Published: Sep 09, 2017 12:00 AM EDT hated runners. Not running—running was fine, it was fun, it was what my dad did every morning. But runners? They were jocks. They were disciplined, had coaches, wore skimpy outfits. They were—blech—athletes. Me? In high school, I was an asthmatic, four-eyed, smart-aleck skateboarder. The cultural chasm between us could not be bridged.
Then, in my mid-20s, I started running to stay in shape. I’d leave my Brooklyn apartment in a singlet, my sensitive bits slathered in antichafing schmutz, an interval workout on my mind.
Except… Except that when I looked around at members of running clubs in New York (and around the country), I did not see myself—a nerdy punk-ass skater. I saw the clean-cut, hyperorganized, mainstream athletes I’d always resented. Where were the weirdos, the misfits, the eccentric explorers who wanted more from their running lives than to train like Meb Keflezighi?
As it turns out, they were there—but not in running clubs. They were in running crews. Such a tiny distinction—a mere three letters!—but crews and clubs are worlds apart.
The idea of a crew began around 2004, when a New Yorker named Mike Saes organized nighttime runs that began downtown and ranged over the East River into Brooklyn and back. They were unstructured, with exploration and community building as important as the actual exercise. The group called themselves the Bridge Runners.
Soon after, crews began popping up elsewhere. London, Amsterdam, Copenhagen, and Paris all saw crews arrive and thrive. In New York, Orchard Street Runners organized an unsanctioned Midnight Half that for years was the coolest race in the city (and possibly the world).
As the movement grew, what differentiated crews from clubs wasn’t just where, or when, or how they ran (everywhere, often at night, uncoached) but who was doing the running. Frequently, these were men and women who didn’t fit the traditional runner profile, though many were damn serious about running and would crush you in a race. They were skaters, DJs, street artists. They had tattoos and piercings well before everyone had tattoos and piercings. They were not necessarily white, not necessarily skinny, and not necessarily straight. They were, although few probably understood it at the time, the future of running.
Today, urban running crews are proliferating at a mad pace, each with its own theme (diversity, intensity, wackiness), each organizing and drawing in new members via social media (Instagram in particular), but all united across thousands of miles by their love of running, their defiant independence, and their bone-deep respect for individuality. Here are six we’re dying to run (and party) with.
Resident Runners | New York City
To run in New York is to run through chaos—to time the lights, to hurdle fetid puddles, to piss off cyclists. To do it alone is a burden. But to do it alongside 25 others, all of you swarming past pedestrians over the Williamsburg Bridge at dusk on a Thursday, marking your progress by graffiti and strange smells (fried fish? weed?), pushing yourself faster than you thought you could—well, that’s the challenge and joy of Resident Runners.
“Yeah, it’s a little reckless,” says Rahsaan Rogers, who leads the crew (founded in 2013), along with his friends Eric Blevens and Raymond Hailes. “But it’s part of running in this city. That’s how we do it.”
How they do it is this: They run fast—tempo pace, whatever that speed is for each runner. “We tell people to chase whoever’s a bit faster than you,” Blevens says. They don’t wait for stragglers. They don’t talk much. And yet, despite the aggro façade, they keep the mood light. Because the run is the prelude to a party. Even if you get left behind, Blevens says. “We’re gonna be there at the end, and we’re gonna hang and get beers.”
Or tacos. Resident may be most famous for its monthly Taco Runs, chill five-milers that end with 40 to 60 runners cramming into Güeros, a Brooklyn joint, for the Fried Avocado and jalapeño specialty. Frozen margaritas, however, are “the underlying theme,” Blevens says. “They’re quite large, quite strong, and we have quite a few.”
Words We Live By: “There’s nothing better than getting lost in New York when you’re running—it’s how you figure everything out,” Blevens says.
Our Nemesis: “The biggest beef, honestly, isn’t even with the cars or traffic—it’s cyclists who hate us,” says Rogers. “There are a lot of times when we’re running in the bike lanes, and some guy will come by and curse us out. It’s a nonstop battle.”
