The London Marathon’s new non-binary category deserves a medal of its own

Instead of forcing ourselves to conform, as the non-binary community has had to for decades, we can finally stand up and be counted

Inclusion is everything. To feel truly seen and represented, as opposed to tokenistic, throwaway gestures, makes a monumental difference. Yet, inclusivity is an incredibly rare currency in today’s society. Those who pooh-pooh such claims, stating progress as their go to defence, are often far removed from the achingly slow pace with which that change comes.

This is why the London Marathon’s announcement that its 2023 entry ballots will include a non-binary category is so significant – it delivers tangible representation. Instead of forcing ourselves to conform, in the non-binary community has had to for decades, we can finally stand up and be counted.

As I write this, I already know that someone will take issue with my words. They’ll see my championing of the London Marothon’s decision as trivial, furiously asking why such a subject is even newsworthy. We all know this type of person, because we deal with them everyday. They query everything, not out of curiosity, but out of ignorance. Why does a cartoon need lesbian parents, why has Disney cast Halle Bailey to play Ariel, why should trans women be in women’s sports? Why, why, why; it’s constant, with our answers never satisfying them.

What they fail to realise is that they’re in a privileged position. They’ve never been handed a form and struggled to find their identity on it, left with no other option than to select a category alien to them. I have, as have many other non-binary people. I’ve filled in doctor’s forms and had to tick female because there’s no other option available, and while I may feel aligned to womanhood still, there’s many of us who don’t.

The cis-gendered community has yet to learn that non-binary isn’t one size fits all. Having to wedge ourselves into a box we’ve tirelessly tried to escape from is a crushing blow; it’s an ugly act of shrinking ourselves down to be accepted.

If you don’t believe it’s hard, try doing something that’s really outside of your comfort zone – I guarantee you won’t like it. You may be able to tolerate it for a time, but that tolerance has a limit, one that wears down quickly when you continuously paint within someone else’s lines.

That’s why seeing a box that says “non-binary” is so significant. We don’t have to second guess or change to suit the demands of others, for once, they change to suit us. They say “yes, you’re a part of this too”. It’s an amazing feeling, one which, I hate to say, still comes as a surprise.

That’s why there are so many posts on social media where people share examples of these inclusive moments, even if it’s for something as simple as wi-fi registration. If it was an everyday occurrence, we wouldn’t need to mention it at all.

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In some respects, it would be nice if that was the world we lived in. I will relish the day I’m able to see non-binary inclusion and not be overjoyed or surprised by it, because then my existence will be seen as a normality, rather than an abnormality. And while I welcome my existence having the same mundanity for cis people as ordering their morning coffee, I am keen to celebrate the small developments that get us to that end point.

As always, the joy and optimism that accompanies progress is tempered with natural caution. In the case of the London Marathon’s decision to offer an non-binary option, I’m not naive enough to think their inclusion is faultless. This is new territory for them, after all. Its wording, application, and the way participants are treated may not automatically marry with their intentions. It happens, and we’ve seen many other organisations stumble over a lot less.

In the coming days, weeks, months and years, how the London Marathon builds on its announcement will ultimately decide how history remembers this moment. I hope it’s remembered as a marker of progression, one that encouraged other organisations to follow suit.

But if not, may its failings act as a lesson to be learnt because, from that failure, change will also come. It’ll be more bittersweet, but it’s an aftertaste we’ve come to expect.