Run Club Culture: Community, Competition, and the Cost of Belonging
RICO.
Article for RICO magazine about run club culture.
Run Club Culture: Community, Competition, and the Cost of Belonging
I ran before it was popular.
Before you couldn’t truly catch your breath after the end of a run until you had checked your Strava activity had saved and your pace, distance and heart rate were all within your acceptable range, or the title and description altered accordingly (‘super easy run, getting over a cold’).
Before you couldn’t head out for your run until you were wearing a stylish ‘fit’, most likely inspired by a run influencer, who’s posts you’d spent hours scrolling through, unknowingly spiralling deeper into unhelpful comparison (‘she’s tiny, she runs so fast, her job allows her to run in the middle of the day, she can afford all that kit, she does it all fuelled by a single lettuce leaf’.)
Back when going for a run really was as simple as putting on a pair of trainers and heading out of the door. You didn’t need super shoes, the latest sports watch and a pair of Oakley sunglasses (regardless of weather) to jog for half an hour around the local park. You didn’t need to take a multitude of various supplements and sports nutrition before leaving the house (bananas are great), and you certainly didn’t need to document the whole process in various forms for social media kudos / views / likes for extended endorphin release.
Running was running. And that was that.
But then came the run clubs, and with them run culture. The stampedes of Oakley wearing, super shoe-donning Gen-Z, checking splits and filming content as they go. The new era of running had arrived.
I’m aware I sound like a middle-aged man, begrudged by young runners disturbing his peace on the morning dog walk. But that’s not me. I’m a 25-year-old international age-group level competitive triathlete, who’s trained in performance, club and solo environments. Having experienced my fair share of exercise-related mental health difficulties, injuries galore, and seen countless examples of similar experiences in others, I am cautious at best of the new phenomena that is run culture.
But first, what caused the run club boom?
Searches for ‘run club’ have been increasing drastically since 2022, and running content has boomed on social media. Entries into the London Marathon have doubled since 2024, with over 1 million Brits submitting an entry request for the 2027 London marathon (that’s almost 2% of the entire UK adult population). The most represented UK demographic was women aged 20-29… a far cry from what you may have expected even five years ago. [1]
According to the LADnation Running report [2] published in 2024, 49% of their audience are running monthly, with 75% preferring to run with someone else or in a group. 65% of Gen Z post about their runs on social media, and 63% of runners find their gear through platforms like Instagram and TikTok. I would assume, given the continued growth of running, these figures would be even higher today than in 2024.
In the aftermath of the Covid lockdowns, and amidst pandemics of loneliness, poor mental health and high screen time, Gen-Z took to the streets for social connection and to take control of their mental and physical health. Early morning runs soon became the replacement for late-night partying, and run clubs the preferred way to meet a partner over swiping right.
And there’s nothing wrong with any of that.
I would take an early morning run over a late-night party any day of the week.
You’d be hard pressed to find any well-meaning person that would shun Gen-Z’s pursuit of meaningful connection, commitment to goals and the challenging of one’s self. In a world where obesity and mental health issues only ever seem to rise, along with unavoidable screen time, the cost of living and global insecurity, running seems, on a personal level, like the perfect antidote.
But nothing’s ever simple. And run club culture is here to complicate things.
A club or a clique?
Before I launch into this, it’s worth mentioning run clubs come in many different forms. My local run club (which admittedly I’ve never attended) is in a quaint Peak District town, average age probably being around fifty-five, average outfit a baggy t-shirt and shorts, and average number of social media followers per participant around twelve.
What I’m referring to in this article is what Gen Z would typically think of when someone says ‘run club culture’, an image heavily influenced by social media and reinforced by what we see on the streets.
The runner you’re imaging is probably quite lean – muscular but not carrying much body fat – and donning the most fashionable run gear from head to toe. Shoes, sunglasses and shorts that cost a small fortune. They probably have all the tech – running watch, heart rate monitor, headphones, and are on it with all their stats (heaven forbid zone 2 easy should creep into zone 3).
I love being an endurance athlete, and instantly having something in common with other endurance athletes. And don’t get me wrong, I really enjoy diving into the stats, using sports tech and learning more about all the cool new innovations out there. But I like all that to feel like an add-on because I’m super into my sport, not an entry-level requirement into the world of running. My perception of run culture is that if you don’t fit the brief, you’re not in.
