It’s a sunny summer evening in Seattle, Washington, and I am running down a sidewalk in chic sandals and a floral dress, phone in hand and ponytail trailing in the wind.
No one is chasing me. Rather, I’ve just gotten out of church and would like to get takeout before this restaurant closes.
Sure, I could walk, catch a bus, or summon a rideshare (and I often do) — but I prefer to run. It’s at least 50% faster than walking and avoids the carbon emissions of using a vehicle.
In the past two years, I’ve logged 270 miles in run-commutes, about 11% of my total running mileage. But I haven’t always been a runner.
My run-commuting began out of necessity
This wasn’t my plan. In April 2021, I proudly took home a shiny, dark blue Prius, the first car I bought myself. When I moved to Seattle in January 2022, I intended to ship my car from Florida once I got settled in.
When I arrived, I walked most places. But one day, I was late for an appointment that was two miles away — too far to walk there in time, but too close to justify ordering a Lyft. So, I started running.
I was hooked. From there, I often ran anywhere within a three-mile radius: the grocery store, the hair salon, dinner dates, and church.
Initially, I felt out of place, uncomfortable with being seen
At first, I felt self-conscious. I even bought a special running backpack that had a vest and hydration pack, thinking this would help me look the part. That’s because not many run-commuters look like me.
While the statistics on it are scarce, in 2014, The Run Commuter surveyed 145 run-commuters in 22 countries and found that only about 30% were women. And 2021 research published in the Journal of Transport Geography concluded that run-commuting is “most popular with urban-dwelling middle-aged white men in highly paid professional jobs.”
As an Asian American woman in my 30s who makes a living writing, I am not your typical run-commuter. And for someone who has always longed to fit in, this was not welcome news. There was a period of my life where I would run only at night just to avoid being seen. Now, I couldn’t help but stand out.
Eventually, I stopped caring about convention. I’ve run-commuted in sandals, rain boots, and strappy three-inch wedges (“Any shoe is a running shoe if you run in it!” I like to joke). I once jogged to a 4th of July party wearing a linen dress, balancing a tray of cookies in my hands so they wouldn’t get jostled in my backpack.
I’m faster and more confident in my 30s than I was as a teen
Eight months after moving to Seattle, I was a regular at local run clubs and decided to train for my first half marathon. Run-commuting helped me increase my weekly mileage with little effort since my runs were baked into trips I had to make anyway.
That November, I completed the Seattle Half Marathon in a time faster than anyone expected and placed in the top 10 of my age group. Since then, I’ve continued to break personal records in my 30s that I set 15 years ago as a teen cross-country and track runner. I’ve run multiple sub-6 miles and a sub-20 5k — and I’m only getting started.
Run-commuting brought me connection and community
More than miles, run-commuting has gifted me with connections I never would’ve made, conversations I never would’ve had.
Once, at a crosswalk, an older pedestrian glanced at my backpack, running shoes, and sweat-laced face and said, “Oh, you’re running?”
“Yeah, it’s faster than walking,” I replied. He smiled as he reminisced about his days as a 400-meter runner on his high school track team.
Another time, I ran to my co-working space, passing another member stuck in bumper-to-bumper traffic in his car. I was already opening my mail in the office by the time he’d parked, walked in, and stared at me incredulously. It was a great conversation starter, and the only time I had chatted up anyone at my co-working space.
Through interactions like these, being seen became a good thing. I felt welcome.
I sold my car and kept my run-commute
My Prius never made it to Seattle. As weeks turned into months and run-commuting became a regular part of my life, I no longer needed my car. In November 2022, I sold it remotely with the help of a friend in Florida.
Originally, run-commuting was just a way to get around. Now, it’s a connection to my community and a constant reassurance that, no matter what comes my way, I have everything I need within me — or my backpack.
