white people refuse to even deconstruct their own racial privilege? Or they treat it as a fascinating thought exercise but only when sufficiently moved by the latest awful headline?

So What Is the Solution?

Being the first or only person who looks like you isn’t quite the honor I thought it was as a young person. Instead there is unacknowledged trauma, racism (and misogynoir), and the psychological burden of integrating predominantly white spaces that actively resist your presence—in spite of the “we don’t see color, all are welcome” rhetoric. 

This is as true of outdoor spaces as anywhere else. Even though, for the majority of us, our livelihoods don’t depend on our ability to paddle, swim, hike or cross country ski, that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve to be outside. The solution isn’t to retreat, however, it’s still critical that we be honest about the costs to our emotional and mental health and honest about the support we need and deserve. After all, we marginalized people are often asked to do the impossible within the primarily white outdoor spaces where we spend our free time. 

I believe in Black excellence just as I will continue to celebrate Black firsts - big and small. It’s honestly one thing I love about being Black. 

I also believe in choosing safety and community and kinship. Once upon a time, I took a lot of pride in the fact that I was curious and adventurous. I went after my goals and didn’t wait for friends or family to join me in becoming a licensed skydiver, traveling abroad by myself or hiking solo, etc. Once upon a time I didn’t mind being “the only one.” Now I see that there are a lot of hidden costs to not having social, cultural and emotional support even if the mountain views are breathtaking and the air at 13,500 ft. makes you feel more alive than ever. Now I think I understand some of the reasons why family members and friends often said ‘no’ when I said ‘yes.’ And it has nothing to do with courage. 

I don’t have all the answers and I honestly don’t think this is a problem that Black people should be required to solve. The problem at the end of the day is white supremacy and that is not a Black problem. That is a white problem that affects everyone, especially Black, Indigenous and People of Color.