If you had told a 22-year-old Héctor Espinal that lacing up a pair of busted sneakers would change his life, he would’ve laughed you right off Dyckman. Back then, mi pana was heartbroken, heavy with that break-up cloud that sits on your chest and refuses to move. Running became his escape, his terapia, the thing that kept his mind from spiraling. But still, something felt empty. “I didn’t know what I was chasing,” Espinal recalls. “I just knew I needed comunidad, I needed a vibe I’d never felt before.”
So Héctor, now a marketing pro by day and four-time marathon runner by soul, turned to the digital streets. He started dropping his location on Instagram, inviting anyone and everyone to come run with him around Uptown. At first, it was crickets. A ghost town. But Espinal is Dominican, stubborn in the best way. If nobody showed, he’d post videos calling out his friends, saying, “Y’all really left me hanging like that?” And little by little, la gente started showing up. First his sister and her girls, then his boys, then neighbors who’d never considered running as something for them.
Because let’s be real. In many Latino neighborhoods, running wasn’t the thing. It wasn’t “cool,” it wasn’t “for us.” Espinal and his crew flipped that narrative.
Let me put it out there the way it is: I’m not your “typical” runner, whatever that even means. I’m a Dominican guy with a belly, I have a heavy-set body that people don’t usually associate with marathon runners. Pull up to almost any race and if I’m not the only Latino, or the only Dominican, or the only person of color out there, I’m definitely the only big dude in the pack. And for a long time, that made me move through these running streets extra aware of myself.
Back in the day, if I was training on cold winter nights, rocking a ski mask to keep warm, I’d purposely give people space so they wouldn’t get nervous seeing a big Brown man running up behind them. That was the mental load I carried. But Uptown flipped that script. Now, people see the WRU Crew rolling deep and it’s love, it’s pride, it’s “there go our people.” If you’re from Uptown, you already know the vibes, you’ve seen us, you’ve heard us, you’ve felt the energy.
Growing up in New York, I never really felt “less than” because of my culture. This city is Latino as hell, and our presence is loud, bold, everywhere. I walk into spaces Uptown knowing I’ll find folks who look like me, talk like me, pray like me, dance like me, and think like me. That gives you a kind of confidence you can’t buy. But when we took WRU on the road to other cities, I felt the difference immediately.
Today, that small idea has turned into We Run Uptown, a full-on movement with over 230 members and a decade of memories. What started as a simple hashtag to unite runners in northern Manhattan and the Bronx became a weekly ritual. Mondays? Group runs that feel like a block party with sweat. Wednesdays? Tempo work that’ll humble even the cockiest athlete.
“We didn’t realize how much this meant until the community showed us,” says cofounder Joshua Mock. “This isn’t just about running. It’s about planting our flag and telling the neighborhood we belong here, no matter what tries to push us out.”
And trust, they’ve faced enough to break a weaker crew. Early on, We Run Uptown was forming right as the NYPD’s stop-and-frisk era was targeting young Black and Latino men. Héctor and Josh got stopped multiple times, not for running, but for looking like “suspects” in sweatpants, hoodies, and winter masks. Meanwhile, runners in wealthy, mostly white neighborhoods cruised by without a second look.
“Crazy how now I’m out here in tiny split shorts and a neon top and suddenly everyone’s like, Oh he’s just a runner,” Héctor says. “Pero back then? In our own neighborhood? We were treated like criminals for trying to be healthy.”
In 2016, police even shut down their anniversary BBQ after some anonymous caller said it “might get dangerous.” Imagine: a running crew celebrating three years of uplifting the community, embarrassed in front of sponsors, wondering if the cops would scare people away for good.
But Uptown doesn’t stay down. Héctor built relationships with the NYPD’s Community Affairs Unit, and now officers help block traffic during runs and even join in the “We Run Uptown” chant. The crew’s presence is so strong that the NYC Marathon unofficially knows Mile 21 as their turf. When runners hit Manhattan again, they look for that Uptown cheer squad, the music, the flags, the amor, that lifts you when your legs are cooked.
“We’ve changed the landscape north of Central Park,” Héctor says proudly. “Before us, nothing like this existed. Now? There are run crews all over the Bronx, Harlem, and Uptown. We helped spark that.”
What started as heartbreak turned into revolución. Una comunidad that runs, cheers, heals, uplifts, and claims space in a city that too often tries to box Latinos out. Uptown runs now. And Uptown isn’t going anywhere.
I remember showing up at a run-crew after party in San Francisco. Beautiful people, beautiful event, all love, but not a single Black runner in that room. And barely anybody Brown. Outside of the runners who traveled with me, I didn’t see myself reflected back. And look, I’m not the type to shrink. I’m not changing my slang, my walk, my drip, or my energy to fit into someone else’s comfort zone. I’m going to take up space the way God built me to. If someone feels uncomfortable because I’m fully myself in a space they’re used to owning, then that’s something they have to unpack, not me.
Running didn’t just teach me endurance, it taught me presence. It taught me I belong anywhere my feet can take me, across bridges, across boroughs, across borders. Running gave me the confidence to show up as my full Dominican self in America, and in the world, without apology.
Running has given me the confidence to navigate America and the world– Hector Espinal
