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It’s a vehicle. A catalyst. An equaliser. The closest thing we have to a universal language. It’s a way for people from completely different worlds to move in the same direction, together.
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Unlike most sports, running doesn't demand any superstar talent, athletic skill, or years of practice. There's no need for expensive gear, try-outs, or approval from anyone – and running doesn't care if you're fast, fancy, or lucky last.
The beauty of running is that the barrier to entry is basically zero – one step and you're doing it. It's this simplicity that makes running one of the most accessible sports out there – a space where anyone, from any background, can show up and instantly belong.
As the founder of Sydney's Coogee Run Club, I've always believed that running has a quiet kind of power. Not the power of PBs or podium places, but the kind that shows up alongside strangers before sunrise.
Since launching in 2022, I've watched shy newcomers become regulars, beginners grow into marathoners, and friendships turn into family. I've seen firsthand how kilometres shared have a way of softening edges and shrinking distances between people who might never have met.
And the more time I spend in this world, the clearer it becomes: running isn't just a sport. It's a vehicle. A catalyst. An equaliser. The closest thing we have to a universal language. It's a way for people from completely different worlds to move in the same direction, together.
Because running isn't just accessible – it's a sport actively reshaping who gets to feel welcome from the very start.
So, I went looking for the people who aren't just crossing finish lines but quietly shifting the start line for others – and what I found was a movement built on courage, culture, identity and a shared desire to belong.
The start line isn't the same for everyone
Take Jasmine Al-Zoubi, a young Muslim woman from Western Sydney, who faced hurdles before she even laced up.
"I didn't grow up with the notion that heading out the door for a run was normal," the 27-year-old tells me. "My family didn't do it, and neither did the people around me in my community."
When she finally went for her first run, her mum got a worried call from a friend asking why Jasmine "was running through the streets."
The barriers didn't stop there. Running alone while navigating what it means to move in a hijab is a challenge on its own.
"Trying to partake in any sport whilst maintaining modesty – which I personally value as does my religion – can be difficult," she explains.
Turning isolation into impact
It wasn't until Jasmine started training for her first marathon in 2023 that the gap in Sydney's running scene hit her.
"I started attending run clubs, which honestly felt extremely intimidating," she says. "Putting myself out there was scary and the fear of judgement was almost crippling, and it wasn't lost on me that I was the only person there who was visibly Muslim, wearing the hijab. To me, that meant either Muslims weren't running or they weren't partaking in Sydney's running community, and both of these possibilities felt like such a shame."
Run clubs were popping up everywhere, but none felt like home – and that spark lit a fuse.
Two years later, Jasmine and Nina Ajaj, a fellow Muslim woman from Western Sydney, turned that spark into the Sydney Muslim Run Club (SMRC) – a space "within the community and for the community." More than 250 runners showed up to the first event.
"People came from all over Sydney and beyond to take part, people from all different age groups, different backgrounds, different abilities, and different walks of life," she says. "It gives me goosebumps when I think about it to be honest."
Soon after, she was named a Community Ambassador for the 2025 TCS Sydney Marathon, alongside Nina. From day one, the SMRC wasn't going to be just another club.
"It was going to be a catalyst for change," Jasmine says. "It was going to give Muslims a safe space to move, to grow, to come together, and to explore what they're capable of – and more importantly, it was going to break down barriers in Sydney and unite people who had no reason to be apart in the first place."
The power of a safe space
A year on, Jasmine says the club has normalised running in a hijab and modest clothing – even on the hottest days.
"It's more than running," she explains. "This club has become a place of healing. A safe space where our runners can build their identities, push their limits and find themselves. To me, that's the most beautiful thing about the SMRC."
Leading the club has also helped Jasmine find herself too – her voice, her confidence, her people, her sense of belonging. And she hopes it helps the wider community understand them.
"Muslim women in sport isn't new," she says. "We've always existed. What's different now is that we finally have spaces to show up in a hijab, run the same distances, race alongside anyone else, and do it with the same drive – without shrinking to fit someone else's idea of what an athlete should look like.
"With the SMRC, I see it run after run: our women are strong, disciplined, committed, and deeply motivated. Society has long assumed we need 'empowering' from the outside, or that sport isn't for us. But the truth is that Muslim women empower themselves the moment the environment is safe enough.
"What I hope is that the wider Australian community meets us where we are – with open minds, open arms, and a willingness to let go of outdated stereotypes that never reflected who we were in the first place."
The struggle to fit in
Growing up in Far North Queensland as a queer man who hadn't come out yet, Ben Vincent struggled to feel welcome anywhere.
"The sports I played were very 'blokey'," he says. "And I didn't want my mates to find out or not be ok with playing with someone who identified as gay."
When he first stepped into the running scene seven years ago, finding a club where he could simply show up as himself wasn't easy either.
"At the start it was a little daunting," Ben explains. "I wanted to meet new people and get out more, but a lot of clubs back then were all about intensity and race times. It's also hard to break into a group where everyone already has their own connections."
That challenge was amplified by the world he was trying to leave behind.
"Most of my friends at the time were more about the party scene," Ben says. "Trying to break that mould and find something that would better myself was tough."
