Grindsboro Running: Wonderfully Small
This photo has nothing to do with running. But I do have plans of doing the NC Zoo 5k next year.
I didn’t fall in love with running right away.
I tried a bit of everything first—gymnastics, softball, basketball, karate. I gave track and field a go: hurdles, discus, the mile. I wasn’t particularly great at any of them, and I didn’t always feel like I belonged. But in seventh grade, a substitute teacher who coached cross country looked at me and said, “Why don’t you come run?”
So I did.
Running, it turned out, didn’t care whether I was good at it. It didn’t need me to memorize plays or win over a coach. There was no bench. No spotlight. Just… movement. And that, for me, was enough. Years passed. I ran through high school, college, and after—but slowly, my miles became quieter. I ran in bits and pieces. Sometimes with a race on the calendar, sometimes not. Sometimes just to move. Often alone.
But after my second kid, something shifted. I found a group. Then another. I showed up to a Wednesday run, then a Thursday one, then again on Saturday. And slowly, running stopped being just mine—and started being ours.
That’s where Grindsboro comes in.
Grindsboro Running was born out of a simple idea: what if we had a run club that met at coffee shops or bookstores instead of breweries? Don’t get me wrong—I love a good brewery run. I still go to those from time to time. But I also have two kids, a full-time job, a growing list of projects, and a long to-do list. Sometimes, I just want a short run, a good conversation, a slice of cheesecake or a cold smoothie—and then I want to go home.
Grindsboro isn’t big. Most weeks it’s three to six people, sometimes fewer. We show up, we run a couple miles, we grab a treat, and we part ways. There’s no leaderboard, no time pressure, no pressure at all. It’s wonderfully small. And it’s also become something much bigger. Grindsboro reminds me that joy doesn’t need to be flashy. That movement matters even when it’s modest. That community can grow from the simplest things: a shared trail, a sunrise, someone asking how your day’s been while your feet hit the pavement together.
In the past year, I’ve run farther and faster than I have in a decade. Not because I’ve been grinding it out on speed work or chasing PRs. In fact, most of my running has been delightfully casual. I show up. I move. I talk. I stretch. I eat snacks. And I do it again next week.
I think that’s what running’s become for me—it’s not about performance anymore. It’s about persistence. Presence. People. And yes, sometimes pastries. I’m training for three half marathons this fall, with a bunch of 5Ks mixed in for fun. I may or may not sign up for a full marathon. I’ve even let the idea of a 50K float around in my mind. But honestly? That’s not the point. The point is: I keep running. And I keep not running alone.
Grindsboro might never be a club of 50 or 100 people. And that’s not the goal. It’s a space to move and connect. A space that fits in the rhythm of a busy life. A place to belong, even if only for a couple miles and a post-run coffee. It may be small—but it’s exactly what it needs to be. And maybe that’s true for a lot of things right now. Small isn’t a flaw. Small is a season. A shape. A steadiness.
“Really, it’s an excuse to get a third run in each week without starting (or ending) at a brewery.”
And honestly, that’s reason enough.
