What I talk about when I talk about parkrun

A quick love letter about the ways parkrun has changed me.

Nobody will notice that I already used this photo a couple of newsletters ago, right?

I recently finished What I Talk About When I Talk About Running, the 2007 memoir by Haruki Murakami. I am not a spoken word audio person (“I hate podcasts” is basically my entire personality, but it used to be “I hate exercise” so who knows what could happen?) but lately I’ve got into listening to audiobooks when I’m driving, walking and, yes, running. I really enjoyed the book both as a runner and as a writer, which makes me sound like almost as much of an unbearable dick as when people start sentences with the words “AS A MOTHER” like they invented the concept.

(I also just finished listening to Margo’s Got Money Troubles by Rufi Thorpe but it has absolutely nothing to do with the content of this newsletter. It is, however, completely brilliant so I thought I would take a moment, as if you don’t already delete enough Substacks with book recommendations in them).

ANYWAY, as I was saying, I enjoyed the Murakami book and decided I would rip off the title to pay a quick tribute to parkrun, which celebrated its 20th anniversary this week. There have been endless things written in the papers this week about parkrun, and everyone who even dips into this newsletter probably already knows I am a total tragic parkrun fangirl, but… I’ve decided to add to the noise.

The first thing you should know is that parkrun has a lower case p, which is very confusing, and doesn’t help with the fact that when you tell the uninitiated that you do parkrun, they often just think you mean you go for runs in the park, rather than it being an organised thing. When I’ve written about parkrun in the national press, it usually gets copy-edited to Parkrun, and I get a load of borderline-abusive mansplaining tweets and Facebook comments saying things like “Rookie mistake! You obviously don’t like parkrun that much!”, so then I have to journosplain that newspaper house style trumps brand quirks.

I went to parkrun for the first time in September 2021, and since then I have completed 87 parkruns at 30 different locations, as well as volunteering 24 times at two different locations. 31 of my 87 have been in 2024 and, if I don’t miss another one, I’ll hit 100 in the last week of the year, which means I can buy a special t-shirt. This sort of thing is even more important to parkrun people than the lower case p. These numbers might sound big but I have friends and relatives who’ve done many, many hundreds, and frankly I’m jealous.

Without wishing to sound dramatic (lies! I live for sounding dramatic) parkrun has changed me and now I’m going to tell you why.

Before parkrun, I preferred running on my own

Yesterday, I went up to Finsbury Park for parkrun as it was my main girl Nicky’s birthday (she’s older than parkrun). Sorry about my face

I know a lot of people who run loads but haven’t been to parkrun because “I don’t like running with other people” which is, of course, completely fine. But they’re also wrong and missing out. I do enjoy running on my own, most of the time, but for half an hour (ish) on a Saturday, I really like running near other people. I think the “I don’t like running with other people” brigade are also the “I hate organised fun” brigade and I get it, it’s a bit like me and podcasts.

And yeah, parkrun isn’t cool. At parkrun, everyone looks like a wholesome, ruddy-cheeked, Lycra-clad joiner-inner. Unless they have some very specific tattoos, you can’t tell what sort of job they have or what kind of music they like. And this is one of the things I like about it. My other runs are about fitness or training or zoning out or de-stressing, but parkrun is about doing something that’s hard and rewarding and fun in varying measures, with other people who like doing it, whether they’re an 81 year old retired accountant or a 24 year old ski instructor. Occasionally, I’ll bump into someone I know from parkrun in the wild, in their real clothes, and it blows my mind, like when a teacher takes their glasses off.

Whether the parkrun community are running or walking or volunteering, they all get why it is so special, and I just love that all these completely different people have this shared interest that they could talk about for hours, despite having little else in common. It’s a real leveller and I could cry.

Before parkrun, I worried about being slow

parkrun are proud that their average finish time has got slower and slower as the years have gone by, from a pretty zippy 22:17 in 2005 to over 32 minutes now, because it shows that the event has become more and more inclusive. Some parkruns attract more competitive runners than others; Dulwich, one of my closest, feels particularly athletic, because it’s fast and flat, so people travel there to try and smash their PBs. It’s why I prefer Catford, which is more undulating but has a much cosier feel. Plus, it’s actually where I got my PB; you just have to really hammer the downhill sections!

So, I am deeply, deeply average in parkrun terms, and this makes me happy. I’ve always been shit at exercise, so average-ish feels AMAZING! Bow down to my total mediocrity!

Before parkrun, I was not a morning person

For years, one of the things I was looking forward to about my kids getting older was the assumption that I would get more sleep. They’re now 9 and 6 and, even if they wake up before I do, they can be pretty self-sufficient (“Mummy can I watch TV?”, “uggbwmmyeah”).

And yet pretty much every Saturday, I’m the first one up. Quite often, my alarm goes off before 7, because I’ve decided to venture to Finsbury Park or Bushy or Tooting for parkrun purposes. Even if I’m staying local (my postcode is actually the UK’s number one parkrun hotspot: I have EIGHT parkruns under 5KM from my front door!), I’m up and out by 8.30am every Saturday. OUT OF CHOICE. Sometimes even after drinking lots of wine the night before.

As we often do junior parkrun too, which happens at 9am every Sunday, I basically haven’t had a lie-in since 2014 and am now the sort of person who says unbearable things like “It’s the best part of the day!”. Ugh, I’d loathe myself if I wasn’t so full of endorphins.

Before parkrun, I hated clothes with words on them

The other day I remarked to a friend via text that I hate clothes with words or slogans on them, and they hit me back with this.

Yes, it seems that there is an exception. I WILL wear my official London Marathon top to death and when I hit that 100 parkrun milestone at Christmas I will immediately be ordering the souvenir t-shirt. Why? Oh I don’t know. I suppose I am… how embarrassing and exposing to admit to such an emotion… PROUD.

Before parkrun, I didn’t drink coffee

Possibly the most unexpected one of all. I’ve always been a tea drinker but a couple of years ago I got fed up with queuing for it after parkrun due to other people’s complicated coffee orders taking ages, so I… went home and boiled the kettle? No! I ordered an oat cappuccino instead. And now it’s become an essential part of my parkrun experience.

And most importantly: Before parkrun, I didn’t think I looked like a runner

Yeah, I’ve used this one before too. And have I also mentioned how much I love my official parkrun x Brooks trainers? They are amazing.

I feel like I have gone on about this PLENTY in my year or so on Substack so you’ll probably know that, when I started running (when parkrun was Corona-ed off), I felt like a total fraud. I mean, it’s literally the whole reason this newsletter exists.

But at parkrun, I feel like a runner. At parkrun, there are plenty of lean, sinewy, stereotypically sporty types, but there are also people with less conventionally athletic bodies absolutely everywhere. In fact, the strikingly sporty ones are probably in the minority.

My body is totally unremarkable at parkrun. It’s why I feel perfectly happy in a vest and shorts and no makeup and a hastily scraped-back ponytail. And I will also admit that I sometimes even think I look QUITE PRETTY at parkrun, thanks to the post-run glow, natural light and the fact that it makes me feel happy.

“Oh my god, did she really admit to sometimes feeling PRIDE and PRETTINESS and HAPPINESS in the same newsletter? That woman is so up herself. *unsubscribe*”