“I’m just doing 10K,” “I run for fun,”and the other lies runners tell the most

In running, certain phrases come back with metronomic regularity. They roll off the tongue effortlessly, without much thought. Simple, reassuring lines — sometimes even sincere in the moment. And yet, they almost always turn out to be untrue. Not because runners are dishonest, but because of excessive optimism, a deep love for the sport, or that peculiar ability runners have to rewrite reality as the miles tick by.

| “I’m just doing 10K”

The queen. The undefeated champion. Announced as a formality, this phrase almost never leads to a truly sensible run. Ten kilometers sounds clean, controlled, perfectly reasonable. The ideal distance to loosen up the legs without overcommitting. Except the word “just” evaporates within the first few minutes. The pace settles. The feeling kicks in. The legs respond. A detour appears. A final kilometer “a bit quicker” sneaks in. And suddenly, 10K becomes 11 — sometimes 12 — always followed by a casual “felt good today.”

| “Easy run”

On paper, everything suggests calm and restraint. In reality, the word “easy” has a very personal definition. For some, it means relaxed. For others, steady. For others still, suspiciously close to half-marathon pace. The easy run often turns into a disguised workout. Unplanned. Unacknowledged. But very real. And Strava, merciless as ever, is there to remind everyone that “easy” is a relative concept.

| “I’ll start easy”

This sentence is usually born within the first two minutes of the run — when everything feels effortless. Breathing is smooth. Legs are light. Optimism is overflowing. Starting easy says nothing about how it ends. The pace shifts. The environment plays its part. Another runner passes by. The body reacts. And without even noticing, easy has quietly changed tempo.

| “I’ll see how I feel”

Another classic. Behind this phrase lies total freedom: a run with no strict structure, entirely guided by sensation. And sensations, when they’re good, have never encouraged restraint. The body decides. The ego follows. The watch observes in silence. Rarely does this line lead to genuine moderation.

| “I run for fun”

Probably one of the most honest — and most ambiguous — statements of all. Yes, there is pleasure. But it often comes mixed with other ingredients: the urge to go a little faster, to compare, to check average pace, to glance at the Strava rankings. Running for fun doesn’t mean running without focus — or without ambition.

| “No goal today”

Said before the run. Rarely confirmed afterward. Without an official objective, the body tends to invent one. A pace to hold. A hill to attack. A final mile to send. The absence of a goal becomes an excuse to improvise — and improvisation in running often rhymes with intensity.

| “I know the route”

A dangerous sentence.

Knowing the course breeds confidence — too much of it. You anticipate. You surge earlier. You underestimate the climbs. You forget that fatigue changes everything. The route stays the same. The runner does not.

| “I’ll stop at 45 minutes”

Time behaves strangely when running. One extra minute feels insignificant. Then two. Then five. The loop is almost complete — might as well finish it. The brain negotiates. The legs agree. And the planned stop quietly slides away.

| Why do these phrases lie so often?

Because they reflect a simple truth: running rarely unfolds as planned. It adapts. It drifts. It spills over. And that’s precisely why it’s so addictive. These phrases aren’t so much lies as intentions — honest ones, just overly optimistic. The body, the environment, and the mood of the day take care of the rest.

In the end, these small compromises are part of the game. They tell the story of a sport that’s lived more than programmed. A sport where you announce beforehand — and discover along the way. And if these phrases lie so often, maybe it’s because running, ultimately, never fully sticks to the script written in advance.

Dorian VUILLET
Journalist