Hey parkrunners — you really don’t know parkrun until you’ve joined us at the back!
I am, in no uncertain terms, terrible at running. Always have been. My first memory of having to run was with suburban Canadian organised Soccer at the age of 5. My father was the coach and set us off running a lap around the outside of the pitch. I was extremely unimpressed and couldn’t make it the whole way around.
This remained my relationship with running for much of my childhood. By the time I got to my final year of junior high and faced the annual autumn running event, I was so frustrated with having been passed by all the boys in my year group (who always started about 20 minutes later than the girls) every, single year that I spent the weeks in the run-up in my parents’ basement on the treadmill, desperately attempting to improve my fitness. While I got a slightly faster time than I ever had before, some of the boys still beat me.
Through high school and into university, I would go through phases of visiting gyms and would always spend a bit of my time running. At the campus gym in particular, where visiting was free to students but almost any of the activities cost extra, I was relegated from treadmill to track and while I would try to push myself to run a lap or two, I spent most of my time walking in endless circles.
When I was 21, I decided to push myself. Most people would do this by signing up for a 5K charity run, but never being one to not go whole-heartedly into something, I signed up for a marathon. I had always been intending to do a mixture of running and walking, but skipped out on doing virtually any running training, and despite doing more running than I ever had in my life, ended up finishing the marathon in 6.5 hours. In my final km, the race marshals were removing the traffic cones and reopening the roads the second I passed.
Since then, my relationship with running has been come and go — with a lot more go (I guess go is the wrong word for it). I’d get into it for a few months, fall out of it for a few years, and then get into it again. It was mostly on treadmills, during periods where my depression would get bad enough that I’d force myself to get a gym membership — rarely ever would I run outside. Too cold.
I had heard people talk about parkrun for years before I started going, but it was only Ed Miliband banging on about it endlessly on Reasons to be Cheerful that eventually pushed me to sign up. For those who haven’t heard of parkrun, it’s an international organisation, started in London, that runs volunteer-organised 5k runs in parks or other outdoor areas every Saturday morning at 9am. You show up, you run the course, are given a barcode at the end, and scan it with your own barcode to determine your time. It’s got a massive following in the UK, and is constantly growing internationally, and many runners describe it as cult-like (and I have to agree).
The Finsbury Park one was just a few minutes from my house, so after weeks of telling myself I’d wake up early enough on Saturday morning to go, one day in April 2019, I finally did.
And what did I think of my first parkrun? I have to say my feelings were mixed. While the spirit of parkrun is technically that it’s not about speed and attainment, and that people are allowed to walk and just have a good time, there are many parkrunners who come clad in their marathon finisher t-shirts who are competitive and constantly striving for their personal bests, and it is a bit intimidating. I ran (and walked) along as fast as I could, but by about 3/4 of the way through my first lap, I was already having to duck out of the way of large, lycra-clad men jetting by me. It was demotivating, but when I finished the run (at 37 minutes), I was glad to have done it.
And I went back. Not just to Finsbury, but I started to become a bit of parkrun tourist. When I was in different bits of London, I’d try out the parkruns there. And while my time did increase marginally, I started to get used to being near the back of the pack. And there’s something a bit magical about it.
While the other runners whizz past, barely noticing what is going on around them, us stragglers form a sort of unspoken pact. Every parkrun I’ve been to, it’s been the same thing — a small group of people running (and mostly walking) about the same speed, who even if they don’t talk to one another, begin to acknowledge each other’s presence. Sometimes it’s a simple nod each time we pass (which usually happens several times back and forth), sometimes cheering each other on, and sometimes it’s full blown conversations. I remember a much older man, possibly at the Deer Park parkrun, having a long conversation with me about his life and different running experiences. Just today, a woman I’d been running near to for most of the race and I commiserated about how hard we found parkrun, and decided to run the final push side-by-side.
I don’t go to parkrun for the company. Lots of people like the social aspect of it and have made friends they go out for coffee with afterwards, but that never appealed to me. I’m no good at sustained conversations. But these minimal, passing interactions with the people I struggle beside at the back of the pack always brighten my day.
And my slowest parkrun ever? That was extra exceptional. I was in Moscow, due to board the Transiberian Railway about 10 hours later, and decided to go along to a parkrun at Gorky Park, where I was met with a small group of runners, all looking fiercely competitive. I didn’t have running gear, and I didn’t want to get sweaty because I was about to be on train with no shower for six days, so my plan was to walk the whole thing. The route went along the river and back, and when I got about 2km in, I found the volunteer steward meant to tell people where to turn around, walking back to the start point. Everyone else had whizzed past, and he had no idea I was there. Unlike UK events that have a tail-walking volunteer to ensure no one is last, in Moscow, I was definitely last.
I explained to the volunteer what was going on, and though he wasn’t confident in English, he mostly understood my situation. He walked me back to the turning back point, and turned around and walked the full way back to the finish line with me. We talked about life in Moscow, about my life in Canada and the UK, and he even offered me an opportunity to come back to his place to use his shower if I wanted to start running (which I politely declined though did wonder if saying yes would have lead to some sort of brief romance with a Russian stranger I’d never see again). When I came to the finish line, everyone was there cheering for me (and had been for quite some time). As embarrassed as I was, I was still pleased I had the experience.
So while I do want to speed up my parkrun times (I may try Couch to 5k for the second time this year, because the first time I got to 5k but it clearly didn’t stick…), and maybe even run an entire parkrun for the first time ever, I will miss the crowd at the back. Sauntering along, struggling with every single step — none of us are natural runners, but we’ve all gotten up early on a Saturday to be there and we’re ready to make the most of the experience!