Follow Us: on Instagram @residentrunners
Unnamed Run Crew | Boston
The Unnamed Run Crew (UNMD for short) was created as “an act of defiance,” its founder, Leandrew Belnavis, says jokingly. He wanted to promote the diversity and friendliness he felt were missing from Boston’s hypercompetitive, traditionally preppy running clubs.
Today, the UNMD’s group runs of three to five miles, which start at a high-end sneaker boutique called Laced near the city’s Back Bay neighborhood, are energetic and loud—designed to attract attention in whichever neighborhood the 30-plus members (“of every possible color,” Belnavis says) are passing through.
“What the fuck is this?” Belnavis wants observers to say. Followed by, “You know what, I’m gonna drop what I’m doing and join you.”
And people do. Over the summer, two random women, visiting from New York, spotted the UNMD doing track relays and demanded to join right then and there. It was raining, and they didn’t have running gear, but that didn’t matter. They ran.
From Runners World for New Balance everyone to join weekly rambles through the city’s different neighborhoods: the fast, the slow (“sexy-pace runners,” Belnavis calls them), and everyone in between. “I want them all to feel like rock stars at the end of the session every time.”
Youre impatient waiting at lights: Impress. What you put on your feet matters to Belnavis, who plans the runs out of the sneaker shop Laced to reflect his sneaker obsession. He appreciates “any type of collaboration between fashion and function.”
Don't Run With Us If: “You have derogatory things to say about the LGBT community, find racial remarks appropriate in normal conversation, believe feminism is a joke,” Belnavis says. “But if you care about community, celebrating diversity, and getting fit, there’s a place in this crew for you.”
Folow Us: on Instagram @unnamedruncrew
BlacklistLA | Los Angeles
L.A. is a city built for cars: the freeways, the winding canyon roads, the sun-bleached strip-mall parking lots. But for the last four years, every Monday night at 10 p.m. as many as 300 runners roam on foot with BlacklistLA, in search of eye-popping murals, public art, and graffiti.
“It’s like running through a museum,” says Erik Valiente, the 29-year-old former Nikeretail worker who started the crew in 2013. “It keeps your head on the swivel and makes the run more interesting.”
While each run may pass multiple pieces of public art, there’s usually one destination mural. Past routes have featured Tristan Eaton’s “Peace by Piece”—a commentary on conflict located at The Container Yard in the downtown district—or work by the famed French street artist JR.
While the art runs are BlacklistLA’s big draw, the crew is at heart about getting Angelenos to appreciate all aspects of their city. On Wednesdays, members will design routes that run through up to six different neighborhoods. And once a year, the crew puts on the Im a Runner: Cynthia Erivo—a sanctioned race that commemorates the city’s founding—which starts and ends at the How Des Linden Keeps Showing Up. “We wanted to make sure that we trace the founders’ routes when they walked in to declare this city a city,” Valiente says.
our city is: “Untapped. L.A. is car-centric, and people arriving here simply rent a car to get from point A to point B,” Valiente says. “They don’t realize you can run two or three miles through urban scenery, end up at Griffith or Elysian Park, do some workouts there, then run trails, see the Hollywood sign, see the Valley, and finish—all within seven miles.”
Don't Run With Us If: “You’re impatient waiting at lights.”
Words We Live By: “Echale ganas. Give it your all.”
Follow Us: on Instagram @blacklistla
Run Wild CLE | Cleveland
“What should we be hitting on this rep?” “How far should we be running on this long run?” These were the types of ultraspecific questions that Tim Kelly was hearing all the time—and realized not everyone wants to hear them. A coach for marathon and half marathon programs at 2nd Sole, a running shop in Lakewood, Ohio, Kelly felt that too many of his runners were missing out on running’s free-form joy. “When I run for fun, I don’t need a watch,” said the 27-year-old Cleveland native. “I just go out there on my own.”
So in the winter of 2015, Kelly launched Run Wild CLE, a crew dedicated to weekly workouts that can be as wacky as they are grueling. Think games of Duck Duck Goose, “but instead of sitting on the ground you’re doing squats, you’re doing burpees and lunges.” Or relays where you sprint up a grass hill, roll halfway back down—yup, just like you did when you were 10—then dash dizzily down to tag the next racer. Along the way, Kelly’s groups of 40 to 90 runners make use of overlooked aspects of Cleveland’s urban environment, like the grass terraces next to the state courthouse, the benches and grass field above the convention center, or the sand dunes on Edgewater Beach.
