A Run Club For Everyone

On a warm New York morning at the end of June, a group of more than 300 runners assembled at the foot of 70 Pine Street in Manhattan’s Financial District, the tower that houses Michelin-starred restaurant Crown Shy. The group of chefs, restaurant staff, family, and friends gathered to honor chef Jamal “James” Kent, who passed away on June 15 at the age of 45. Kent was an avid runner himself, and the co-founder of Crown High Run Club, an off-duty outlet for the Crown Shy community. The four-mile run wound through the island of Manhattan, across the Manhattan bridge, and into Brooklyn’s Clinton Hill neighborhood, complete with a police escort.

Kent’s legacy—as a chef and runner—will continue in the hands of his wife Kelly Kent and Danny Garcia, the 2024 Top Chef season 21 winner and executive chef at Kent’s Saga Hospitality Group. “The run club meant a lot to him,” Garcia says. “We're going to continue his legacy by doing the things that he would have done. My man ran marathons all the time; he was always running.”

At its core, a running club functions as a form of exercise, a chance to sprint around a track or log long miles during marathon training. But a recent spike in popularity proves that it’s about so much more than physical exertion. A running club can uplift underserved communities; it can introduce new friends or lead to new business deals or new relationships. During the COVID pandemic, social distancing and a low barrier to entry spurred on a new generation of casual runners and marathoners alike. A 2021 report by Nielsen Sports notes that 13 percent of runners (surveyed from ten different markets) began running during the pandemic. When COVID restrictions eased, a cohort of runners emerged, seeking knowledge and community.

When Garcia arrived in New York, he found running to be a way to connect with co-workers and contemporaries. “You're able to bring even the restaurant community together and have these connections with chefs throughout the city that you might not have had otherwise.” A direct result: from January to April this year, Crown High’s Monday runs were supplemented with “carbo load” dinners the night before, co-hosted by chefs from not just New York, but also Washington, D.C. and New Orleans.

On TikTok, there are now more than 13 million posts related to run clubs, with advice on routes and gear, reviews of local groups, and even comedic confessions about run clubs as an alternative to dating apps. While some clubs are anchored in race-training programs, others are centered on the social aspect, with no formal goals required.

For Victor Diaz, the founder of Renegade Running in Oakland, California, a run club can serve as an act of political resistance. “For many of the underserved BIPOC communities, it feels like, If nobody invites me to the trails, what am I doing running on the trails? If nobody says it's okay to go run in Marin, I'm not even going to consider driving across the bridge to go run in Marin. Renegade is meant to destroy all of those narratives.” In addition to organizing events for the community, having a physical space was key for Diaz, who opened a run-specialty store on Oakland’s Grand Avenue in the midst of the pandemic. 

According to the Running Industry Diversity Coalition, just five percent of running companies in the United States are owned by people of color. To Diaz, his store (also called Renegade Running) was a chance to give others something he never had: a diverse community of runners to look up to, and a shopping experience where all would be welcome. “We sell shoes, and we are a for-profit business, but equally important is how we build community,” he says. “How do we break down barriers to who's invited into the space?”

At Renegade’s Wednesday track nights, held at Laney College in West Oakland, you’ll find a diverse mix of people from all over the Bay Area, all there to participate in their shared interest. “Stereotypes and disparate communities are broken down at that moment. That's representative of what we do,” Diaz says. While he was inspired by the rise of competitive urban running groups he began to see pop up all over the globe—Track Mafia in London, Roses in New York, and KoreaTown Run Club in LA—Diaz wanted to ensure that he was tempering competition with the idea that anyone should feel like they have a right to participate.

With aspirations to create a safe space and break down barriers, the run club’s ability to unite across communities has also had side effects shared with some of the more social-oriented clubs. There’s an upcoming Renegade wedding of a couple who met at a community run. The rise of run clubs as a social tool has also coincided with shifting culture around dating and drinking. Gen Z is drinking less than older generations, and face-to-face socialization is down across all ages, ethnicities, and incomes. Outdoor exercise might conclude with a beer or cocktail at the end, but for those who have reduced their drinking or stopped altogether, it offers a chance to connect in a social environment offline and outside of a bar. 

Garcia sees it as a healthier way to relieve stress than a night out drinking. “There are a lot of vices, and it's easy for chefs to get out of work late,” he says. “Just go home and get in bed and wake up a little earlier instead of going out and drinking all night and sleeping all day.” Garcia began running in 2018 while working at The French Laundry in Yountville, California. He began to wake up early and run a few miles before his shift instead. That blossomed into a half marathon in Napa, and eventually full marathons. 

Has society hit peak run club? Not until every person who wants to can call themselves a runner. Says Garcia, “Whether you run fast or you run slow, there’s a place for you.”