Running became his way out – a space to meet people who wanted more from their life, no matter their sexual orientation.
Running without judgement
It wasn't until Ben was living in Sydney that he found his people – and his purpose – at the Kings Cross Track Club (KXTC) four years ago.
"Coming into KXTC was a completely different experience in that anyone and everyone was welcome," the now 37-year-old says. "From the first session I felt included, and that energy is what drives me to give back to the community now."
The club offers something for everyone – social runs, track sessions, long runs, monthly trail runs – and that flexibility is what makes people feel they truly belong.
For Ben, it wasn't just about running; it was about finding a space where he could be himself without fear of judgement, in a city and a sport that hadn't always been easy for queer athletes.
That sense of growth and belonging turned into leadership at KXTC, before Ben was selected as one of the inaugural Community Ambassadors for the TCS Sydney Marathon.
He also represented the TCS Sydney Marathon at last year's Pride in Sport Summit, a "pinch-me" moment where his love for running and commitment to inclusion converged.
"Seeing someone confidently live their identity as a queer leader helps everyone else relax into who they are," Ben says. "Being gay doesn't define me – my actions do, and I want anyone who joins KXTC to feel that same freedom."
Working for change
Ben is also clear that the work isn't done.
"We need to keep building spaces where everyone feels welcome – to run whenever, wherever, and however they choose," he says.
He highlights the gaps that still exist for Trans and non-binary runners, who often feel excluded or overlooked in events. "Being advocates for those whose voices aren't yet heard is vital," he adds.
As a gay man who once struggled to find his place in mainstream sport, Ben says inclusion isn't a one-off effort – it's an ongoing mission to make the running community a place where everyone, no matter their identity, can truly belong.
Running against the odds
Someone who hasn't let the impossible stop him is Nils van der Werf, a 33-year-old who was born with cerebral palsy.
"I have left-side hemiplegia and spasticity, which means the muscles on my left side are tighter and weaker, and they cramp more easily," he explains.
"Day to day it's manageable, but it influences how I run and approach training," he says.
Nils discovered running at 12 in his hometown of Armidale in the NSW Northern Tablelands, racing the Campus City Canter 5K. "I crossed the line in about 35 minutes, absolutely wrecked, but something about it clicked for me," he recalls.
"I went back the next year after leg surgery and took three minutes off, then broke 30 minutes the year after that. Chasing those PBs, and feeling part of something bigger, really hooked me."
From parkruns to full marathons, distances just kept growing but Nils' journey has been about more than times and kilometres – it's been about discovering what he can do.
"What started as a small town fun run ended up becoming one of the most consistent threads in my life."
Strength in stride
Balancing the differences between his left and right side is Nils' biggest physical challenge.
"My left leg fatigues faster on long runs, so my right leg has to compensate more as the race goes on," he explains. "I manage it with strength work, stretching, and pacing early so I don't overload one side."
But for Nils, the harder battle isn't always in his body – it's how people see it. He says athletes with disabilities are often underestimated and boxed into assumptions about fragility or limitation.
"There's this idea that we shouldn't push ourselves, but the Paralympics proves the opposite," he says. "Athletes with disabilities can be incredibly strong, fast and competitive. In plenty of sports, they outperform able-bodied athletes. Disability doesn't define your ceiling."
With five marathons under his belt – including the 2025 TCS London Marathon – Nils has proved that perseverance and strategy can turn limits into milestones.
For young people growing up with cerebral palsy, Nils hopes his journey offers something simple but powerful: permission to dream big. "It's okay to be different," he says. "Everyone has something they're working through. You don't need people to feel sorry for you, and your goals are just as valid as anyone else's. With patience and confidence, you can still achieve amazing things."
Belonging and empowerment
Beyond the finish lines and PBs, Nils says running keeps him grounded and clears his head after long hours at a desk.
"On tough days, I remind myself that running is the one space where my body and mind feel fully switched on," he explains. "Even on the hardest moments of a race, that feeling of moving forward – literally and mentally – is what keeps me coming back.
But it's not just about movement. It's about connection.
"Being part of the Sydney running community has changed me in ways I didn't expect," Nils says. "People recognise the challenges I work with, but they also see the effort – and that respect has really shaped my confidence. I've been welcomed into so many groups with so much warmth and genuine kindness. It's given me a real sense of belonging, and I genuinely feel like I fit."
Running has also become a source of independence and empowerment. "Week after week, it shows me that I can push past limits I once thought were fixed," says Nils. "And if I can keep showing up on the tough days, it reminds me I can do hard things in every other part of life too."
Changing the game together
Every time I lace up with the Coogee Run Club, I'm reminded that running is at its best when everyone has a place in the pack.
If there's one thing I hope people take away from Jasmine's, Ben's and Nils' stories, it's this: inclusion isn't a concept – it's a practice. It's showing up, making space and choosing community again and again.
Running doesn't ask for perfection. It's simple, it's open, and it's one of the most powerful tools we have to shape a bolder, fairer sporting world.
Kilometre by kilometre. Stride by stride. Story by story – the game is changing. And the best part? We're the ones leading it.
Looking for more? Check out rebel RUN and level up your running game.
