How Local Brand Miler Designs the Best Running Groups in New York City

The Run Club Boom

In the five years since COVID changed everything, running has become less of a solitary pursuit and more of a cultural wave. Race participation is trending upward: the 100 largest timed races from 5K to marathon averaged a 15% increase in finishers in the second half of 2024 versus the year before. And along with that rise has come an explosive boom in run clubs. There’s been a 59% increase in running club participation globally in 2024 according to Strava’s Year In Sport report. With 58% of survey respondents saying they made new friends via fitness groups. Of the Gen Z respondents, nearly 1 in 5 went on a date with someone they met there. (Yes, the dating via run club pipeline is real.)

It makes sense. In an age marked by increasing social isolation and loneliness, people are progressively looking to group fitness to fill social needs. Where previous generations might have met those needs at the bar, today’s more health-conscious crowd is more and more often turning down booze, or in the case of run clubs, earning their drinks with a few miles first. Unlike pricey boutique spin classes, run clubs are free, and the sport itself requires little more than running shoes and a willingness to show up.

Run Clubs as Social Clubs

The run club frenzy spilled out of running culture and into the mainstream, with certain aspects of the trend swelling so large they came to define its reputation. To the casual observer, group runs started to seem less about community or self-improvement as they were about socializing; a sweaty singles mixer in disguise. After all, to the non-runner, what possible reason could there be for slogging through runs with a group of endorphin-fueled, selectively fit people if not to hook up?

The pushback isn’t limited to non-runners either. Scroll through the RunNYC subreddit on any given day and you’ll likely find complaints about the sheer number of members of the city’s various clubs, and how they take up too much space or ignore basic etiquette.

In my experience, the bad reputation seems overblown. I’ve only been running for a few years, admittedly, but connecting with my local run club has helped me become a stronger, more consistent, and more conscientious runner. Running alongside sub 2:45 marathoners and newcomers alike taught me the unwritten rules of etiquette, and also gave me an appreciation for both the belonging and the challenge that can be found in the sport. At the heart of these groups, regardless of ability, was an appreciation of running and a desire for community.

The surge of run clubs underscores how running has become more about culture and connection than competition. Brands have been quick to notice, and in New York, few have captured that energy as effectively as Miler Running.

What Is Miler Running

Founded in 2019 by Ben Morrow, Miler Running emerged right before the run club boom. With a background in textiles and design, Morrow set out to build modern, practical garments for runners, starting with a simple singlet and shorts. Since then, Miler has grown into both a high-end gear company and a cultural contributor, outfitting unsanctioned relay racers with hi-vis vests, and sponsoring professional track teams.

This summer, that identity took on new form with "Dirt City: Developing Infrastructure for Routes and Trails in New York City," a long-term project aimed at promoting and improving access to the many soft-surface trails that exist across the five boroughs. The effort included weekly "Sunrise Trails" runs through Prospect Park and the "Brooklyn Connector." To see how Miler’s vision plays out on the ground, we joined them.

What It's Like to Attend Dirt City: Brooklyn Connector

I arrive at Fort Greene Park for the Brooklyn Connector and quickly find Morrow. He’s buzzing with excitement around the potential for Dirt City to help teach New York based runners about the existence of a bunch of trails in their backyards. "It's tempting to always [run] the same route, but there's a lot more here if you think creatively."

He is clearly not alone in this vision. A crew of pacers, volunteers, and friends have gathered to help guide the run. By the time we set off, dozens of runners have assembled for the first leg. Those who toe the line at the first park are committing to the full 18-mile course, divided into three pace groups that span from an approachable 9:00–10:00 minutes per mile to a blazing-fast 7:00–8:00 pace. I offer up the excuse of carrying my camera gear and fall in with the slowest group, and before long we’re running single-file along a narrow desire path skirting the park’s edge. As we settle into our stride, the small talk gives way to a familiar rhythm, and a comfortable group dynamic takes hold. When I ask my fellow runners why they want to spend their Saturday morning covering 18 miles in the humid August weather, the responses sound less like outliers and more like a refrain: community, accountability, and the joy of pushing your body to its limits.

From Fort Greene it is just a mile of pavement and crosswalks before we are back on soft-surface paths in Prospect Park. Here, within one of Brooklyn’s oldest remaining upland forests, a surprisingly robust trail network makes it easy to forget we are in the middle of the country’s largest metro area. Our route skirts the park’s perimeter, sometimes pulling us into overgrown stretches that block out the city entirely, and at other times onto dirt paths cut into the grass just steps from the main loop. Much of the run hugs the park’s edge, where brownstones peek over a low stone wall that separates us from the sidewalks and streets. For all the countless times I’ve run the Prospect Park loop, this stretch reveals how much more the park holds when you stray from its familiar path.

Outside the park, we stop at a makeshift aid station before five miles of pounding pavement through Crown Heights, the longest stretch of road we face all day. The dirt trails of Highland Park come as a welcome change, threading beneath the cemeteries that dominate the area’s green space. We shift between paved greenway and soft earth until the path opens to sweeping views over the Ridgewood Reservoir. From downtown Brooklyn to here, the distance becomes tangible; you feel just how far you’ve come when the city suddenly feels remote. The reprieve is brief. Soon, we’re dropping down stone staircases, cutting across athletic fields, and skirting the outer wall of Cypress Hills Cemetery.

We push out of Brooklyn and into Queens for the final four miles in Forest Park. It’s not long before we’re totally enclosed in woods in what is by far the most secluded section we’ve done all day. The dirt trails wind through hardwood forest and kettle ponds, a glimpse of the natural beauty New York might have kept if the city hadn’t sprung up around it. At this point, my lungs are burning and feet are aching, but the pacers urge us on to our destination, where food and cold drinks are waiting.

