When I was 14, I met a handsome boy from another school at a neon-themed rave. He was athletic; tall and muscular, on the school’s rugby team. I was perpetually picked last to join every team. The asymmetry was perfect. I was obsessed.
A few weeks later, over text, he asked me whether I wanted to join him and a friend on a run. I’d never run for more than a few minutes in my life and exercise terrified me. But I said yes and it was (unsurprisingly) a disaster. After getting a cramp within a minute, I bent over panting, watching his chiseled legs bolt into the distance, blending into north London’s leafy streets.
Sports and sex are two things I’ve never conflated. But in 2024, it feels as though I’m in the minority. A new TikTok trend has taken the platform by storm: swarms of six-packed, sun-kissed content creators, sharing videos of their steamy group runs, argue that run clubs aren’t just the perfect way to get fit; they’re also the best way to hit it off with fellow hot (and sweaty) singles. Dating apps Tinder has even jumped on the bandwagon, launching its own running event called SoleMates. As dating apps scramble to maintain their user base, the run club frenzy is the latest indication that the way we date is changing. But is it true? Are run clubs really all that sexy?
One wet Thursday evening, I decided to find out. I took the Tube over to Technogym, a glitzy sports equipment store in Mayfair, opposite The Ritz, where a run club was taking place. (Full disclosure: I am now in a relationship, but my detective skills are still intact.) Stepping inside a bright room filled with mirrors, I glanced around at the shiny, Lululemon-clad adults, gracefully stretching against the walls. Dressed in brand-less yoga pants and a fraying neon green vest, I leaned on an expensive gym machine feeling distinctly short and scruffy.
Suppressing a pang of PE-changing-room-tinged anxiety, I geared up to put my hypothesis to the test. “It’s usually just a bit of flirty banter,” said Liz, a tall 23-year-old run club connoisseur, when I asked her whether she’s ever met anyone romantically at a club. “Everyone in the running community is just so welcoming,” she goes on, “I get really anxious just talking to people at the start, and then by the end [of a run] you can’t shut me up,” Beth, 29, chimed in, observing that while she hasn’t found a lover at a run club yet, the synchrony of moving while talking can help connections occur organically. “You’re not just focused on having a conversation,” she said. “You’re also doing something else—that takes the pressure off.”
It makes perfect sense that the run club hype would happen in 2024, what with the collision of dating app fatigue and sober curiosity. In recent years, matchmaking apps have struggled to convince young users to pay for their services, with 79% of college students turning away from the apps in favor of in-person meets. Meanwhile, boozy dates are falling out of fashion: one in five Gen-Z and millennials have worked out together on a first date, while nearly a third would opt for a gym session over a pub meet, according to research conducted by Bumble. Run clubs provide an alternative to a new generation of daters who are sick of swiping, over the hangovers, and craving authentic connection.
Around 6 pm, we set out for a 5K run through west London. We run along the manicured gardens of St James’s Park, dash over Westminster Bridge, dodging the tourists swarming Trafalgar Square. “Sometimes running can be a bit grueling if you’re running alone,” said coach and content creator Tom Trotter, who had co-organized the run. “If you’re with someone you find super hot and you’re talking away, the running becomes easier.”
I asked Trotter whether he thought run clubs were genuinely a good place to meet someone. “Well, yes,” he said, through heavy breaths. “You’re being as real as possible. On a date, people are dressed up and act a certain way; maybe being a bit materialistic. You never want to build a relationship on an artificial foundation.”
Trotter jogged off, and I thought back to a conversation I’d had with Sarah Guild, a 33-year-old beauty and wellbeing brand communications consultant, a few days earlier. “You just show up in a slightly less filtered way than perhaps you would if you were meeting someone from an app,” she said. Running attracts a certain personality type, she observed, people who care about their health, who want to push themselves, and who are down to get hot and sweaty. “That’s a really good baseline for someone that I would want to meet and potentially have a relationship with.”
Just past 6:30 pm, we arrived at Ministry, a corporate chic members’ club and co-working space, for light dinner and drinks. It wasn’t exactly the sun-drenched, sultry videos I’d seen on TikTok—no one was stripping off their tops or getting off—but the vibes were warm and kind. Runners who had arrived alone were now sitting with others, even laughing about how nervous they had felt at the start. Maybe it wasn’t Challengers-level desire, but for anyone on the hunt for genuine conversation without the protective shields of booze or cheesy app prompts, a run club might be a perfect place to start.