SAN QUENTIN, California — One September afternoon, jogger Markelle Taylor, known as “Markelle the Gazelle,” entered the dark postern and crenellated towers of a place he was once delighted to leave: San Quentin State Prison in California. Accompanied by volunteer coaches from the prison’s 1000 Mile Club, Taylor, who served 18 years for second-degree murder, couldn’t wait to see his brothers.all of them serving sentences that carry a maximum penalty of life imprisonment.
Taylor, 50, earned his nickname in 2019 at the San Quentin Marathon, where he ran 104 1/2 laps around the prison yard fast enough to qualify for the Boston Marathon, in which he competed for six weeks. after his release. After finishing his sentence, Taylor sought to return as a mentor. He now goes to San Quentin to train runners every third Monday.
“Being an ex-convict who served a long sentence, I bring that connection,” he said. “I want to give them hope, just be there for them in any way I can. To help them be better athletes.”
The prison races begin after dinner and the obligatory daily head count.
“Markelle gives us hope, which is a blessing,” said Kirivuthy Soy, a member of the 1000 Mile Club. “That he got out shows that just because you’re a lifer doesn’t mean you’re going to be here forever.”
When Taylor began running during his own sentencing, “everything connected mentally and spiritually,” he said. “I was free for four years before they released me.”
He grew up a victim of domestic and sexual violence and was addicted to alcohol. At age 27, he was sentenced to between 15 years and life in prison for attacking his pregnant girlfriend, causing the premature birth of the baby, who ended up dying.
“I didn’t know how to process all that misdirected anger,” she said. “When you feel like you are nothing, you tend to gravitate toward the negative. I feel much better about who I am today. “I’m quite conscious of trying to hold on to the good things in my life.”
Taylor appears in “26.2 to Life: Inside The San Quentin Prison Marathon,” a documentary by Christine Yoo. She has been traveling around the United States to attend film festivals. His natural speaking ability has helped him connect with the public about his story and the need for prison reform.
For Taylor, it’s a healing experience. “The more I see it, the more it helps me internally process what I’ve been through in my life and continue to be accountable for the pain and suffering I’ve caused,” he said, adding that it helps him with his 22 years of being sober. He still attends Alcoholics Anonymous and Narcotics Anonymous sessions.
His life as a darling of film festivals feels very far from his daily reality. Like many people who have been behind bars, he struggles to find meaningful, well-paying employment, earning $17.25 an hour as a supermarket cashier. “Being black, I have to work harder than anyone else, and with a criminal record it’s really difficult.”said.
Between traveling and work, he has not been able to train as regularly as he would like. “When I run, I’m much more focused,” she said. “It helps me get up.”
Although Taylor continues to run marathons, his mission right now is “to be a lifelong ambassador for the incarcerated,” he said. “The important thing is to run with joy, love and a sense of purpose, and not pursue my own personal goals.”
“I was free for four years before they released me.”
PATRICIA LEIGH BROWN. THE NEW YORK TIMES
BBC-NEWS-SRC: http://www.nytsyn.com/subscribed/stories/6984255, IMPORTING DATE: 2023-11-14 19:00:07
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