THEN THEY CAME FOR RUNNING: HOW FITNESS GOT DOUCHEBAGGED
The run club is a lie, and everyone’s filming it.
Sneakers hit a puddle.
A splash covers my pristine runners in muddy crud. I could give a shit, that’s what they were bought for. The playlist gets cranked.
The PB is still on… slow and steady… Keep pace no matter what.
My mind drifts, and I can’t stop thinking about how another me would die at the sight of muddy sneakers, but these aren’t sneakers. They’re kit. Running shoes built for purpose, not posing. Function not form. The music gets cranked even louder. The PB is still on.
Then… he passes me.
Tight running shorts in Cobalt blue. Long socks and race day running shoes. A water vest and arm strap for the iPhone. Ponytail and sweatband. Wrap around Oakley shades with the orange glass because – runner.
His pace is breakneck, his gear is hype worthy. Runner is fast, I’m talking Kenyan prepping for the Olympics fast. He looks like a tit, yet I can’t help but respect it. Runner is really moving-moving, but somehow, he has the dexterity to pull his iPhone from the arm strap and selfie-shoot a reel.
Runner has all the giggles; all the advice. He’s fast and somehow articulate without missing a beat. Head down, I keep going, unmoved from my pace, my plan.
A few minutes later, I check my watch and I’ve done it. I’ve not only smashed my personal best, I feel strong, I can keep going… so I do. Then I see him again. Runner isn’t running, runner is blowing a cloud of tar, having a smoke at the park bench. That’s because Runner isn’t a runner… Runner is a Runfluencer.
There’s a part of me that hates shit talking anything internet related, particularly given the irony found in where my writing lives. Irrespective, I think we can all agree we’re here because this platform delivers a different flavour of scroll.
The performative is a little harder to pull off when writing, as opposed to ‘flicking it up’ in a fifteen-photo carousel. The performative shouldn’t be present when talking about something tough, something intended for the betterment of self. Historically, a solo pursuit… Alas, that ship hasn’t just sailed, it's smashed its way out of the fucking pier, crushing every piddly row boat in its’ path.
My fitness history, thankfully isn’t history, it’s very much a part of my routine. But, should things have continued the way they started, that wouldn’t’ve been the case.
Back in my twenties, I took part in a Men’s Health magazine ‘transformation’ that saw my little man frump upgraded to a six pack in six weeks. Well, it was actually an eight pack but who’s counting? *Insert Smugness here, quickly followed by vomit in the cross-body man bag.
Days after the photoshoot, the beginnings of a new and more aggressive gut made itself known, and the sustainability of said ‘challenge’ became the real challenge.
In my thirties, I found a PT. We trained together, we ran, we lifted, I attended his HIIT class in a hot Yoga studio every Sunday and dragged every friend, girlfriend and Instagram acquaintance to join. As expected, they tagged and like the ‘content’.
The positives were endless. I felt and looked better; I learned first-hand the speed in which community can be created when people feel part of something bigger than themselves.
The negatives… well… in truth, we could be here a while. So, in short, let’s just say the nutrition end of that transformation was non-existent. Once again, change was external and inevitably - temporary.
Today, in my 40s, fitness isn’t a pursuit, it’s a part of my day. It extends beyond the gym and exists in my shopping basket, on my plate.
It motivates my supplement choices, my respect for the importance of recovery, the significance of sleep. It tells me when I’m making poor choices not just for the way I’ll look with my shirt off, but the way I’ll feel.
Fitness is physical, but it’s become a part of my mental health, my happiness, my wellbeing. Today, my fitness isn’t for anyone else, it’s the effort I make every day for my future self. Ironically, that investment delivers dividend to those closest to me daily.
But that’s just me.
My history, in all of its cringe and (at worst) performative moments gets me here. The journey will always be personal, and much like dating, I’ve had to kiss my fair share of fitness frogs.
Shit, in some cases, I’ve been the proverbial toad. I’ve been the one barking into a selfie camera, telling people to join me in sweat. Needing everyone to know I’m working on me, needing everyone to see my results. Elevating my external ‘before’, submitting to a superficial ‘after’…
But that was what I needed. That’s what gets me here.
So, I get the pull of the run club. The appeal of matching sleeveless, raw edge T-shirts branded with that graphic ripped off a Pinterest board. I get the ‘dating app in real life’ inevitability of those 5k meet ups, rammed with horny twenty somethings in SHEIN booty shorts and dick print Lycra man-leggings.
We all want to feel connected. Part of something. Who the fuck am I to judge those doing exactly what I thankfully grew out of?
Is it only made worse by the scale of the fitness douchebag-ification? The normalisation of performative fitness? Is this just another medium for twenty somethings to project their self-image needs through?
Fitness has become fashion. Strava has become a ‘personal best’ pony show.
Trend has swallowed fitness, but this too shall pass. However, when pulling people into the ‘it thing to do’ actively encourages healthier habits, longevity and in essence a healthier relationship with our bodies, is it a bad thing?
If you're from London, you know what the original and most authentic running crews look and feel like. There's no denying why they do what they do. Their founders aren't here for the likes. They never created fodder for the feed, they created community...
The frustrating thing, is seeing huge numbers come to the gym or the track because - likes. But if they’re getting fit, that can't be a bad thing, it shouldn't be. Right?
I don’t have the answers.
In actuality, every passing thought on the subject pulls a ‘Gremlins’, multiplying before my eyes in the shape of twice as many questions. They came for running and like it or not, they took over.
But when trend decides books, chess or (God forbid) knitting is the thing we should all be doing, let’s hope a few of the tourists stick around. It might actually be healthy in the long run.
Pun intended.
Do you run for the peace, the pain or the playlist? Or are you just in it for the Strava PB’s and the smugness?
A new noun for me ‘runfluencer’. Not sure where I’d fit in your ‘Observer’s book of runners’. I ran the ‘Lyke Wake Walk’ in Yorkshire in my teens did the Glasgow marathon in 1984, competed in several KIMMs in Scotland (Karrimor International Mountain Marathons) in my 20s / 30s. In my 40s I was an outdoor pursuit instructor and ran things like the ‘Cheviot Challenge’.
Then I moved to SE Asia and stopped running because of the heat, snakes and traffic. No running for 10 years. Came back in 2010 a much older man so thought my running days were over. I worked Saturdays teaching English, so missed out on the parkrun phenomenon for a few years.
Retired now and I have definitely rediscovered running: 125, and counting, parkruns later and a few 10Ks and longer, I’m back in love with all that running has to offer.
Some of my kit is old and some is new, I have always just bought what I like and wear it till it wears out. I post about my running regularly for friends and family to keep up with my movements. I’ve caught the parkrun tourism bug - mainly to keep my running up while visiting friends and family here and abroad.
In short: I’m no runfluencer and don’t give a monkey’s for fashion and ‘this year’s colour’. What I am is a 67 year old lapsed runner who’s caught the bug again.
Interesting read Reg, thanks for posting.
Nice read this. Im lucky my running club is pretty wholesome 10 people are members atm, usually max 5 people meet on the sunday meets. Interchanging attendees. Proper chill!
Also gotta shout out East Park Park Run too!