Every run counts, not just the long ones

Spend enough time around runners and you’ll hear it. The quiet hierarchy. The unspoken badge of honour.

“You’re not a real runner until you’ve run Comrades.”

It’s usually not said with bad intent. Comrades is iconic. It demands time, discipline, resilience, and a kind of stubbornness that most people will never understand. It deserves respect. But somewhere along the way, that respect has turned into a measuring stick. And that’s where things get a bit skew. Because running isn’t defined by distance. If anything, the shorter the distance, the sharper the edge.

When you race a 5km, 10km, hell, even a half marathon, there’s barely a moment to settle.

I was reminded of that at Oceans this year. It was my first Oceans Half since 2018, and somewhere along that route it clicked. I switched over to ultra distance in 2019 and never really looked back. This body, right now, is built for the longer stuff. The 56km. The grind. The slow burn.

Because the half? It didn’t let up.

There was no coasting. No chance to switch off and find a rhythm that felt comfortable. It was constant pressure. Holding pace, managing discomfort, trying not to tip over the edge too early. I hardly had a second to relax. SCD swallowed me up and spat me out.

And that’s the thing people often miss.

Shorter distances demand more from you, differently. You’re sitting right on the limit for most of the race. It’s controlled chaos from start to finish. A fast 5km does not forgive you. But a marathon? A marathon gives you space. An ultra even more so. Yes, they are long and demanding, but they allow for rhythm, for recovery within the effort, for small mistakes that don’t necessarily end your race.

Then there’s the difference between road and trail.

On the trails, especially in longer races, there’s a different rhythm entirely. You can pause. You can sit for a moment at an aid station, eat something real, reset, and carry on. There’s a sense of journey to it. On the road, it’s far less forgiving. It’s a gel, a sip of liquid, and straight back into the grind. No sitting. No switching off. Just forward, at pace, while holding it together. You can’t even stop for a proper cry. And one bathroom break might be enough to kiss a PB goodbye. Some runners can do it in 30 seconds flat. Others stand in a queue and watch that 30 seconds become 3-plus minutes.

Neither is easier. They’re just different kinds of hard.

And that’s the point.

The runner chasing a sub-20 5km is working just as hard, in their own way, as the runner preparing for an ultra. The person lacing up for their first Parkrun is showing just as much courage as someone standing on the Comrades start line. We don’t need to rank it. We don’t need to wait for some arbitrary distance before we decide someone “counts”.

Running is effort. It’s consistency. It’s showing up when it would be easier not to. It’s learning where your limits are and nudging them, whether that’s over 5km or 90.

So next time you see someone focusing on their 5km, take it seriously. That effort is real. That goal matters.

Because in the end, we’re all doing the same thing.

Putting one foot in front of the other, and trying to get a little bit better at it.