A few weeks back, my spouse and I participated in a half-marathon in Brooklyn. If you’re into running, it’s likely you caught sight of it on your social media feeds — we were just two in a crowd of 25,000 who gathered to run 13.1 miles that Sunday. We weren’t the only notable faces: Carl Radke from Bravo’s Summer House was in attendance. Senator Chuck Schumer made a stop by. Even Kate Mackz, the TikTok-famous running influencer and former White House stenographer, was on the course. It was a momentous day for running — and a clear illustration of a growing, and increasingly exasperating, phenomenon.

Running has evolved beyond a mere pastime. It has transformed into a scene. It has become a trend. It’s a lifestyle brand. While I’m thrilled that more individuals are engaging with the sport, the surge of running clubs, influencers, and the #RunTok trend is beginning to diminish the enjoyment.

Let me clarify: I’m not some disgruntled elder shouting at a cloud. I’m directing my frustration at 40 overly eager runners donned in matching, high-end moisture-wicking attire, obstructing the narrow path on Williamsburg Bridge, three abreast, laughing and conversing as they zoom past everyone else. My spouse and I faced this scenario repeatedly during our training runs — vast run clubs taking over the sidewalks like swarms of exceptionally fit gnats.

And I’m not alone in this sentiment. A Reddit discussion from eight months ago regarding oversized NYC run clubs ignited a passionate debate. Similar dialogues are taking place on running forums, throughout social media, and even globally. The dilemma is widespread: the sheer number and visibility of these groups are making running less accessible and enjoyable for others.

Now, let me be clear — I cherish running. It has been a lifelong pursuit for me. I’ve completed three marathons and even ran a half-marathon in my backyard during the COVID lockdowns. Running is a daily ritual in my life. And it’s wonderful that so many individuals are realizing the benefits of the sport. Race registrations have soared from 7.4 million in 2019 to 10.8 million in 2024, while RunTok has garnered over a billion views, drawing in major brands like Nike and Brooks.

However, the issue isn’t the run clubs themselves. It’s the phenomenon of running being swept up in the internet’s tendency to exaggerate everything. Like queuing for 40 minutes for a viral croissant, we now have 40-person running cliques overtaking sidewalks. Running has morphed into the new group chat — entertaining in theory, but overwhelming in reality when an excess of individuals are involved.

Thus, here’s my humble suggestion: limit run clubs to 10 participants. That’s sufficient for camaraderie and safety without infringing on public areas. If more than 10 individuals show up? Fantastic — break into smaller groups, take different paths, and reconvene afterward. Community doesn’t need to equate to chaos.

To be fair, many run clubs are accomplishing great things. Some have transformed into social hubs, even matchmaking environments. Others, like Philly’s Slow Girl Run Club, embrace inclusivity and a welcoming atmosphere. These communities can assist individuals in finding friends, partners, and a sense of belonging in a new environment. That’s wonderful.

Nonetheless, we also need to be wary of the commercialization of running. Some run clubs require fees. Others are supported by brands aiming to profit. Influencers like Kate Mackz — who began by interviewing individuals mid-run and ended up aligning with the Trump administration — illustrate how swiftly something pure can turn into a marketing instrument. What started as a quirky, community-oriented trend has evolved into a platform for idol worship and product promotion.

This isn’t to imply that every influencer or run club is negative. However, when running shifts focus from the experience to the optics, we sacrifice something vital. Running shouldn’t be about visibility. It should emphasize presence.

Because here’s the reality: running in a group of 40 isn’t enjoyable. If you’ve ever participated in a race, you know the start is the most chaotic part — congested, frenzied, and stressful. That’s what these oversized run clubs are recreating on sidewalks intended for all. It’s inconsiderate and unnecessary.

Running ought to be meditative. It should be challenging, fulfilling, and occasionally uncomfortable. It should be an endeavor you pursue for yourself, not for likes or sponsorships. You don’t require extravagant gear or a meticulously curated Instagram profile. You simply need a pair of shoes and a stretch of pathway.

At its essence, running is straightforward: one foot in front of the other, repeatedly. That’s its charm. It doesn’t need reimagining. It doesn’t need to become a trend. It just needs to belong to you.