Motivation is one of the biggest struggles I face when it comes to staying consistent with my running, or honestly anything in life for that matter. This is especially true after an injury, when my body has grown a little too accustomed to not running—or, honestly, not moving much at all. (Yeah, I was REALLY lazy.) However, one thing that has helped me get back into a rhythm is the power of accountability through community.
What’s been most impactful is that this accountability isn’t based on shame or guilt. I often wonder if constant check-ins that lean toward shaming someone for not running actually help. While some playful nudges from close friends can be motivating, the strongest form of accountability I’ve experienced comes not from pressure but from witnessing the joy of running in others. Seeing that joy reminds me that it’s there for me too whenever I lace up my shoes. There’s no requirement to participate, no expectation that I need to be a “real” runner to be part of the club. Instead, it’s a passion that radiates from the community—a contagious energy that rekindles my own love for the sport.
This makes those check-ins feel less “shame-filled” and more of a true check-in on how I am actually doing. I know the check-in is less judgey and more their desire to see me claim that joy that they have.
This feeling first took root during what I consider my “adult return to running” in 2019. I had big ambitions for the new year, building off progress I’d made toward the end of 2018. I wanted to establish a consistent base, but at the time, I had no idea just how crucial a running community would be to that goal. Outside of my wife and a few friends who supported my running journey from a distance, I didn’t have a strong community—at least not in a physical sense.
That changed when I met Troy Unger, the manager of Midlothian’s Lucky Road Running Store, who encouraged me to join RaceTeamRVA to train for the Richmond 8K. At the time, I had no plans to race anything longer than a 10K. The idea of joining a structured training team felt overwhelming, especially with small kids at home—I didn’t want to take time away from my family. But my wife insisted I do it, knowing how much joy it would bring me.
And she was right.
This community didn’t just reignite my joy for running—it deepened it. For the first time, since high school, I had a group of people to not only run with but also to talk about running with (which, let’s be honest, my wife appreciated). They helped rebuild my confidence and challenged me to move beyond my self-imposed limits. What started as an 8K goal quickly shifted when my teammates encouraged me to take on the Richmond Half Marathon instead. They saw something in me that I wasn’t ready to acknowledge: I was more than capable.
For over a year, I stayed committed—not because anyone was badgering me but because I wanted to show up for my community. There was no pressure to hit a certain pace. No one shamed you for missing a run. Instead, the check-ins were genuine: How are you doing? How’s life? What’s been going on? Even when someone was injured, they were still encouraged to come out—whether to cheer, help at a water stop, or simply be part of the energy that makes a running community thrive.
This is the kind of accountability I strive to cultivate as a run club leader with Run Some Mo. It’s why I keep coming back to the idea that accountability, when done right, has the power to transform a fitness journey. Because at its core, accountability isn’t about pressure—it’s about connection.
The best run communities aren’t driven by competition or rigid expectations. They are at their strongest when success is defined by joy—the kind of joy that isn’t just about smiling through the miles but about knowing you belong, no matter your pace, distance, or ability.
And that’s the key: real accountability in a run club isn’t about pushing people to perform—it’s about fostering an environment where people want to show up. When the focus is on the shared journey rather than comparison, when every achievement (whether finishing a race or simply showing up for a run) is celebrated, accountability becomes a natural byproduct of the community itself.
So, how can run clubs cultivate this kind of accountability? Here are a few key ways:
Fostering a welcoming environment – Making sure every runner, no matter their experience level, feels like they belong.
Celebrating all progress – Recognizing effort, not just speed or distance.
Encouraging consistency over perfection – Supporting members even when they need time off.
Creating space for connection – Prioritizing relationships over results.
For me, run clubs have been a game-changer. They’ve helped me stay motivated, build friendships, and find joy in movement again. And I hope that if you’re looking for a reason to keep going, you’ll consider finding (or creating) a running community that does the same for you.
Because in the end, accountability isn’t about someone forcing you to run—it’s about finding people who remind you why you want to.




