Bear Miles, Big Smiles: The Rise of the Rugged Runner
A Love Letter to the San Francisco Frontrunners
A few years ago, I weighed 424 pounds. I didn’t really see it. When I looked in the mirror, my body dysmorphia would slide right in and whisper, “There he is, handsome bear, honey-colored eyes, beard on point, smart, funny…” I’d pile on the compliments like sprinkles on a sundae. But my body told the truth. I could barely bend over to tie my shoes. Flip-flops were my best friends. My waist was pushing 56–58 inches, and I lived in 5X tees. I was running a gay clothing brand for the bigger bears among us, and even in photos, I thought I looked great.
Then I threw my back out. No big deal, right? It had happened before. But this time, 2023, it didn’t bounce back. It got worse. Standing hurt. Walking hurt. Existing hurt. Urgent care sent me for x-rays, and after pretending that climbing onto the x-ray table was totally fine, the results came in: spine aligned, spacing good… but early-onset arthritis. A cortisone shot, physical therapy, and one very clear directive from the doctor: move. The era of sitting was over.
So in November, I started walking around the block in Florida. Half a mile. Shorts, 5X tee, flip-flops. I had to stop constantly, like, “four houses and I’m winded” constantly. But I was moving. My eating habits? Still a love letter to potato chips, nachos, and candy. Emotional crutches don’t give up easily. Still, I kept going.
Then came the flu. Then pneumonia. Then a lung infection. I could barely walk a few steps without coughing. It was terrifying. Mortality has a way of grabbing you by the collar and saying, “Hey. Pay attention.” Once the meds, pearls (fabulous), and inhaler kicked in, I made a decision: I want to live. Really live.
When I could, I started walking again. Neighbors cheered me on. (And by the next year, some of them started walking too, apparently, I was inspiring people!) I ditched the flip-flops and bought Brooks running shoes. My feet weren’t swollen anymore. I could wear “normal” shoes without pain. By December 2025, right before moving to San Francisco, I was down 125 pounds, doing multiple 5Ks, lifting weights, and rocking a 2X—sometimes even an XL on a good day.
I held myself accountable on social media. “Walking with Julius” was born. I even took underwear progress photos because visual proof matters. And something magical happened: the mirror started showing me me. Not the dysmorphia version. The real version. And old photos? I stared at them in disbelief. “How was I ever that big? Why didn’t anyone say anything?” They did. I just wasn’t ready to hear it.
Fast-forward to today. I live in San Francisco. In February, I gathered my courage and went to my first SF Frontrunners meetup in Golden Gate Park. If you haven’t been, the park is enormous—basically the runway leading to the Golden Gate Bridge. I’d checked out their website beforehand: friendly faces, runners and walkers alike. That “walking option” was my golden ticket.
I showed up, got a pink ribbon to mark me as a first-timer, and joined a group walking around Blue Heron Lake—two laps, one mile each. Meanwhile, other groups were running three, four, even five miles to the beach and back.
At 302 pounds, I was definitely the newbie and definitely the bear of the bunch. And guess what? No one cared. Everyone was warm, welcoming, and genuinely happy I was there. They even invited me to brunch afterward. I’ve gone every Saturday since. I joined officially. And suddenly, I had a community I didn’t know I’d been missing.
A bear who walks a 17-minute mile and sprints in short bursts? Welcomed. Encouraged. Celebrated.
This is my love letter to them.
I may not look like the Frontrunner you picture in your hometown, but I am one. My friend Tom Goss asked me recently, “Now that you’re in San Francisco, are you going to be a chorus gay or a biking gay?” Old Julius, the 424-pound version, would’ve said chorus gay in a heartbeat. (I can belt, honey. Tampa Bay Gay Men’s Chorus alumni here.) But without hesitation, I said, “I’m a biking gay. I need to move. I need to be outdoors.”
Thank you, San Francisco Frontrunners. I’ve gone from 5Ks, 8Ks, and 10Ks to training for my first 12K. And I’m proud—so proud—to represent the group that adopted me as one of their own.
San Francisco Frontrunners: www.sffr.org
