Going for a run is easy, right?
Trainers on. Headphones in. Strava started. That’s it, right?
Wrong.
I’ve been running off and on since 2024, and not once have I been able to go on a run without a niggling thought in the back of my mind. Is the route safe? Does anyone know where I am? Will I be judged for my outfit?
I know I’m not the only one who’s had these thoughts. Speaking to my female friends, they’ve all experienced the disgusting comments, the feeling unsafe, the dread that comes with winter runs. How, in 2026, is this still the reality women are being subjected to?
Winter is coming
If someone asked me my favourite season to run in, I honestly couldn’t tell you. I hate running under the hot sun in summer, but I cherish the light evenings. I love the cold air and rain splattering my shins in winter, but I dread the darkness. I choose summer, not because it’s most enjoyable for me, but because I feel safe.
I take precautions in winter: lights on my vest, reflective strips so cars can see me, my location sent to my mum, my roommate told I’ve left, shoes tied tight so I can run if I need to, my head on a swivel, and earphones left behind entirely to try and maintain some sense of safety. This might seem dramatic, and I understand if it sounds like overkill. But this is my life. It’s why, without fail, my running plan drops off every winter. I love running. But is it worth sacrificing my safety for?
I’m constantly hearing stories on the news, online, even from friends, about the horrible things that happen to women all over the world who just wanted to go on a run. Yes, there are workarounds: don’t run alone, try not to run in the dark. I just feel it’s so unfair that there are all these restrictions on women who, just like me, are only trying to improve themselves.
my first 5k ruined
I vividly remember the first time I ran a 5K as an adult. It was a New Year’s resolution of mine, and I worked hard to get there. I’d been stuck at 3K and 4K, unable to get past the mental block and push further.
When I finally did it, in 34 minutes no less, I was over the moon. I’d just proved to myself I could do something hard, something that had felt impossible before. I was empowered by my own strength.
That was until I got back to my car.
A man walked by me. I smiled. His reply: “You’re wearing so little it makes me feel overdressed.”
Oh.
My heart sank. I was wearing a sports bra and shorts. It was 23 degrees.
The embarrassment and shame set in before I even had the chance to process the comment. Later, once I’d gotten home and showered, I had a realisation: I hadn’t done anything wrong. It was warm, and I’d dressed appropriately for the activity. And so what if my belly showed? I see men running topless all the time. What was so different about my body? Why was some man allowed to dictate what I wear and how I feel?
More importantly, why do some men feel entitled to an opinion on what women wear, especially for running? It just doesn’t make sense to me.
That moment stuck with me for a different reason too, it’s not just about staying safe on a run, it’s about being allowed to exist in your body while you do it.
Do i look like a runner?
The image of a runner has a very specific look to it online: thin, flat stomach, toned. It’s all you see, and if you don’t fit that image, it can make you feel like you don’t belong, like you shouldn’t even call yourself a runner. It’s the same with pace. If you’re slower than the runners you see online, or you take it easy one run, it starts to feel like a failed effort.
I’m here to change your mind.
I don’t look like a “runner.” My belly sticks out, my thighs jiggle when I run, and I find it impossible to find shorts that don’t make me chafe. These are all things that simply aren’t talked about enough in the running world.
It doesn’t matter what you look like when you run. What matters is that you’re running. And remember, running is a movement, not a pace. A slow run is not a failed run, as long as you went out there and tried. For me, a successful run is pushing past the mental barriers and still getting out, when my brain screams at me to stop but I say no and continue to push forwards.
Why I still run
Running as a woman is not ideal. Not nearly. But I keep going back to it, time after time, run after run. It’s hard, mentally and physically, and that’s without all the safety and judgement layered on top.
Running clears my mind. The only thing that matters on a run is the road in front of you and the sound of your trainers against the ground. It’s genuinely so beneficial for both my mental and physical health.
That’s why I’m here, calling for change. Call out your boyfriends, sons, and friends on what’s not okay to say to a woman. We need better lighting on running routes so women can feel safer in winter. We need to normalise, not sexualise, women’s bodies in athletic wear. An outfit is not an invitation to humiliate or degrade someone.
I ran a 5K today. I wore a sports bra and shorts. I refuse to let someone else’s opinion take that achievement away from me again.
Wear what you want, girls. And don’t you dare let anyone change who you are.