Source: unsplash / @worldsofmaru
Running with others has its appeal. Early in my running life, I joined one of the first running groups in my country, years before it became a fad. It was energising, social and motivating. At one point, we had a hundred people joining us in our Sunday morning runs. That group naturally fizzled away as time passed, and I now keep close contact with a few people I call friends. But over time, I discovered that I prefer to run alone, or at most with one or two friends, rather than in a pack.
Solo runs feel different. There are the obvious reasons: setting my own pace, choosing my own route, going out whenever I want. But there is also something more nuanced. Daily life at home, at work, everywhere, comes with constant engagement. There is always something expected: a response, a decision, a reaction. Running alone becomes one of the few activities where nothing is required. No conversation, no need to adjust pace, no need to explain anything to anyone.
Even in the most relaxed group, there is always a subtle layer of coordination. You adjust your pace, match the rhythm of others, engage in conversation or at least remain available for it. None of this is particularly demanding, but it is still something. Running alone removes even that last layer of demand.
Running alone is not a moment of insight or reflection, it is not about reconnecting with myself or finding “me time”. It’s, simply, about that nothingness. When nothing particularly meaningful happens, it becomes a rare moment and one to be cherished. This is also why timing matters; an early Sunday morning is probably the least crowded time of the week. The value is not in what happens during the run, but in the fact that the run is there, without caveats or demands.
Very few parts of the day are truly without purpose. Even rest tends to be framed as recovery, even leisure as a way to unwind or recharge. Running alone, at times, escapes even that framing. It is not done for anything in particular, and that is precisely where its value lies.
Running with others still has its place. As I said, I still enjoy going for runs with friends. The run is not always a pursuit of nothingness, but with the pace of life and the constant need for response and decision-making, running alone is not about solitude as a preference but about the absence of everything else. Much like the unremarkable runs I wrote about before, these moments are easy to overlook, but they form a quiet, persistent part of why running continues.
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