The rise of run clubs in the US

On any given weekend in cities like Atlanta, Chicago, or Portland, you’ll find them: groups of runners in matching T-shirts or coordinated playlists, pacing their way through urban trails, suburban loops, or even downtown bars after a post-run drink. They’re not elite athletes. They’re not chasing PRs. They’re just...running. Together.

This isn’t your old-school solo jog with wired earbuds and a grim sense of duty. This is social, structured, and often photo-worthy. And it’s growing—fast. In 2024, the New York City Marathon welcomed over 55,000 finishers, a record-breaking crowd that mirrored a bigger movement: the reappearance of running as a communal ritual. And behind it? The quiet, determined spread of run clubs.

Running used to be personal. And sometimes, lonely. Think 5 a.m. pavement slaps, solo playlists, and that inner monologue that either kept you going or convinced you to stop. Now, it’s starting to look more like a group chat brought to life.

Run clubs like Atlanta Run Club, Good Vibes Run Club in Los Angeles, and Two Tides Running in Chicago don’t just offer routes—they offer belonging. They coordinate warm-ups, post-run hangs, and even mood boards. They’re part fitness, part identity anchor.

And it makes sense. After years of isolation, remote work, and algorithm-curated friendships, something about showing up in person, moving your body in sync with others, and finishing strong as a group just hits different.

Instagram didn’t invent the run club—but it did give it a vibe.

Matching gear. Candid-but-curated finish line shots. Morning light that hits just right. The look of running has evolved into its own kind of cool. Athletic but not intimidating. Gritty, but still photogenic.

It’s not performance art—but it is shared performance. Everyone’s moving for their own reasons: post-pandemic health checks, heartbreak processing, new city navigation. But doing it in a pack adds structure, visibility, and low-key accountability. This is effort with aesthetic. Cardio with community. Burnout recovery with a side of endorphins.

It’s easy to call this a trend. A COVID aftershock. A social wellness workaround. But look closer and you’ll see a more profound reset underway. Run clubs give people a way to reorient time (evenings that aren’t screens), space (public parks become “our route”), and emotion (loneliness transmuted into pacing rhythm). It's movement as a social map.

And that map looks different depending on where you are. In New York, it's pre-dawn bridge runs. In Austin, it’s tempo runs that end in tacos. In Atlanta, it’s music-infused routes through historic neighborhoods. Every city adapts it—because it’s not just about cardio. It’s about context.

The run club scene is also diversifying. Groups like Black Men Run, Latinos Run, and Native Women Running aren’t just creating safe spaces—they’re building visibility.

Historically, the public image of running has skewed white, thin, and elite. But these community-led initiatives are rewriting the narrative. They’re showing up at marathons, trail events, and local loops not just to participate but to be seen. To reclaim space. It’s also reshaping who sees running as “for them.” First-timers, women in hijabs, plus-sized runners—they’re all being welcomed, not tokenized.

There’s something primal about running. No gear needed. No team required. Just feet, ground, breath. In a post-pandemic world still processing isolation, grief, and existential fatigue, that simplicity matters. The body remembers motion even when the mind is overwhelmed. And motion, when repeated and shared, becomes ritual.

Run clubs turn that ritual into something sticky. Something that pulls you out of bed. Something that makes time feel more elastic and mornings feel more yours.

What distinguishes run clubs from personal trackers or Peloton-style virtual classes is the human factor. You’re not just logging miles—you’re keeping a promise. To show up. To move alongside others. To share space even if you’re not sharing pace. That kind of accountability isn’t about metrics. It’s about presence. And in a time when presence feels splintered across tabs, apps, and alerts, that’s surprisingly powerful.

The rise of run clubs in the US isn’t just about health. It’s about rhythm. Belonging. And the human need to sync up—not online, but on foot. So the next time you see a group of runners moving through your city like a pulse, know this: they’re not just running. They’re remembering what together feels like.