5 days ago
How a simple park run became a worldwide phenomenon
From his childhood in Zimbabwe to finding new horizons in the UK, Paul Sinton-Hewitt's life has always revolved around movement. A gifted athlete, he became an accomplished club runner, but his true legacy began when he founded the Bushy Park Time Trial, a small weekly run that would eventually grow into the global phenomenon known as parkrun.
Recognised for his contribution to public health and community fitness, Sinton-Hewitt was awarded a CBE by Queen Elizabeth II. Today, he remains a driving force in promoting accessible, inclusive fitness around the world.
Read an excerpt from Paul Sinton-Hewitt's book, One Small Step, below.
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At school, it had given me a sense of freedom. From the primary school playing field to the high school track, putting one foot in front of the other was something I enjoyed. It also helped me to feel like an equal, rather than the kid who held back from others.
In South Africa, running was an activity that carried particular cultural importance. During apartheid, in which the country was banned from taking part in international occasions such as the Olympics and the World Cup, our televised sporting calendar focused on domestic events. Central to this, alongside cricket and rugby, was an annual road race between the cities of Durban and Pietermaritzburg. The 88km race had been staged annually since 1921. It also played an instrumental role in breaking down apartheid policies by becoming racially integrated from 1975. The race still takes place to this day and is known as the world's oldest and largest ultramarathon.
When I first tuned in to watch the race at high school, in the year that our boarding house acquired a television, coverage didn't just begin with the firing of the start gun. Programming spanned the entire day. It was a cause for national unity, which was a rare thing. As I saw it, the sheer scale was breathtaking. Thousands of runners took part, seemingly flowing as one along the streets flanked the entire length of the course by cheering crowds. The winner could expect to breast the tape in just under five and a half hours, with an 11-hour cut-off for the rest of the field to finish in an event open to all runners. I loved the build-up and the excitement before the start, and just marvelled at the grit shown by all participants to run a distance that made my head spin.
Like so many people, I chose to watch the Comrades Marathon from the comfort of a sofa. My interest stayed with me long after high school. Into the Eighties, I marvelled at the achievement of an incredible young runner and staunch anti-apartheid campaigner. Instantly recognisable by his long blonde hair and metronomic pacing, Bruce Fordyce, who would go on to win the event on a record nine occasions. As a runner, he became a national treasure. Long before running took over my life, the man was an inspiration to me.
In countries like the UK and US, running solo – or jogging, as it was more commonly known at the time – was considered to be somewhat niche. In South Africa, where the Comrades had popularised running and Bruce Fordyce led the way, it wasn't considered unusual to take off along the roadside to stretch the legs. I didn't run religiously on leaving school or after my travels. Nor did I have any ambitions as a runner. It was just something I could do for myself whenever I felt like it.
When I started work in Johannesburg as a junior programmer, early in that decade, I discovered there were three ways that people liked to spend their lunch breaks. Most stayed in the building and just headed for the canteen. Others took themselves to the pub, often in groups or even as a team-building exercise. I was invited to join my colleagues for a drink on a couple of occasions. I soon found it wasn't for me. In those days, pubs in the city tended to be located in basements. They were dark, cramped and dirty dives, not the kind of place where I felt able to relax.
Then there was a small number who used their lunch break as an opportunity to run. They'd bring their kit into work with them, change in the restrooms and then just take off. I'd see them heading out of the office or coming back in. Each time I'd feel a pull. Eventually, I decided that was how I wanted to spend my free hour.
As running crept into my lunch-hour routine, I began to look forward to the moment I could leave my workstation. It could be very hot and humid in Johannesburg for much of the year. On my return, I'd have to wash in the restroom basin. Still, I'd start the afternoon at work feeling reinvigorated and refreshed. In fact, I soon found that running was an excellent time to think through technical problems and come up with solutions. One time, I'd been snagged on a problem for days. I'd written the code and tested it, and even skipped lunch in a bid to find a solution. Every time, it tripped up at the same point, and I could not work out why. I'd spend hours staring at the screen, go home and think about it over supper. I wasn't sleeping properly at night and would wake up each morning to find it uppermost in my mind. After another fruitless morning, I decided to finally take a break and vent my frustrations on a run. I went out fast and just submitted to the moment.
Then, as I pounded the walkways around the city's drive-in movie theatre and the spoil heaps from the gold mines, the solution sprang into my mind. The moment I stopped thinking about it and instead focused on the here and now, the answer that had been evading me materialised. Fearful that I might promptly forget it, I raced back to the office. Still dripping in sweat, I dropped into my seat and made one small change to a string of code. It worked perfectly. The relief was enormous, and I had one thing to thank for that.
I found that the rhythm and repetitive nature of running enabled a clarity of thought that I couldn't find so easily when stewing in front of my computer screen. From that moment on, my lunchtime runs also served as a problem-solving exercise. Whenever I snagged myself on code, I knew where to find the answer. Eventually, that hour became the high point of my day. DM
