CHAPTER 10
Running Tribe
Cliff was aimlessly scrolling through the internet, eyes glazed over from the endless sea of event listings, when something caught his attention—a local running group. It was odd; he had lived in the area for years and never once heard of them. Curiosity nudged him to click on the link. "Join our group chat!" it beckoned, almost as if it were a secret society.
Now, Cliff was an introvert with a capital “I,” so the idea of jumping into a group chat full of strangers wasn't exactly his idea of a good time. But the allure of silently lurking in the background was irresistible. After all, he could always just observe—no commitment required. Yet, as he skimmed through the messages, he felt a spark. The kind of spark that hits you when you realize you’re among people who might actually get you.
These weren’t the ultra-athletes he feared would intimidate him with their marathon medals and protein shake recipes. No, these folks were regular people—your average Joes and Johns—who seemed to have fallen in love with running from the first sight. The group’s creator seemed like a guy who would run a marathon just to spread the joy of it, the kind who would casually suggest a 5K as a fun weekend activity. And he wasn’t doing it alone. He’d teamed up in a fitness coach, a guy with boundless energy and the fitness expertise to match.
The duo organized weekly group workouts at a local park by the sea. The chat was filled with their cheerful reminders: “Come join us! We promise not to leave anyone behind… unless you’re really, really slow. Just kidding—everyone’s welcome!”
Cliff found himself staring at these messages, intrigued. He’d never been one to join group activities—too much potential for awkward small talk—but something about this bunch made him feel like he wouldn’t be judged for jogging at a snail’s pace. So, he laced up his sneakers and decided to give it a shot.
The first session was a revelation. As he approached the park, the group was already there, stretching in various states of enthusiasm and confusion. The organizers greeted him like he was an old friend, the kind who just showed up late to the party but was instantly welcomed with a smile. "Welcome, Cliff! Don't worry, the first mile is always the hardest—mostly because we’re all trying to remember why we thought this was a good idea," the coach joked, giving Cliff a reassuring pat on the back.
And just like that, Cliff was in. The run was more of a friendly jog, punctuated by light-hearted banter and the occasional gasp for air. No one was there to impress; they were just trying to keep moving forward, literally and figuratively. It was a group of people who were still figuring out which shoe goes on which foot, who laughed off their mistakes and encouraged each other along the way.
By the end of the session, the group founder clapped Cliff on the shoulder. “Don’t be a stranger now. We do this every week—same time, same place. And yes, we always end with donuts. Just kidding! ;)”
Cliff found himself grinning as he walked away, muscles pleasantly sore. This was his tribe now, a band of quirky, endearing misfits who ran not because they were born to, but because they chose to. He wasn’t a stranger anymore. He’d found his people—the ones he never knew he needed.
