Running, once a democratic sport, is becoming a privilege based on the quality and inclusivity of our cities, risking being less accessible than we think.
The myth: Running is seen as a “democratic” sport, accessible to everyone.
The reality: The running experience drastically depends on the quality of urban infrastructure.
The contrast: Running in a park isn’t the same as dodging traffic and broken sidewalks.
The big picture: A city that’s safe for runners is safe for everyone (seniors, children, people with disabilities).
The solution: Cities like Copenhagen or Oslo show that inclusive urban planning is possible.
The call to action: Demanding better public spaces isn’t a whim, but an act of citizenship.
I had never noticed how broken my city’s sidewalks were.
Then one day, I took my son out in his stroller. Another time, I tripped in a pothole that had never been fixed, and it hurt. A lot.
Think about your last run. Or this morning’s. How did it go?
Maybe you went out in the almost surreal silence of dawn, crossed a park with dew-damp grass, and the only sound was your shoes crushing a few dry leaves. Maybe you ran on a riverside path, with the cool air and the feeling of being exactly where you needed to be.
Or maybe not.
Or maybe you stepped out and had to weave through double-parked cars, breathing in a lungful of bus exhaust. Maybe you ran on a sidewalk so uneven it felt like an obstacle course, terrified of taking a wrong step. Or maybe you just thought it’s better to avoid that park at night because it’s not well-lit and doesn’t feel safe.
Some people run in parks, among pine trees, the smell of cut grass, and children shouting nearby. And then there are those who run jumping over potholes, dodging scooters on the sidewalk, with air that smells like an exhaust pipe.
Technically, they are both running. But is it really the same experience?
Running is democratic. Is running democratic?
From the outside, running seems like the simplest thing in the world: shoes, some free time, and you’re off. It’s often called “democratic”—but like many democracies, it’s only so on paper. In reality, less poetic and more urban factors come into play: where you live, if there are parks, if you have a whole sidewalk or one broken up by utility poles and badly parked cars.
The question arises from this. From the vast difference between these two experiences. We often repeat to ourselves, like a reassuring mantra, that running is a democratic sport. And on some level, it’s true: all you need is a pair of shoes and the desire to move. But are we sure this democracy isn’t just theoretical?
In short: are you lucky, or do you have the right to be?
The Grandma Test
Almost no one wakes up in the morning thinking, “How does my city rank in terms of sports inclusivity?” Besides, it sounds a bit like a mayor on the campaign trail.
And yet, stop for a moment: have you ever thought about it? The quality of a city, when you run, is measured this way too. Not just by whether it has a bike lane, but whether you can run on it without treating every crosswalk like a game of Russian roulette. If you can run even after sunset. If there are water fountains.
Here’s the ultimate test: if your grandmother, with a walker, could navigate the same path that feels like a breeze to you, then that’s a well-made city.
An inclusive city isn’t just one without obvious architectural barriers. It’s a city that designs its spaces with everyone in mind: the child who wants to play, the senior who wants to stroll, the young woman who wants to walk home at night, and yes, even you, who wants to run without risking your life.
Inclusivity Starts from the Ground Up (Literally, from the Pavement)
Talking about inclusivity often brings up broader scenarios: civil rights, equality, representation. But running without feeling like you’re in danger is part of the package.
If you have to take your car to get to the nearest park just to run, you’re not exactly in a “runner-friendly” city. If your neighborhood lacks a decent sidewalk or the only green space is a shabby patch of grass used by dogs, something isn’t working.
True inclusivity means allowing anyone—regardless of fitness level, age, or ability—to be able to move safely. It means safe and well-lit parks, wide and well-kept sidewalks, paths that don’t just end abruptly, public water fountains, and cleaner air.
It means being able to enjoy your city actively, without feeling like a tolerated guest or, worse, a moving target in traffic.
The Cities That Get It
Some European cities have made “moving well” their banner, and the results are clear.
In Copenhagen, the cycling culture has also influenced runners. Dedicated paths, well-lit and marked. They aren’t makeshift lanes carved out wherever there was space, but purpose-built infrastructure.
In Oslo, the city center is pedestrianized, and the green spaces seem intentionally designed to be easy on the eyes. Running there isn’t a heroic feat; it’s part of daily life.
Paris is investing in becoming the “15-minute city” capital: everything should be reachable on foot or by bike within a quarter of an hour. This also includes places where you can run without strategic planning.
To be clear, these aren’t perfect urban paradises. But it’s interesting to note how integrated “running” is into urban life, not relegated to an activity for privileged neighborhoods or one that requires a car trip. It’s not a luxury for a few. It’s part of everyday life for everyone.
The Uncomfortable Question
And what about us? What lesson can we learn? Can this be applied here too?
It depends. But the most uncomfortable answer is another question: did you know you could also demand it?
Did you know that there are regulations, urban plans, participatory budgets, and petitions? And that the right to move safely isn’t a spoiled runner’s whim, but a matter of public health, inclusivity, and citizenship?
You don’t have to become a relentless activist, but knowing you can ask for—and get—more isn’t optional. It’s part of being a citizen. A city that works for runners often works for everyone. A pothole-free sidewalk helps you, but it also helps someone pushing a stroller or a person in a wheelchair. A well-lit park helps you, but it increases the perceived safety for everyone.
Asking for more isn’t complaining; it’s an act of citizenship.
Do You See It?
If you run and feel free, great: hold on to that. But also ask yourself if this freedom is for everyone. If your mother could do it. If a kid in a wheelchair could cross that traffic circle you so nimbly dodge. If that part of the city—your city—is also designed for those with less strength, less time, fewer opportunities.
Don’t take what you have for granted, but don’t accept it as the best it can be. Maybe you’re lucky enough to live in a wonderful place for running and you’ve never thought about it. Good, become aware of it, appreciate it. It’s a fortune that deserves to be recognized.
If, on the other hand, every run is a small urban battle, don’t assume that’s normal. It’s not.
Running is a Test
Thinking about these things doesn’t take away from your run. In fact, it makes it more complete. Because running isn’t just a way to escape the city, but also a way to observe it. And maybe, to change it.
The next time you go out, look around. Not to judge, but to understand. Are you lucky? And if you are, can you do something for those who aren’t? It can be done in many ways: by writing to your city council member for sports or urban planning, participating in neighborhood meetings, supporting local associations that focus on urban livability.
Sometimes, it takes very little to spark a change. Sometimes, all it takes is pointing out that what seems impossible here is already a reality elsewhere.
So?
So, is running a privilege?
Running itself, no. The act remains wonderfully democratic. But the ability to do it well, safely, and joyfully? That, yes, is at risk of becoming one. And it depends on one thing only: where you live.
Running should be a right, not a geographical lottery. It should be possible for everyone, not just for those lucky enough to live in the right neighborhood or own a car to get somewhere else.
The next time you run, try looking at your city with different eyes. Not just as a route to be completed, but as a space you are part of. And ask yourself if it’s truly a space for everyone.
Because maybe it’s right there, in that question, that change begins. One step at a time.