Natisha Hiedeman called herself “a connector.”

She didn’t need to. Along the Green Lake trail Tuesday, evidence was everywhere.

Hundreds gathered in a grassy patch beside a parking lot, connected by a basketball player with blue hair and a backward Hoka hat. They came with T-shirts declaring “EVERYONE WATCHES WOMEN’S SPORTS.” With Storm jerseys spanning several generations. With strangers and friends and strangers-turned-friends. With sons and daughters and dogs wearing boots on their paws.

I came, too, a sometimes-swimmer and biker who wasn’t born to run. I came with sneakers caked in dirt from countless kickball games, with a sprinter’s endurance and a snail’s top speed. With the frame and balance of a broomstick inside a roller skate.

No matter. All sizes, speeds and skill levels were welcome here, on the 2.8-mile trail outlining Green Lake. We came for “Run Budz,” a run club and community built by Hiedeman, who’s making the most of her first season with the Storm.

That refers, in part, to her production. The 29-year-old guard from Green Bay, Wis., has guided a green roster through the WNBA’s abyss. With a first-year coach (Sonia Raman) and a future tied to 20-year-old centers Dominique Malonga and Awa Fam, Seattle (7-30) is brimming with potential … and beset by growing pains. But Hiedeman — who’s averaging career highs in minutes, points and assists per game — has been a buoy in a seasonlong storm.

She’s a connector on the court and in the community. Her reach rises above the rim.

Hiedeman and former WNBA teammate Courtney Williams co-host a Twitch streaming channel, dubbed “Studbudz,” that boasts 118,000 followers. The pair’s Instagram page owns 160,000 followers as well. Through travel diaries and behind-the-scenes streams — little jolts of joy — “Studbudz” has become a beacon of unbridled authenticity.  

By being herself, Hiedeman built a brand bigger than basketball. Bigger than a box.

Which is how hundreds got to Green Lake.

***

Recently, Hiedeman was sitting at home when she decided to “go for a little run.” After putting out a public call, 23 attended, jogging 1.5 miles along Seattle Center and Lenny Wilkens Way. Though the size and scale sounds insignificant, Hiedeman said: “Y’all know I be sprinting on the court, so I never ran a mile or a mile and a half. So I felt super accomplished after that. I just felt a different type of accomplishment.”

Without pretense or profit, “Run Budz” was born. A second meeting was set for Tuesday at Green Lake Park. Hiedeman sent an open invitation via social media. She planted a seed … and got a garden.

On the Strava fitness app, 931 members (as of Thursday) joined Run Budz. Nearly 600 RSVP’d for Tuesday’s trot. One was 21-year-old Boeing employee Carson Veal, a basketball fan and former runner who moved to Seattle this summer and came to the run club seeking connection. Another was Shannon O’Malley, who decided “this is for us” because their 8-year-old kid named Cove loves cross-country. Another was Lulu Salazar-Rios, a season-ticket holder who fell in love with the Storm after moving from San Antonio six years ago.  

“I’m a big basketball fan,” said Veal, who worked for the women’s basketball team while attending Georgia Tech. “I just moved to the area, so I’m checking out different run clubs. Now a women’s basketball player on the team I watch is having a run club. It’s the perfect intersection, so here I am.”

By 6:12 p.m., the perfect intersection buzzed with Run Budz. At its center, Hiedeman held a megaphone, beside bundles of bananas and water bottles and clementines she bought at Costco.

“First, I just wanted to say thank you to everybody that showed up,” she said to the crew of ragtag runners. “I appreciate y’all. The support never goes unnoticed. I feel like it’s really important to bring people together. So just to have everybody here doing something fun and getting outside, I feel like this is the best thing to do. Everybody just have fun today, vibe, do what you do, and go Run Budz.”

That prompted applause, which grew when Hiedeman promised pizza “after you accomplish your lap around the lake.”

A volunteer led stretches, toe touches and jumping jacks in counted unison. A representative from Hoka handed out hats. At 6:28 p.m., hundreds put their hands in a makeshift huddle. Someone yelled, “Run Budz, are you ready?!”

Behind Hiedeman, we went.

At varying paces, we paraded past the public theater; past the Green Lake Pitch & Putt; past the bands of geese grumpily patrolling the trail; past a man obliviously dribbling a basketball the other direction; past the woman playing “You are My Sunshine” on a silver keyboard; past rowers and sunbathers and confused picnickers; past Brian Beck and his sons, Hank and Jimmy, who blew bubbles and encouraged their favorite players and hundreds of fellow fans.

“I signed up for the Strava app to see what it looked like, and I saw there were hundreds of people signed up,” Beck said. “It feels really grassroots. You don’t often get a chance to get in close with the players. Just naturally, understandably, there’s always a distance there. So it’s cool when they get out in the community.”

On Tuesday, the distance disappeared. Storm players and the fans who follow them ran side by side. The community connected.

“I got to high-five Jordan Horston,” Beck added, wearing a Horston jersey while blowing bubbles.   

Hiedeman paced the parade, averaging an eight-minute mile. Behind her, Horston — a fourth-year Storm forward — jogged and provided encouragement to surrounding runners.

“Nice pace, everybody!” Horston shouted. “Nice and steady pace.”

My pace was not nice, nor steady. I sweated enough to flood the lake; my legs felt like logs. I jotted notes into my phone while jogging gingerly. But I’m proud to say I never stopped. When the alternative is standing still, progress is the point.

“You don’t have to run, but just show up, support,” Hiedeman said. “You can walk. You can scooter. You can do whatever. But I think just show up.”

***

Hiedeman’s connectiveness is needed — especially now.

Beyond the Storm’s struggles, a politicized divisiveness has crept onto the court. After Indiana Fever guard Sophie Cunningham advocated against transgender girls and women participating in girls and women’s sports, a small crowd assembled last month at a pregame rally supporting Cunningham outside Climate Pledge Arena. In the game that followed, Storm minority co-owner Celeste Keaton verbally confronted two fans who held signs stating, “Thank you Sophie for speaking up for girls.” Keaton was suspended for five home games and fined by the WNBA.

Two former NBA players, Enes Kanter Freedom and Royce White, have attempted to capitalize on the dissension by publicly declaring for the WNBA draft.

All of which undermines the accomplishments of these athletes and the positivity they produce. These players, and this admittedly imperfect league, are more than political chess pieces. Hiedeman is more than a basketball player, too. Run Budz is more than a run club. It’s proof of the power in Hiedeman’s megaphone and message, in the garden that grew.

“I just never want to be in a box,” said Hiedeman, who earned the Minnesota Lynx’s altruism and community service award last season. “To do other things and use my platform with basketball, with Studbudz and streaming and being able to go down a bunch of different avenues, who knows what I’ll do next?

“I would have never imagined this. I just like to do what’s on my mind, do what I like. I just go with it. But this is going to be fun for a while.”

Hiedeman went on a little run.

She wasn’t the only one.

Raman, Horston and teammates Ezi Magbegor, Katie Lou Samuelson and Taylor Thierry also attended. Hiedeman finally left at 7:46 p.m., while the sun dipped below the skyline, after smiling for every selfie and signing every autograph.

As for the future of Run Budz? A third meeting is slated for 6:30 p.m. Thursday at Seward Park. Beyond that, Hiedeman doesn’t know how long it will last. The destination is unimportant. Progress is the point.

After all, a loop around a lake doesn’t have a finish line. Technically, we ended where we began.

But it felt like, together, we got somewhere.