Running in New York City at times feels like being stranded in an urban jungle, cut off from nature and forced to retread the West Side Highways and Central Park Loops of the city where you know it’s safe to run without dodging traffic. But deep within Forest Park, I start wondering why it’s taken me this long to explore a swath of green I’ve stared at on my map countless times. Maybe those feelings of being stranded are, at least in part, self-imposed. Ben Morrow understands the challenge: “It's tough to live here… We put ourselves in this hard place, but then we come out stronger at the end. Living in New York City is hard. Running in New York City is harder. But I think it makes you tougher.”

Spirits are high at the finish line, lifted further by sliders, fruit salad, and cold cucumber noodles from Studio Bumi, with a Miler gear giveaway to boot. The atmosphere feels much like the end of a race day, except no one had to pay $300 or fundraise to join; it’s open, built for the community. For an ostensibly “free” hobby like running, entry fees for events like races can quickly add up. I was lucky enough to get into this year’s NYC Marathon through the lottery, and I paid no less than $315 for the privilege. Those costs are part of a larger truth about the sport: as running has surged in popularity, it’s also become increasingly commerc!ialized. You feel it in the price of races and gear, but also in the way brands sometimes hover at the edges of the scene, present in name more than in spirit. Free grassroots events stand out because they cut against that grain, reminding you that running isn’t something to consume, but something to experience together.

That’s the distinction Miler emphasizes. “Brands doing organized runs [need] to be cautious not to replace running clubs, or crews or coaches. So if we're doing an event, there needs to be a value add, something we are offering people… I just want any event we do to be something that either works with a running club or an individual that's in the community already, or we're bringing something brand new that has an educational or collaborative component to it.”

Building Community Through Running

In the weeks that followed, I joined a handful of other Miler events. I went to a Sunrise Trails run first, then a Vertical Finder run that was part of their Vertical Summer 100K Challenge with Point B Movement. The challenge asked runners to log 100,000 vertical feet in New York City between Memorial Day and Labor Day.

But Morrow isn't just planning challenging runs; he's also trying to make the trails better for everyone. I met up with him and a friend as they were clearing overgrowth on a lesser-used trail in Prospect Park one morning - a bit of maintenance they take on a couple times each summer when sections become choked with brush. He sees little value in adding just another group run to the mix, but instead wants to show runners that even in familiar parks, whole new routes are waiting to be uncovered. As he explained it, “The Dirt City events have this bigger mission, which is to develop trails in the city… I know these trails; I want to share them with other people. If we were just going to do the loop at Prospect Park, what are we doing that for?” Amid New York’s countless clubs and training groups, the value of that mission lies in deepening what the city already offers. And like so many things, when you invest into running, it has a way of giving something back.

Morrow and I find common ground in the way miles open people up to one another: “I feel like running with someone, the conversations are a bit easier. You're a bit more vulnerable with people. Maybe it's the endorphins. And there's the team dynamic; I'm very thankful for that too. Blood, sweat, and tears shared together, the sort of camaraderie that comes from that.”

If you’ve ever run with a group, you’ve probably felt that same sense of connection: the camaraderie built on shared effort, and the bond formed when you and someone else are equally out of breath. It shows up in big and small ways: when a person runs their first uninterrupted 5K, when a training partner helps you push through a wall, or when someone yells your name from the sidelines of a race. Behind those moments are the people who make them possible: the ones who volunteer to pace, who map out routes and show up early to lead, or who start new groups in towns or neighborhoods that don’t yet have them. These are the builders of running culture, investing their time and energy to make the sport more welcoming and accessible. Scroll past the TikToks of singles runs and the loudest detractors, and you’ll see them; the people who show up for each other, and in doing so, make the sport grow.

Running in a Post-Run Club World

Given the state of the world over the past five years, it’s no surprise we’re in the midst of a running boom that recalls the surge of the 1970s. What began as a pandemic pastime quickly proved itself more than a stopgap: running makes you healthier, yes, but it also offers an authentic way to connect with like-minded people. I haven’t been immune to the dwindling opportunities for social connection since COVID, and that’s why the benefits of group runs quickly went beyond just the physical. I started recognizing my fellow runners and new acquaintances out in the neighborhood, and even when my participation was less-than-consistent, I always got the sense that they were happy to see me whenever I returned. At a time when third spaces are dwindling and the platforms meant to connect us often leave us more fragmented, showing up to run feels less like a chore and more like a lifeline. The run keeps you coming back, and the people you meet make it worth staying.

There are plenty of people pounding the pavement for what some might deem the “wrong” reason. For many, every miserable mile is a punishing ritual to cleanse themselves of the calories they’ve eaten or are going to eat. For others, they’re desperate enough to meet someone beyond the apps that they’ll take up jogging so they can keep a decent conversational pace in their singles run club. Even some true believers might not log as many miles if there weren’t a Strava feed waiting for them at the end. For me, running started as a purely aesthetic pursuit, chasing the six-pack I thought it might give me across the city. But what I found running alongside others has been so much more valuable than trying to match some image of fitness: the community around me, a deeper sense of health, and the chance to see myself go further than I ever imagined a few years ago. Everyone arrives with their own reasons, fleeting or lasting, and the miles have a way of sorting them out. Many of those people will likely fade when the trend does. What endures is the smaller core: those who keep running, not for appearances, but because they’re in it for the long haul.