Hooked on run clubs: Why they’re more than a group jog
I’m watching a pod of grey whales spout offshore Walbran Beach on the West Coast Trail, taking in the sunset with six pals who managed to surprise me with a backcountry birthday cake.
I’m belting my heart out to a room full of karaoke lovers in Eugene, Oregon, celebrating the end of a road trip with friends.
I’m leading a group of Boston Marathon finishers through an impromptu breakdance lesson, hours after we crossed the finish line and minutes before last call at the bar.
All of it began with Vancouver run clubs, though it took me far too long to join one.
Having grown up in Vancouver, I never really had to build a social life from scratch. My school friends became my grown-up friends, and along the way we folded a few new people into the mix through roommates, hobbies, partners and colleagues. For a long time, I was content with those overlapping circles and never felt a pull to expand my horizons. My dad, on the other hand, never missed an opportunity to meet new people. He was my first introduction to running clubs.
When we moved to North Vancouver from Minneapolis, just shy of my sixth birthday, my dad joined a run club through his work. Three mornings a week, he’d meet this group at an ungodly early hour and they’d all catch up over a 10-kilometre jog and post-run coffee. It was a ritual he kept for nearly two decades, until retirement and a move downtown disrupted his rhythm.
Then the pandemic came, and both my dad and I were desperate for routine and connection. We decided to start a father-daughter run club of our own. Three mornings a week, we’d meet for a five-kilometre jog and follow it with a distanced coffee outside my apartment. During this time, I learned a lot about running from him, including his favourite mantra: “Hills are your friends.”
Years later, this mantra pushed me up the hill leading to Pandora Park, the toughest section of the local Under Armour Eastside 10K race. While my dad led me to run clubs, run clubs led me to the start line of races—specifically the East Van Run Crew, better known as EVRC.
It’s one of 61 run clubs active in Vancouver, according to a list compiled by runclubs.ca, and one of the largest. More than 40 runners regularly show up for its Monday evening meetups, usually ending the night at a brewery or brewery-adjacent park. When this group popped up on my Instagram feed in 2022, I decided it was finally time to expand my horizons.
Was I scared to join a massive run club all by myself? Of course. I knew there was a high chance I’d feel awkward or out of shape, but also a real chance I’d have fun, or at least walk away with a story.
I ended up collecting plenty of stories, starting with how my first official run club friend, a British expat named Alfie, roped me into joining an EVRC trivia team. We were a journalist, a doctor, an environmental planner, a public health specialist, a scientist and a student – all connected through running. We won a keg while laying the foundation for that hike along the West Coast Trail.
Once I realized how many friends were waiting to be made, I was hooked on run clubs. My calendar became filled with cardio-centric socials, track sessions, weekend workouts and races. Local races, like Canada Running Series’ UA Eastside 10K and the Beneva Vancouver Half Marathon, are that much more fun when you’re a part of a run crew. Not only do you have people to train with (Pandora Hill repeats, anyone?), there’s also always someone cheering for you from the sidelines and a group to grab post-race brunch with.
Today, as a run club leader with EVRC, I jump at the opportunity to pace or volunteer at local races, eager to give back to a community that’s given me so much. I’ve travelled internationally for races with friends who are just as excited as I am to talk about carb loading, pace strategy and gear. Some of us even have matching tattoos.
These relationships weren’t built through school or living arrangements. They were built in a third space, where we felt empowered to show up as ourselves, support one another and chase big goals together. Run clubs offer structure without strictness, accountability without pressure. In a city labelled “no fun” and described as “socially cold”, it’s no small feat that these spaces continue to attract so many people.
It took me years to realize that what my dad was modelling back in the late ‘90s—the early morning alarms, the commitment to showing up for runs and staying for coffee—was never just about fitness. It was about community. Run clubs gave my dad a third space when he was new to Vancouver. Years later, they gave me one too. I can’t imagine who I’d be without them now, and I hope more people get to find spaces like this.
