Run 4 the Roses, Run for Your Life: My Experience of the Kentucky Expo Center Evacuation

A Job That Didn’t Feel Right From the Start

I made my way to Kentucky to cover the Run 4 The Roses tournament, an event meant to celebrate youth basketball talent, community, and the game I love. But what was supposed to be another day of coverage became the scariest experience of my life, one that I’m still trying to process, moment by moment.

Even before I reached Louisville, I felt uneasy. Driving through Tennessee, I passed billboards that said “Shoot More Guns,” and vehicles with MAGA flags, bumper stickers reading "Destroy Liberals." I felt threatened and reflected on the state of America. As a masculine-presenting, heavily tattooed Black woman, I’m no stranger to being judged by my appearance. I am misgendered, insulted, and labeled every single day as a content creator. But this trip felt different. I didn’t feel safe before I even crossed the Kentucky line.

A Security Oversight I Couldn’t Ignore

When I arrived downtown, my Airbnb was across from a Dollar General surrounded by people who looked like they were going through the motions of survival; mentally ill, poor, unhoused, or in crisis. I kept my head down. I went to check in for the tournament and noticed something unsettling immediately: they didn’t check my bag. I expect security to go through it all. Every arena I go to takes what feels like an eternity to check my bag. Today,  it was heavier than ever as I packed to be in the gym for more than 8 hours. I usually carry protection too, something my brother insists on. But that day, my firearm was in the car. In hindsight, it was way too far for comfort. 

I had been up since 6 AM creating content and now walking around the expo center carrying a 20 or more pound backpack full of gear and my tripod on my shoulder. I was trying to find Court 17, where Natisha Hiedeman’s team was supposed to play. I wandered for nearly 10 minutes, confused by the court numbering. That time of being lost put me close to an exit. Frustrated then, I didn’t know how important that would be.

The Sirens, The Screams, The Sprint

A siren went off. Just one at first, and it stopped, and no one panicked. I kept walking. Then another siren went off and stayed on. I still didn’t waiver because I didn’t see anyone else panicking. I thought it may have been an issue with one of the scoreboards or shot clocks. This event had over 80 basketball courts running simultaneously. I wore noise cancelling headphones but even those could not stop the piercing screams of children yelling “Run active shooter!” Hundreds of people started running towards me, with terror on their faces. I took off to run towards the door that was luckily only a few yards away. People pushed me and I pushed people. The only thing I kept thinking was don’t fall. 

Outside Wasn’t Safety, It Was Survival

When I made it out of the building I started to feel my legs. The weight of my backpack slowed me down. I was tired. I could barely carry my body. I made it to a barrier and had to jump it. I contemplated dropping my bag but my life was in my bag. I couldn’t drop it. I dropped my tripod instead. I didn’t look back. I heard banging sounds that in hindsight may have been the doors slamming as people burst through them, but at that moment I could only think that they were gun sounds. I pictured bodies falling behind me. I imagined a faceless shooter in all black, like the ones I’ve seen on the news. The sounds were so constant that my brain said: automatic gunfire. I didn’t stop to verify. I didn’t look back. I ran.

I kept running until I reached the outer edge of the expo area. As I ran I called my girlfriend. My phone was dying. I stopped as I neared the exit to the arena to catch my breath and just as I was finally gathering myself, another wave of people started running towards me. I ran again, but this time into a busy intersection. I could feel the heat waves radiating from the street. Cars were zipping by. A mother pulled up, hysterical, yelling into her phone trying to find her child. A kid opened the door to the backseat of a Jeep crying, "There’s an active shooter!" All I thought to say was, "I know... my car is still inside. I don’t know what to do." The Jeep pulled off. 

I just kept going down the road. The farris wheel at Kentucky Kingdom was still going around. It was hot. I had no water. After a while there was no more road.  I could see the highway. I sat under a tree in a shaded area, breathless and exhausted. My phone was dying. I ended the call with my girlfriend to conserve battery. I was too scared to order an Uber because what if the roads were blocked? I felt stuck.

A Stranger Named Kim and a Moment of Grace

People walked past me. No one stopped or even made eye contact with me until a woman named Kim did.

She looked at me and asked, “Are you okay?” I shook my head no. She said, "Come with me. They’re letting people into the Fairfield Inn." I followed her and she asked if I had talked to my parents. I realized she thought I was a child. I didn’t have the energy to correct her because at this point, I was a child. 

