Off the Beaten Path

The Punk Runner

In the 1970s, Patti Smith was the leading the assault of the punk rock scene. When asked about what punk music represented, Smith responded, “To me punk music is the freedom to create, freedom to be successful, freedom to not be successful; freedom to be who you are. It’s freedom.” Punk was a reaction against mainstream culture, a response that fermented, and then exploded, into the diy subculture; and, while Iggy Pop, the Sex Pistols and the Viletones were jumping into crowds and writhing on stages, the sport of running blew up into a social phenomenon.

I like to think of myself as a punk runner. I’ve got no formal training and no real experience; I just put myself out there and run. I’ve been running for f ive years. I run 35– 40 kilometres a week, and in all of that time I have never run with a group, attended a class or r un a race. I extol t he diy approach to punk and apply it to my running game.

I run alone. I run alone because I don’t like groups. I run through rain, extreme cold, blistering heat and windstorms. What I won’t do is run with people. I don’t like the social side or the competitive side of it . I don’t understand how a “beer run” is a thing, or how running a marathon with 30,000 people can be such a draw. My favorite places to run are the tight spaces, the alleys, somewhere far and away from the beaten track, alone.

It’s a grind to keep running pure – to keep it between me, my shoes and the road. A friend once told me that I was so low maintenance that I was high maintenance. I agree. People try to convince me to run with a group. Never. I’m always being asked what app I use to post my results. None. I’m always being told I should run a race. Not a chance. I even try my best to run without labels on my clothing (though I do love me a good Ciele hat). I’ve even been made fun of because my go-to-shoe brand is Brooks (I admire companies that do a single thing well). I’ve been referred to as a “lone wolf ” and was encouraged to run trails because “that’s what people like you do.” In the end, we don’t like to see people on their own because, deep down, most people are afraid of being alone.

I like the defiant elements of running alone – there are no rules to follow, no postures to emulate, no speed to keep pace with, no boundaries to stay inside of, no coaches to listen to and, perhaps most importantly, no arguing over where to grab a beer or where to go for brunch. Running solo makes me accountable to no one but myself. It allows me to focus on me; where I can learn to develop things like a system of internal pacing, and I learn to read my body instead of stats and numbers.

I also try (it’s tough) to keep my distance from the corporate side of running. I won’t bow before false gods and their promises of “better runs,” “a better you,” ‘or a “better experience.” They’re mining for gold. The Economist recently reported that data is the new oil. So while you sign up, post, share, like re-Tweet and collect your rewards, you are giving up a part of yourself and you’re doing it for free. It costs you more than it costs them. It’s a sucker’s game, man. When I run alone, unplugged, I’m managing my own data – my wealth stays with me. In the end, I’m richer for it . I’m rich and I’m free – what more can a punk ask for?

I run alone. I run alone because I don’t like groups. I run through rain, extreme cold, blistering heat and windstorms. What I won’t do is run with people.