Seven intrepid goodgymmers braved the heatwave to lend a hand at the German Church to help the prepare for their Sommerfest.

Whilst gathering before the task we were treated to a little history lesson, learning that the post box on the street was one of only two in existence to have Edward VIII engraved on it.

We were then guided through the church to a surprisingly large and tranquil garden, a real oasis in the city. This is were Sommerfest takes place and were we given the task of clearing as much foliage as possible to make way for the guests. We soldiered on in the heat and were quickly able to see the difference!

Well done to everyone, the church volunteers were so pleased with the progress! Here's hoping the Sommerfest went well.

This week, we were back at Everton Park and quickly split into two groups. Thanks Miriam and Aatefa for the two reports!

Litterpicking

Myself, Jo, Lucien, Craig and Clara went off to do the litterpicking at the bottom of the park. Apparently this stretch of the park is where fans from all over the world walk through from the city centre to get to Anfield so it has to look presentable to showcase Liverpool. The litter was prolific. Mostly sweet wrappers and plastic bags and lots of bottles but reward for unusual find goes to Jo who found a plastic elephant, she also found a birds nest and a clothing wrack. In an hour we collected eight sack fulls of rubbish. We took them to the community skip. On the way back to the gardens we saw a brightly painted skate park and a newly opened kids parked. It’s easy to see what a rich community Everton is and we felt glad to be able to contribute.

The Verdant Verdict: A Chronicle of Ten GoodGymers in Everton

In the heart of Everton, where the city's pulse beats a steady rhythm against the hum of nature, a fellowship of ten gathered as the day began its gentle descent into dusk. They were the GoodGymers, a modern-day band of heroes whose strength was not measured in muscle alone, but in the collective will to cultivate community. Their destination was the Everton Community Garden, a cherished green sanctuary that had called upon their aid. And as the sun cast its final, golden rays upon the garden's entrance, casting long, dancing shadows across the earth, the ten assembled, each having answered the call in their own noble fashion.

For some, the journey was a quiet pilgrimage through the amber-lit streets, their footsteps soft upon the pavement as they walked with thoughtful purpose through the cooling evening air. For others, it was a pedal-powered odyssey, wheels turning in rhythm with the city's gentle twilight hum. And for two among their number, it was a spirited run, a rhythmic pounding of trainers against the tarmac as they made their way from Suitcases, that beloved landmark upon Hope Street, their breath keeping time with Liverpool's own steady pulse, until they arrived at the verdant embrace of Everton Park just as the evening began to unfurl its velvet cloak. Yet, regardless of the path each had trodden, they all converged as one, a tapestry of diverse faces, ten unique stories, united by a singular and noble purpose. Each arrival was met with warmth, for every journey, whether by foot, by wheel, or by run, was a gift of time and energy freely offered to the community they cherished, offered not in the brightness of morning, but in the quiet generosity of an evening given to service.

The air was thick with the scent of damp earth and the promise of an evening's noble toil. The cool breeze carried whispers of the day's fading warmth, and the garden seemed to sigh with anticipation. The session commenced not with the clang of a bell, but with the welcoming words of the Run leader, his voice carrying gently through the twilight. A special warmth filled the air as Hasan was introduced, a bright new star in their constellation of volunteers. His first session was marked by a chorus of greetings, a genuine embrace from the entire group, officially welcoming him into the fold. Every member, whether they had walked, cycled, or run to be there, offered him a beaming smile and a hand of friendship, for they knew that the strength of their fellowship lay not in how they arrived, but in the fact that they had arrived at all, sacrificing their evening hours for a cause greater than themselves.

With the pleasantries exchanged, the tone turned to one of thoughtful preparation. A comprehensive safety briefing was delivered, its words carefully chosen and heeded, outlining the careful choreography of the evening's activities. The group listened with intent, ten pairs of eyes fixed upon their leader in the fading light, understanding that the true essence of their work lay not in reckless haste, but in mindful and considered effort, especially as the evening shadows grew longer. The plan was set: a two-pronged assault on the garden's ills, with the ultimate goal of restoring its inherent grace before nightfall claimed the sky.

The fellowship was then cleaved into two groups of five, each embarking on a distinct quest, and each member, whether they had arrived on foot, on two wheels, or on two swift legs, was entrusted with a role of equal importance.

The first quintet, armed with grabbers and bin bags, began their meticulous sweep beneath the amber sky. They were the "Litter Knights," banishing the forgotten wrappers and stray detritus that had dared to mar the garden's beauty. Their work was a silent conversation with the earth, a reclaiming of its purity as the daylight slowly surrendered to dusk. Every piece of litter collected was a small victory, and every member of this group, be they walker, cyclist, or runner, contributed with equal diligence and pride, their efforts illuminated by the soft glow of the setting sun.

Simultaneously, the second group of five, equipped with sturdy tools and unwavering resolve, turned their attention to a grander task. They ventured into the adjacent areas of Everton, not to fell, but to liberate. Their mission was to clear the space around "Chree Trees," a term that seemed to hum with the spirit of the old Everton, ensuring these leafy sentinels could breathe freely and stand tall against the urban sprawl. With each branch cleared and each weed uprooted, they restored dignity to the ancient trees, their silhouettes stark and beautiful against the evening sky. Every member of this group, whether they had arrived by foot, by cycle, or by run, worked with equal passion and strength, their labour a quiet offering to the encroaching night.