Adopted by a Team in Crisis

Inside, teams were packed into hallways like it was a tornado drill. I didn’t know where to go, so I tried to sit alone. Kim told me, "Cassie, follow me." I sat with her team. A girl hugged me. I was still breathing heavy, my legs cramping. I felt mad at myself for being out of shape. I had fallen out of my workout routine because I’ve been so busy working and making content. This was my fault that I was tired. I also felt alone. Everyone there had teammates, their parents or other staff to lean on. I didn’t know anyone. If anything went down, it was me against whatever. 

Eventually, one of the parents secured a hotel room. One of the girls from the team said, “We’ve adopted you now.” Over 20 of us piled in. The 14U girls were living on, creating Tiktoks and laughing about how they were crying as they ran. A group of them huddled near the window and one said, "There are so many police right here." Almost on queue someone came into the room with urgency, "Get away from the window! The shooter is on the run!" Panic again. We sat in the dark.

Teejay: The Dad, The Minister, The Comfort

Then a dad named Teejay walked in and led us in prayer. I later found out that he was a minister and motivational speaker. He told us what had been told to him by a person who had spoken to police, and I can assure you, it’s not what the news is reporting. There’s plenty of stories out now about what happened, but the only thing that is 100% true is that over 40,000 people feared for their lives. Teejay brought laughter back to the room by sitting the girls down and playing a game.

Editing Photos, Holding On to Normal

I pulled out my journal. I wrote until I couldn’t write anymore. Then I opened my laptop and started editing photos. It was my way of grounding myself. Eventually, we were told it was safe to retrieve our cars. I didn’t want to make that long walk alone. As I started packing my things, Teejay’s wife invited me to walk with their group. Teejay and I talked on the way. He asked how I was really doing. He didn’t try to fix it. He just listened and told me about his own lived experiences. I didn’t feel alone anymore. He later told me, “we’re family now.”  

Media Spin and the Gaslighting That Followed

When the media began calling it a “false alarm,” I felt enraged. We ran for our lives. There was nothing false about it. The term changed from "active shooter" to "active aggressor," and people began treating it like it was no big deal. One man even came on my Facebook post and accused me of embellishing, called me an Indiana Fever & Caitlin Clark hater and that he was from Kentucky and it was a big “nothing burger.” I don’t care where he’s from. He wasn’t there. He didn’t feel what we felt, and at this moment, the last thing I care about is the Indiana Fever or basketball in general. 

I know what I experienced. I know what thousands of us experienced. Whether bullets flew or not, we ran for our lives. That trauma is real. The confusion, the terror, the exhaustion; it’s all still in my body. I think I pulled a muscle in my right quad because I’m in pain every time I walk today. 

Big Money, Little Security: A Systemic Failing

This wasn’t a small, local event. According to WDRB, the Run 4 The Roses tournament brings over 60 million in economic impact and record-breaking attendance to Louisville each year. It is unacceptable for an event of this scale to allow unchecked bags and near-zero visible security presence. The Courier-Journal confirmed that games have resumed but under new security measures (source). That change should have happened before lives were thrown into chaos.

Alone Again, But Alive

I’ve been at a nearby family member’s house. Laying in bed next to their dog. But I’m tired. I can’t make the drive back to Atlanta yet. And I don’t want to drive alone through these states again.

Faith, Flawed Religion, and Divine Protection

I’ve always believed God protects me. I grew up Baptist but I've strayed from calling myself a Christian because I’ve seen it weaponized by the most ungodly people, but what I felt when Kim noticed me after others passed me by, when the girl hugged me as I struggled to catch my breath, and the words spoken to me from Teejay, was a reminder that there are Christians who actually live by the word. God is with me, always, even in chaos. 

The Images That Won’t Leave Me

I’ve been in tears all day, haunted by flashes of crying children and distressed mothers. I keep replaying the heaviness in my legs as I jumped the barrier, the moment I thought I wasn’t going to make it, and the image in my mind of bodies dropping behind me. I can’t stop thinking about the victims of the Apalachee High School shooting. This happened less than 30 miles from my hometown. One of my classmates’ children was there and witnessed it. I thought about them as I ran for my own life.

When Conspiracies Deny Real Grief

As I continue to process, I also think about the victims of Sandy Hook and how painful it must be for their families to see conspiracy theorists online calling it all a hoax. Twenty children. Six adults. Still gone. Still mourned.

The Truth: I Survived, But I’m Not the Same

I don’t feel safe and the truth is, I never really was. Physically, I’m okay for the most part. But mentally, I’m not. And I don’t know if I’ll ever be the same again.