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Kate Takata

@ketakata

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A rude little thing with middle fingers. 🤣✌🏼
👩🏻‍❤️‍💋‍👨🏻 - @lighting_guy_thw
🐶 - @little_zoom_attw
#carpepropeautorunnertrician

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You give over 100 people disposable cameras on your wedding day. What’s the worst that could happen?

📷:🤷🏿‍♂️
Cameras and film developed at @exposuretherapy.nyc

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Hello. It is I, your genetically high cholesterol princess.

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See a Spurs game on the Fiesta Court, BIG CHECK!!
What a great weekend trip with @ketakata to ATX!
GO!SPURS,GO!

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Feels like we’re playing Mad Libs around the word “community” nowadays. Distilling it into marketing jargons and acronyms. While we letting it become into some content farming, clout chasing, auramaxxing, whatever it is.

It’s not just marketing departments’ fault. We the runners are guilty of it too. Me included. We validate our existence by quantifying our communities, turning them into metrics so our decks look clean enough to share in a Windows Teams chat. How large we are, how fast they are, how many people showed up at where and how much merch we sold and all. Numbers on the board, and it’s hard to get a handle on that double-edged sword, isn’t it?

But when the audience goes away, people remain. People show up with eager faces and their favorite running getups, regardless of what the trend report says online. Well-worn shoes from three seasons ago. Race shirts from six years ago, edges fraying, logos cracking. And somehow, their love is even louder. I loved when you show up. I loved when WE showed up and stayed around.

To be completely transparent, last year wasn’t the easiest with my crew. I found myself thinking about our path a lot. Where we took the turn, where we were going from here, where we were headed. But even with the constant struggle, what kept me coming back to them, actually, to us, was the reminder that all we’ve got is us. Because when the sales reps collapse their tents and pack away their branded hopes and dreams, what’s left is us. Sipping Capri Suns, exchanging high fives, passing hugs around, screaming each other’s names like it’s the only religion that makes sense. Link our helping hands next to one another.

The days I showed up with my camera, watching my crew expand and snapping away their joy, felt fewer last year. But it was still absolutely thrilling. It still filled my heart to see our bodies tumbling joyously through these streets. All we got is us, @run_csrd

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🫦 Rocky Horror Picture Show 🍿
Start the 🤬 Flick!

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Cruising through TNFC Summer Bingo! Do we think I can get a #bingoblackout by the end of August…? 👀

It’s not too late to stop by Flight Club and pick up your very own bingo card. Tomorrow night will be your last chance to earn your Social on the Green square!

#bingo #tnfcbingo @oisellevolee_was #trailtogrill #dirtcircus

📸 3-6: @agustindotsanchez
📸 7: @thisisdizzle

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Today was a good one.

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Spent the day appreciating the beauty of our state parks.

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It’s been hard not to think about what it means to belong, especially in the past few months. In running, and in this country. Doomscrolling be damned, but my phone keeps flipping between videos of skinny runners joking about their “running icks” and Black and Brown people being kidnapped then deported in broad daylight. I can’t look away. My fingertips hover between rage and helplessness.

As a first-gen immigrant, I often feel like I may have a house, but never a home. Every now and then, I’m reminded of “my place” and unfortunately, that’s not unusual. Like when I was fired from my corporate job over “bad English.” Consciously. Deliberately. Never mind that I speak two languages. My voice still gets buried by a voice that is more white or conventionally masculine. It’s always about erasure. About making you question your belonging. Your footprint.

Speaking of footprints, I picked up running in my twenties. I didn’t grow up playing organized sports, though I always loved to move. Running means a lot now, but I’m constantly reminded I’m not “serious” because I don’t run a certain pace. Subconsciously. Carelessly. Yet intentionally. Never mind that I don’t want to be a “serious runner.” I run to move. To create. To feel. To be with my people, the ones who find each other without “activations.” Who look like me, or like the ones beside us. That’s enough. That’s abundance. No amount of kudos on an app can replace that.

So I return and we return to the space that gives us joy. To the people who made me feel like I belonged in a sport that didn’t always welcome me at first.

It feels strange to celebrate right now. Leading into Global Running Week, it’s been hard. We lost a friend. And the world feels chaotic. Exhausting. I think of Audre Lorde’s words. How joy can be a form of resistance. And I’m reminded: change only happens when we claim our space. Ten toes down. Heads held high. Legs moving forward.

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This community is everything ❤️

📸: @thisisdizzle

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“I don’t see a lot of people who look like me, especially working backstage. It’s still—it’s getting there, it’s getting more diverse—but I see my role as kind of being like ‘may I be the first, not the last.” - Kate Takata, The Paramount Theatre’s Assistant Electrician

STG’s Heart of Heritage Series, hosted by Jay Martin Jr., is a storytelling initiative dedicated to uplifting the voices within our own STG community. This month, Jay sits down with Kate Takata to honor Asian American & Pacific Islander Heritage Month 🖤

You can watch Kate’s full interview now on STG’s YouTube channel.

🎥 by Connor Macdonald | Filmed at Seattle’s historic Paramount Theatre in April 2025 | #STGPresents | #AAPIHeritageMonth

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What a great last track workout.

See you all in May! Come join the fun!

📸 @richnotdick

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