Don't Run With Us If: You only want to run. There will be body-weight work, not to mention silliness. “People are thrown off by that,” Kelly says. “But they leave happy.”
A Pro Athlete Takes on The Great World Race: Nothing. “It will always be free,” Kelly says. “But the payment is, you have to do one good deed in the week to follow.”
Words We Live By: “Run wild, do good. #rwdg”
Where You'll Find Us: Friday night at different locations around the city. “Not everyone wants to go out with their friends to dinner and then beer on Fridays.” So that’s when they run, and have the city to themselves.
Follow Us: on Instagram @runwildcle
The 504th | New Orleans
This bayou city is like nowhere else. It’s a constant party. It’s hot, flat, and humid. Its neighborhoods—some well-to-do, others less so—are tight-knit and full of personality.
And through them all, the 504th runs. The young crew aims to unite New Orleans’s disparate aspects. “For me,” says Trey Monaghan, a restaurateur who is one of five co-captains, “this crew represents family—like a gang. Some gangs fight, but we’re fortunate enough that my gang just runs, and we run all over the city,” from the touristy French Quarter Run wild, do good. #rwdg.
Though some of the neighborhoods aren’t used to seeing group runs, they’ve welcomed the 504th. “We get curious waves from neighbors,” says Monaghan. On a recent jaunt through Hollygrove (home to Lil Wayne), one kid rode his BMX bike alongside the group, popping wheelies.
“Folks are already acclimated to seeing a crew of people roaming together,” says Marquest “Quest” Meeks, another co-captain. “The quizzical part for them is seeing us running, with nothing to run from. But they see our togetherness, and you don’t need to translate that.”
Words We Live By: “Get out and explore,” Monaghan says.
How We Rise: New Orleans may be flat, but Monaghan says there’s a workaround: “For elevation we’ve found the best thing that we can do is run in the parking garages and hit the ramps.”
Our Cause: Youth Run NOLA, a program in 30 schools around the city that encourages kids to log miles. (504th co-captain Denali Lander is the organization’s executive director.) The training culminates in the Give it your all, “which is an amazingly fun, fast 10K,” Monaghan says.
Follow Us: on Instagram @the504th
Ghetto Run Crew | Rio De Janeiro, Brazil
In Zona Norte, the gritty north side of Rio de Janeiro, “things are difficult, more slow,” says Junior Cruz, founder of the Ghetto Run Crew. The government and police are of little help, he says, so he often asks himself, “How can I do more?” His answer: running.
He founded the crew in 2013 as a movement for Zona Norte women to connect, get healthier, and feel energized. “Women from the north side need to fight much harder to win in life than those from the rich parts of the city do,” he says.
Quickly, the crew blossomed and has since expanded to include all genders. Roughly 50 runners show up for twice-weekly nighttime corres (jogs), and as many as 300 join two mass runs a month. “We don’t invite people—people just come,” Cruz says. “If you want to run, come with us. The door is open.”
Scan the crew’s Instagram, and you’ll understand why: The images are gorgeous. Runners wear black T-shirts, charging past graffitied retaining walls, down narrow alleys, across chain-link-fenced overpasses lit by distant street lamps—it’s a romantic vision of athletics conquering inhuman infrastructure. “It’s a social movement,” says Cruz. “In the end, they run and the sport wins.”
Words We Live By: “We run where others don’t walk.”
Running Shoes - Gear: “To show that the ghetto is much more than a cliche. And to show that the women in here can do much more than they can imagine.”
A Renewed Relationship With Running: “The search for equity has become our real flag,” he says.
After A Run, We’re: In “the bunker”—a.k.a. Cruz’s place. “There, we can be real people, talk about economics, art, marketing, and people’s personal lives.” But sometimes, he adds, “we go to the bar and drink, drink, drink.”
Follow Us: on Instagram @ghettoruncrew
