One Small Step by Paul Sinton-Hewitt
This is a story of a simple idea that turned into a global movement. This is the story of parkrun, told for the very first time from the man who started it all.
One Small Step by Paul Sinton-Hewitt
by Paul Sinton-Hewitt
This is a story of a simple idea that turned into a global movement. This is the story of parkrun, told for the very first time from the man who started it all.
Growing up in the brutal care system of South Africa, Paul Sinton-Hewitt had a lonely, difficult childhood. Yet he found solace in running – a simple pleasure that taught him resilience and offered a young boy a sense of self-worth.
With dogged determination, Paul built a stable family life for himself and eventually settled in the UK. But by 2004 he was struggling to hold it all together. He’d lost the successful career he’d worked so hard for, his marriage had broken down, and now a devastating injury threatened to cut him off from the running club which had been a lifeline.
In search of connection and purpose, Paul came up with a simple idea. He would start a weekly time trial run every Saturday morning in his local park. There would be no winners or losers, it would always be free and Paul would be there every week – even on Christmas Day – whether or not anyone else came. Little did he know that from just thirteen runners on that first Saturday, parkrun would grow into a 10 million strong community across five continents. Twenty years on parkrun continues to grow, bringing together people from all walks of life in search of health, happiness and community.
Filled with hope and optimism, One Small Step is a powerful affirmation of how coming together in simple ways can change our own lives and might even change the world.
Extract: One Small Step by Paul Sinton-Hewitt
In the same year that I invited runners to join me in Bushy Park one Saturday morning, Mark Zuckerburg had started the first online social network. Like Facebook, parkrun sought to connect people. It’s just we encouraged them to do so by getting out and being active.
It was a comparison that I often heard. At a time when we were striving to make it as simple as possible for people to start a parkrun in their community, however, I saw more similarities in another online phenomenon: Wikipedia.
Like parkrun, the free, collaborative online encyclopaedia was community driven. Founded by Jimmy Wales, a former options trader turned entrepreneur from Chicago, the resource was open to users who wished to create, edit and update their own entry. Wikipedia provided the tools for users to assemble a page on any subject under the sun, which was then monitored and maintained by a global community of volunteers.
With parkrun, we had built a very similar model. Anyone could start an event. We just supported them with the framework and resources they needed to get it up and running and then make it sustainable.
As events continued to spring up around the world at that time, from Poland to Ireland and an early foray into the USA, I was keen to share the passion for parkrun with one country in particular. Since starting my new life in the UK, South Africa had been through a transformation. With apartheid dismantled, a new society had emerged determined to learn lessons from the past and look to the future. At the same time, divisions remained. Economic equalities persisted, largely along racial lines. Having seen how parkrun could be a great leveller, bringing everyone together no matter what their background or circumstance, I felt strongly that it could be a force for good in the place I once called home.
I also knew exactly who possessed the passion, principles and drive to lead the way in delivering that dream.
I hadn’t spoken to Bruce Fordyce since the eighties, when I’d been part of his support team for the Comrades Marathon. As well as securing a reputation as one of the country’s most celebrated distance runners, Bruce had been a prominent anti- apartheid activist. He was a proud countryman who continued to use his platform to seek bridges across so many divides. In early 2011 when I heard that he was visiting the UK, primarily to give a talk at Reading University about his experiences as a nine-times Comrades winner, I decided that I should go along with a view to reintroducing myself. As a reflection of his role in running history, the theatre was packed. With Bruce in conversation about his career on stage, entertaining everyone on a Friday evening, I listened to amazing stories that brought back memories from my life as a young runner. It reminded me just what an influence this man had been in showing me how determination could pay off. Afterwards, as people pressed around Bruce in the bar for a chat or an autograph, I managed to catch his attention.
“I don’t know if you remember me?” I said somewhat awkwardly, aware that two decades had passed since our paths had last crossed. Bruce registered my introduction. He pause for a beat and then grinned.
“Paul!” he beamed, and turned my handshake into an embrace.
That evening, as we caught up on each other’s lives, Bruce listened with interest as I told him about my initial time trial that had turned into something much bigger than I had imagined. He hadn’t heard of parkrun, which was no surprise to me as post apartheid South Africa hadn’t fully shaken off its insular spirit, but when I talked about the impact on communities I knew I had his full attention. During his short trip to the UK, Bruce was staying with his sister who lived in London. When he told me he would be travelling back there that evening, I realised I might have an opportunity for Bruce to experience for himself what parkrun could offer.
Why don’t you join me in Bushy Park tomorrow morning at nine?” I suggested.
For a moment, I thought I might have trapped him into something he didn’t have time to do.
“I’d never turn down a chance to go for a run,” he said instead, and arranged to meet me there.
The next morning, as people began to congregate ahead of the start, I prepared myself for the possibility that he might not turn up. Bruce and his wife, Gill, had a busy agenda before flying home. When they both found me in the crowd, however, dressed in their running gear, I just knew that it was time to let the event take over.
Even in middle age, Bruce could still be a competitive runner. I half expected him to lead the way, and though he set a decent pace I could tell that he was more interested in the experience than achieving a target time.
On filing through the finishing tunnel, a little breathless but beaming, Bruce Fordyce understood why I had said this was not a race but a community gathering.
“You’re onto something!” he said on spotting me, and I knew he wasn’t just talking about the run but everything else that the event had to offer.
I watched him join the growing throng of finishers, people of every age and ability chatting happily, and felt quite sure that he had just taken the first step towards bringing parkrun to a country that could benefit from events in both cities and townships.
Later that year, Bruce and the team he had assembled launched South Africa’s first parkrun in Delta Park, Johannesburg. I had no doubt that the country’s strong running culture would embrace the concept, but Bruce went the extra mile in encouraging a diversity of participants. He focused on establishing events in economically deprived areas, and emphasised inclusion and health. In particular, Bruce welcomed walkers as much as runners. It meant people got involved who might otherwise have been deterred, and that took parkrun to another level in terms of activity for all. By 2013, parkrun had established 20 events nationwide. By 2020, that number would surpass 200, with up to seventy thousand people taking part each week. Thanks to the early efforts of Bruce Fordyce, and the values he has always represented, South Africa would become one of the largest parkrun communities outside the UK.