I started running during COVID-19 because I wanted to exercise, get fresh air, and be as far away from other people as possible. It was a weird time to pick up a hobby, but it made sense.

Running gave me structure when everything felt shapeless. It got me outside without asking me to perform for anyone. And most importantly, it gave me a reason to be alone with my thoughts, which, for me, has always felt less like a problem and more like a privilege.

So when I hear the occasional implication that running alone is somehow a red flag, I have to laugh.

…solo running is one of the healthiest relationships in my life.

A red flag? For what, exactly? Enjoying my own company? Wanting 45 minutes where no one asks me where I’m going? If anything, solo running is one of the healthiest relationships in my life. It’s me, my music, my weird little route choices, and whatever emotional support anthem is carrying me through those miles.

And yes, I’ve done the run club thing. I tried the big-group, post-run social scene, and for me, it felt less like community and more like a Mean Girls reboot with carbon-plated shoes instead of pink velour tracksuits. People were more focused on pace peacocking and locking in dinner seats than actually welcoming new runners. I constantly felt like I was auditioning for a spot at the table, literally and figuratively, while also trying to catch my breath.

That said, that doesn’t mean I’m anti-running-with-people. I’m a firm believer that in the right instance, running can absolutely create a real connection. My friend Ryan and I did the 9 + 1 programme together (a membership perk offered by New York Road Runners that guarantees local runners entry into the following year’s TCS New York City Marathon), and we got so close that I later officiated his wedding.

Another good friend of mine, Tom, decided to run the New York City Marathon, and I helped him train on some runs while I was gearing up for my second. Those are genuine, meaningful parts of my life, and I’m grateful for them.

But those moments worked because of their authenticity, not because I forced myself into a group dynamic that made me feel like I needed to keep up and fit in.

For a while, I did internalise it. Why are you always running solo? What’s with the aversion to group runs? Is there something red-flag-ish about wanting to be left alone this much?

Then I realised: no. I like my routes and my quirks. I have to put on the same song (“Trophy” by Charli XCX) every single time I trek up Harlem Hill in Central Park. I always run to people’s left because Captain America sprints past Sam Wilson and says, “On your left,” and it’s permanently embedded in my brain like a tiny MCU foot traffic law. Is that weird? Sure. Is it anyone else’s business? Absolutely not.

When I race, I’m running for me. It’s my catwalk and my runway, and the point is not to look like the most social runner in America. The point is to feel strong, present, and like myself. And last I checked, it’s working just fine.

This article first appeared on the Runner’s World USA Website.

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