Photo by Andrew Durkin via Pixels
By Elspeth Chapman
Somewhere between the rhythm of your breath and the steady pounding of your trainers on pavement, running can feel simple. Meditative, even. One foot in front of the other.
But for women, it has never been just that.
This year, tens of thousands will gather at the start line of the London Marathon. In their sea of colours and costumes, with nerves and anticipation stretching across the capital. Nearly half of them will be women.
It is, on the surface, a marker of progress. A sign that the sport has opened its doors to progress. But being allowed to run has never been the same as being treated equally when you do so.
The image of Kathrine Switzer being physically manhandled mid-race in 1967 still lingers in conversation surrounding women in the sport. But for many, her name is less familiar than the photograph.
Photo from Instagram via @youthscenes
Switzer was a 20-year-old student when she entered the Boston Marathon using her initials, ‘K.V. Switzer’, at a time when women were not officially allowed to compete. A few miles into the race, an official spotted her and attempted to remove her from the course, grabbing at her as she ran.
She finished the race. And much more than that, she helped start a movement.
Switzer went on to campaign for women’s inclusion in long-distance running, contributing to the eventual introduction of the women’s marathon at the Olympics in 1984. What began as an act of quiet resistance became a turning point in sporting history.
The scary thing is, that history is not that distant. It sits just a few decades behind us.
Today, women line up at marathons in record numbers. Elite races can often offer equal prize money to women as they do men. Participation in running has surged and run clubs are booming across the capital. From the outside, it can look like the fight has been won.
Speak to women runners, however, and a slightly more complicated story emerges.
“I think there’s a sense that we should be grateful just to be here… men think that just because some barriers have been removed, there isn’t anything for us worth complaining about,” Meghan, a twenty-something run club member told me.
Image: roxanawilliams1920, Pixabay
So what is there to complain about? Plenty, it turns out.
While prize money at major races may be equal, the environment growing around running is not. Sponsorship deals, media coverage, and visibility are still heavily in favour of male athletes, or women of a particular beauty standard. Male runners are more likely to be pedestalled, shown as some sort of icons of endurance and strength. Women, however, are too often framed through narratives of balance, relatability, or aesthetics and appearance.
Helen, 62, Meghan’s mother and avid race spectator, spoke about media’s coverage of races. “You notice it in the way races are covered… they always focus on how women look, what they’re wearing, whether they’re smiling and enjoying themselves. You don’t see those same ideas pushed on to men.”
The body, for female runners, has never just been allowed to be a tool for performance in endurance sport. It is home to constant expectation and judgement. Strong, but not too strong. Lean, but not too lean. Capable, but still visually pleasing.
Even at amateur level, these pressures filter through.
Social media has amplified it. Scroll through running content and the algorithm offers a steady stream of curated women’s bodies, perfect race day outfits, and polished performances. For some, it is motivating. For others, it reinforces that quiet but persistent thought that (women) runners must look a certain way.
And then there is the simple act of being out on the road.
For women, running is shaped not just by training plans or race goals, but by conscious safety decisions. Routes are chosen carefully, with lit roads. Learning to train with no headphones in case you need to keep your wits about you. Timing adjusted to daylight hours.
What should be a sport that now preaches freedom for all, has now become something more strategic.
“I love running,” Meghan said. “But I don’t think as a woman you can ever fully switch off. Not really.”
That awareness and exhausting thought process is rarely factored into conversations about performance or participation. Yet it forms part of the reality of the sport and training for most women. Which makes the marathon, in all its scale and spectacle, something more than just a race.
On marathon day, streets are closed. The usual rules of movement around the capital are changed. Thousands of women run through spaces that might otherwise feel restrictive or unsafe, cheered on by crowds that turn the city into something communal and electric. For those few hours, women become visible within endurance sports.
The significance of that should not be underestimated. To run freely, publicly, and take up space is, for many, still a radical act.
And yet, still the contradictions remain.
Progress and inequality exist side by side. Women are present in record numbers but not always given an equal playing field. They are celebrated, but still scrutinised. Supported, but not always valued.
The marathon captures all of it; strong women running the race and covering the ground to fight the fight.
As runners cross the finish line of the London Marathon this year in April, these strong women’s stories will be personal, unique and hard-earned. But collectively, they point to something larger.
The question is no longer whether women can run. It is whether the world of running, and endurance sport more broadly, is ready to value them equally when they do.
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