Running in Circles: Why Admiration in Racing Is Never One-Way

There’s something strange, beautiful, and often misunderstood about the culture of racing—especially in the world of mass-participation events like fell and trail races, ultra marathons, or even your local parkrun. It's easy to think of races as a simple hierarchy: the fastest at the front, the rest chasing behind. But what’s really going on is something far more circular—and deeply human.

When you do enough of these things. Especially fell races you start to notice something.

Everyone is looking up to someone else.
And not always the person you'd expect.

The Middle Ground

I’m a solid middle-of-the-pack runner. I'm not winning any prizes, other than a spot prize. Which means I spend most races admiring the fast folks up ahead. Those mythical creatures that float up hills like gravity is optional. I admire their speed, their discipline, and their ability to glide over the terrain with what seems like ease.

But I also know there are runners behind me, looking up to me in the same way—hoping one day to run at my pace, have my strong muscular legs, or simply admiring that I seem to “have it together.”

At the finish, someone might come up to me and say:

“You looked so strong on the climbs—I couldn’t keep up!”
Me? Strong? On the climbs?
I was dry heaving behind a rock just trying to look casual when people passed.

Where it really gets surprising is the admiration doesn’t just stop at the sharp end. Because often, those right at the frontof the race—the ones we think have it all figured out—are looking back with awe at those who are still out on the course hours later, grinding it out, determined to finish.

The Full Circle of Respect

Someone finishing a race in five and a half hours instead of two has had to endure more pain, more time in their own head, more moments of wanting to stop. That kind of endurance—the mental and emotional strength it takes—is something many fast runners deeply respect. They know what it's like to hurt, but to hurt for that long? That’s next level.

So, the admiration goes in every direction. It’s not linear—it’s circular.

The respect goes full circle.
The slow admire the fast.
The middle admire both.
And the fast admire the slow.

We are all chasing and being chased. We’re all inspired, and we’re all inspiring someone else often without realizing it.

It’s a weird ecosystem of sweaty admiration and mutual impostor syndrome.

The Weight No One Talks About

But there’s a darker side to this, especially for runners at the front.

Once you start getting faster, once you start placing on podiums or winning races, something shifts. Suddenly, people expect more from you. And not always in a quiet, supportive way—in an openly judgmental one. The grace and encouragement offered so freely to the back of the pack starts to disappear.

You could run your heart out and still hear:

"Bit off your game today?"
"You only won because no one fast turned up."
"That was a slow winning time."

Imagine being told those things after giving everything you had. Imagine being told your win doesn’t mean anything—because of who else wasn’t there. Or that you must have been taking it easy—when you were barely holding on.

This kind of language sticks. And over time, it wears people down. If enough people tell you something you can start to believe it yourself. I know British champions who no longer race—not because they don’t love it, but because of the pressure, the judgment, the weight of expectation has made racing feel toxic. And that’s heartbreaking. They would nothing more then to be able to rock up to a race and just have a run for the fun of it.

Running for Joy—Not Judgment

The truth is none of us started running to win races. We started because it felt good. Because it gave us purpose, or peace, or connection. The joy of movement, of effort, of pushing boundaries—that's what brought us here.

But when performance becomes an identity, and when identity gets policed by others' expectations, that joy can be hard to find.

And here's the wild part: if people said the same negative things to runners at the back of the race—the ones finishing last—it would be seen as cruel. Inappropriate. Unthinkable. So why is it okay to say them to the ones in front?

It shouldn’t be.

Let's Shift the Culture

We need to rewrite the script. Racing shouldn’t come with guilt. Or pressure. Or fear of what people will say if you don’t win, or if you do win “too slowly.”

Let’s admire effort, not just outcome. Let’s celebrate the courage it takes to line up at the start, regardless of where someone finishes. Let’s give the same grace to the fast runners that we give to the slower ones—and vice versa.

Because we’re all out there, running the same course. We’re all part of the same ridiculous, joyful, painful, hilarious, muddy, sweaty loop.

Because the truth is,

No matter where you finish, there’s someone behind you in awe.
And someone ahead of you cheering you on.

Running might be individual, but it should never be lonely.

And that’s what makes it magic.