Over the past six months, Sydney’s affair with run clubs has become an all-out obsession. Touted as “the new dating apps”, new run clubs are appearing left and right with the intention of capitalising on the craze. But are these get-togethers on the go really offering their members the sense of community conviviality they advertise? Or, more importantly, are you more likely to find a new best friend or love interest at six am?
I am up at 4:47am, for possibly the first time ever, to attend Run Club. I leave my house at 5:11am, and arrive at Bradfield Park — our starting point — at 5:52am. Our 6.5km route begins just under the base of the Harbour Bridge, about a two minute walk from Milsons Point station. By the time I arrive, there are already over 200 people milling about by the base of the pylon, with another 200 to filter out of the train station in the coming 15 minutes.
The Unofficial Run Club is Sydney’s pre-eminent run club, and their Friday morning runs often attract upwards of 500 people. Special events like their Valentine’s Day run can draw in a crowd of over one thousand. The route is a scenic loop around Sydney’s most iconic locations: the Harbour Bridge, the Botanic Gardens, the Rocks and the Opera House.
At 6:10, we set off as part of the 6:30 pace group (the slowest seemingly on offer). It’s impossible to ignore just how homogenous the group is: young people in matching black and sage green activewear sets, each with bright runners and an iphone in hand. There’s hardly anyone over 30, let alone over 40 or 50. But we are off. Our first few kilometres are pleasurable, the group of us taking up the entire Harbour Bridge path watching the sun rise above the Opera House.
At four kilometres in, I move with all the elegance of a bulldozer — red, panting and heavy-stepped. My friend and I spot Unofficial’s official photographer for the first time as we turn the corner towards the Opera House. He bounds along, camera in hand, swooping in on groups of runners to take quick bursts of photo and video content. After all, social media promotion is a key part of the business model.
Different to the likes of hot yoga or reformer pilates, run clubs aren’t just marketed as a wellness initiative. In fact, most make precious few promises about measurably improving fitness. Instead, these clubs explicitly market themselves as ways for people to make social connections: both platonic and — especially — romantic.
One especially creepy promotional reel for the Sydney Run Club opens with a group of young women leaning against a fence, looking over their shoulders at a group of young men as they jog past. The camera then reverses, and the group of women are now the ones being ogled: the men physically holding each other back. Another reel features athleisure-wearing pairs of men and women in their mid twenties chatting each other up, coffees in hand, against the backdrop of a Sydney beach. Each couple is perfectly heterosexy: smaller, long haired women and large muscular men. It’s an image that’s designed to be aspirational, but also serves as an implicit message about the type of people these groups are invented for. The average run club social media feed and marketing materials feature no queer flirtations, body diversity or disability representation.
These images are designed to draw people in and make us aspire towards the symbols of health, wellness and social-connectedness that we see produced on our screens. While there’s nothing wrong with exercise, of course, it’s important to be critical about these images and to consider the implications of naming such an exclusive activity as the best way to make social and romantic connections. Running requires considerable privilege and access to resources: time, equipment, healthy joints and cardiovascular endurance. Despite run clubs’ best marketing effort, they are inherently exclusive, and they profit by creating an exclusive, aspirational brand identity.
At seven am, my friend and I found ourselves sitting down for coffee with two friendly American backpackers and a pair of German PhD students. But, when I asked around, there was nobody I came across that had actually found love while running beside someone. So, while struggling across the Harbour Bridge and back again is a perfectly good way to spend your Friday morning, we should look at the run clubs themselves — and particularly their messaging — with some incredulity.