Is there anything worse than seeing joggers (or “runners,” as they prefer to be called) taking over the streets of London in January? It’s cold, it’s dark, and yet there they are, sprinting past us, proudly donning their high-tech Salomon trainers, lurid colours, trail running vests, and CamelBaks, as though they’re taking on the Himalayas rather than dodging electric scooters on a flat, miserable London street. The very sight of these so-called “runners” can be more than a little confronting.
Are they trying to make us feel guilty? The answer, I’m afraid, is yes. Despite all their talk of health, discipline, or personal goals, we all know the real reason they’re out there: smugness.
In 2025, this behaviour seems to have reached a fever pitch. It’s as though, at the stroke of midnight on New Year’s Eve, everyone agreed: “We need a bigger gloat.” Take Stoke Newington, for instance – ground zero for this triggering phenomenon. Joggers as far as the eye can see, sprinting along the pavements of Clissold Park, which is practically flat, and yet you would think they’re about to conquer Everest. They talk about their personal bests as though they’re handing out life-changing advice to the rest of us. “Oh, you know, I got my Hackney Half time down to under two hours last year.” Really? Well done. I could barely manage a walk to the corner shop without getting out of breath.
Living in Stoke Newington, I am unfortunately a reluctant witness to this marathon of smugness. I’m trudging to the bus stop, shoes clomping on the pavement, when I’m passed by yet another runner speeding past, all the while boasting about their upcoming race, which they’re certain to complete in an impressive time. Meanwhile, I am simply trying to catch the bus without my pint getting knocked over by someone running way too fast for their own good. I can’t help but feel like a lesser human being as I stand next to these fitness fanatics.
It’s no secret that London is the running capital of the UK. With 76 parkruns around the M25 (as of June 2023), it’s clear the city is a jogging hotspot. And I suspect that Stoke Newington is the very epicentre of London’s running craze. Every corner you turn, there’s someone out there with a running vest and a fancy water bottle, all too eager to talk about their latest run, as if we’re all waiting on tenterhooks to hear about their performance.
The rise of running clubs is even worse. Not only are they a means for people to form an exercise routine, but they also provide a convenient way for people to meet each other. Honestly, I’m not sure if it’s a dating app or a fitness group at this point. If you’re someone who can’t stand the sight of runners, the last thing you want is to find yourself in the midst of a run club event, where everyone talks about personal records and race times, as if we care. And let’s not forget, if you didn’t sign up for a race, you’re somehow seen as a fitness failure.
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I won’t lie, I do recognise the benefits of running. It’s a healthy habit that gets people out of the house, and it provides a great way to raise money for charity. The London Marathon, in particular, has raised over £1.3 billion for various causes. But honestly, the downside of running culture is the sheer smugness that accompanies it. The problem is that it sticks. When someone gets into running, it’s not a short-lived trend like Dry January; it’s months, years, or until they injure themselves. And then the rest of us have to hear about their next comeback.
But it doesn’t stop there. Running has become a lifestyle, like coffee beans and getting a baby. Everyone’s doing it. We’re all expected to become fitness fanatics by our mid-thirties. I mean, can’t we just opt for something less mainstream? Why are we all so obsessed with running? Let’s try archery or even ultimate frisbee. I would take a 50-minute walk and two bus rides to see that instead.
I respect my friends who are joggers. I really do. But I’m getting tired of the inner-city arrogance that often accompanies it. All these running vests, energy gels, and CamelBaks—seriously? You’re just walking a bit faster than me. Let’s not pretend you’re running the London Marathon every time you go out for a jog.
So, let’s treat this new fitness craze for what it is—a fleeting obsession. You do you, runners, but when you’re done with your running phase, come back and join me for a pint.