The obvious example is ability. Although many run clubs flaunt the idea ‘beginners are welcome’, the calibre of athlete can often feel more like that of a sub-elite run squad. Even then, if you’re able to keep up with the pace, if you don’t look the part – be this in terms of body shape or gear – you might still end up feeling as if this ‘meaningful connection’ wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.
Fitness over health
The training regimes promoted by many run influencers are often unachievable and unrealistic for most of us, and can easily slip into dangerous for those trying to follow.
Some run influencers, such as Philly Bowden, are very transparent with topics such as their mental and physical health, life stressors and other commitments, but others seem to be super human. They plough through mile after mile, knocking up insane mileage per week, while apparently working a 9-5, sleeping nine hours a night and eating extremely ‘clean.’
Perhaps these people are just extraordinary athletes, and my criticism comes from a place of jealously. But more likely I think the whole truth isn’t being shared, or the lifetime and consequences of such a routine yet to be fully discovered.
Overtraining, disordered eating and associated injuries such as stress fractures are unfortunately very common in endurance sport, with up to 82% of endurance athletes being classified as at high risk of RED-s (Relative Energy Deficiency in Sport, a condition developed from knowingly, or unknowingly, overtraining and/or under fuelling, resulting in severe long term health implications) [3]. Although there undoubtedly are runners who use their platforms to promote a healthy relationship with exercise and nutrition, this new wave of run culture seems to be skewed towards an intensive, performance-first mentality which unfortunately often goes hand in hand with the complications above.
All you need is a pair of trainers.
And a sports watch. And a heart rate monitor. And those trainers, they really need to be carbon-plated super shoes.
According to a LADnation study [2], the average spend on a run kit by Gen Z is £300 … not a sum to be sniffed at. One of the reasons running has always been a popular sport is because of its accessibility. All you really need is somewhere to run, and something comfortable to run in. Fundamentally, this hasn’t changed, but the advent of run culture has almost put up a self-inflicted barrier to entry. You must be wearing the ‘correct’ kit before you take your first stride.
The landscape of sports clothing marketing is largely to blame. Using run influencers as ambassadors or affiliates for brands, giving them free, discounted or commissioned items in return for sharing content advertising the products, shows no sign of slowing down. Even for elite athletes, doing social media work has become an imperative part of making a living as an athlete. It distracts runners from doing what they’re here to do (run), and makes us think the secret to success is to buy, buy, buy.
It’s got to the point where the perception of being a runner, to some, is more important than actually being a runner. Standing near some foliage, dressed to run, for the sake of a photograph gives a bigger endorphin boost than hitting the trails. The trainers can never get muddy when they need to be photographed in a pristine state for social media.
Why do you like to run?
I like to run to listen to the birds, the sound of my breath, the patter of my footsteps. I like to run to feel connected to nature and disconnected from screens, my worries and the real world. I like to run for the sense of freedom, lack of judgement and feeling of accomplishment. I like to run because it’s something I can just go do.
I think the increase in people running is great. I’m not precious about my hobby; I want as many people to enjoy it as possible. But I want as many people as possible to enjoy running, not to feel like they’re not good enough, have to look a certain way, or have to follow a certain routine to ‘be a runner.’ Running 5km every two weeks in a second-hand pair of trainers at an unknown pace, unrecorded and undocumented, doesn’t mean you’re not a runner. The only requirement of being a runner is, well, running every now and again.
The term ‘Strava mule’ exploded on social media in 2024 when it became known people were paying other runners to record a run for them using their wearables, and post it to their Strava account. If we simply ran when we wanted to, without the pressure to run a certain pace, a certain volume, gain a certain number of kudos or likes, I’m pretty sure Strava mules would not be a thing.
You are a runner.
Run culture started with the right intentions. Gen Z’s dream for more meaningful, healthy and fulfilling relationships, past-times and goals can only be commended. Running soothes, if not solves, many of the problems Gen Z face.
But in the search for community, I feel we have created a new identity. You have to jump through more hoops than a Border Collie at Crufts to be able to call yourself a ‘runner’, else you have no hope of being welcomed into the clan.
If you run, you’re a runner.
Run club culture compliant, or not.
[1] London Marathon ballots entries double in two years to record 1.34m