And so, for a time, the symphony of labour played on as the evening deepened around them: the whisper of leaves as branches were cleared, the soft clink of litter meeting its metal container, the steady breath of the runners now restored, the gentle hum of conversation, and the shared camaraderie of a team working in perfect harmony against the fading light. Each member, regardless of how they had arrived, found their place in this beautiful orchestra of effort. The journey from Suitcases, the stroll from nearby streets, the cycle from distant corners, all became threads in a single tapestry of community spirit, each thread equally vital to the whole, woven together as the stars began to peek through the darkening canopy above.

As the evening sky deepened into a canvas of indigo and the first stars began to twinkle, the two groups concluded their respective campaigns. Their work was a resounding success. The littered pathways were once again pristine, and the areas around the ancient trees were cleared, allowing the moonlight to soon dapple the ground in silver patterns. The garden and its surrounding spaces now breathed a sigh of relief, their innate beauty coaxed back to the surface by the gentle hands of their caretakers, even as darkness settled around them. And every single member, walker, cyclist, and runner alike, could look upon the transformation and know that their contribution, however great or small, had been indispensable.

The final, glorious act of the evening was the reunion. Both groups, their spirits high and their work complete, converged once more in the heart of the Everton Community Garden, now bathed in the soft glow of street lamps and the gentle light of a rising moon. They stood together, a fellowship of ten, surveying their handiwork, a transformed landscape that stood as a testament to what a community can achieve when every member gives their all, even as the day gives way to night. No distinction was made between those who had walked, those who had cycled, or those who had run; all were celebrated equally, for each had brought their own unique gift to the evening. With farewells exchanged beneath the stars, promises to return, and hearts overflowing with quiet pride, each member began their journey home, the walkers strolling with satisfied steps through the lamplit streets, the cyclists pedalling with renewed vigour into the cool night air, and the two runners turning back towards Suitcases on Hope Street, their legs carrying them home through the darkened city with the sweet fatigue of an evening well spent. But whether they travelled by foot, by wheel, or by run, they all carried with them the same treasure: the joy of service, the warmth of fellowship, and the quiet satisfaction of a job beautifully done under the watchful gaze of the evening sky.

In that moment of collective reflection, surrounded by the fruits of their labour and the gentle hush of night, one thing was clear:

It was a truly tree-mendous effort.

Clara and I met at Mrs D’s and established that the front garden was overgrown with grass and weeds. It was difficult to open the front gate and there was no clear path to the front door. We reckoned that we could clear most of it by hand but we had a spade and a strimmer at our disposal. It was slightly cooler than it has been these past few weeks which we were glad for because this was hot work. The green bins were practically full so Mrs D showed us where we could compost the trimmings in her back yard, next to where she had buried the budgie the week before. While we carried out the task Mrs D bought us some ice cream and soft drinks, it was really appreciated. I said to Clara ‘we can see the flags now’ and we had a chat about the term flags (short for flagstones) and whether it was a southern or northern thing, when I first moved to Liverpool I heard people saying, ‘it’s cracking the flags’ meaning it was hot and the heat was cracking the flagstones. I’d never heard the phrase before and thought they were talking about waving flags because it was so hot! I think the pictures that Clara took of before and after really speak for themselves, it was such a satisfying task and Mrs D’s friend commented that it would be easier to get to the front door. Mrs D was really delighted, we really feel that the work made a big impact on her well being. It gave her peace of mind that the front was presentable and she could access her front door with ease. We treated ourselves to crisps and pop in the park before our next mission.

The last week has been hot. Really hot. Heatwave, national heat alert hot. It has sapped the energy of even the most sun-loving people. As the weekend arrived, the temperature finally dropped to something that felt like a proper summer's day, and six of us joined the team from the Friends of Festival Gardens.

Our mission was to uncover the established shrubs that had become smothered and choked by bindweed, with a scattering of nettles and brambles adding to the challenge.

When we arrived, we were faced with a towering mass of greenery, dotted with delicate white bindweed flowers. As we started to pull it away, we discovered why it's so aptly named. The bindweed had wrapped itself tightly, and repeatedly, around the existing shrubs, making it a slow but satisfying job to release them. Gradually, a variety of shrubs and even sections of the pathways began to reappear.

This area, beside the impressive pagoda, forms part of the Chinese Garden within the park. Today we worked together to uncover the garden once again and allow it to breathe.

There's always something special about working alongside the Friends of Festival Gardens. They're a hardworking group who are always welcoming to new members and make Goodgym feel right at home. Together we spent two hours freeing the plants from the choking effects of the bindweed, helping to reveal the beauty of the garden beneath.

Congratulations to Leo, who completed his 30th Goodgym task today!

What better way to spend a Sunday morning than volunteering together with the Friends of Festival Gardens? The temperature may still have been hot, and we’d all worked up a sweat but it was a pretty cool way to spend a summer Sunday morning.

Six GoodGymers brightened Princes Park on Saturday morning, joining the parkrun community for a dose of fresh air, friendly faces, and plenty of positive energy.

While some were running, others were cheering, chatting, and helping create the welcoming atmosphere that makes parkrun such a special event. Our red shirts were once again highly visible around the park, demonstrating that GoodGym is not just about getting active but also about building connections and spreading positivity wherever we go. The visibility certainly seemed to pay off. Two women approached us during the morning to find out more about GoodGym. It was wonderful to share what we do and how running can be a force for good. Hopefully, we've helped a few new friendships get off to a running start.

With parkrun complete and appetites gathering pace, we split into two groups and made our way towards Squash. After all, while we may enjoy chasing personal bests, there comes a point when breakfast becomes the real finish line. At Squash, we quickly got down to the important business of collecting stickers and, perhaps even more importantly, squashing our hunger. Hot drinks appeared, breakfasts arrived, and conversations flowed as freely as the coffee.

As always, the real magic of these mornings wasn't measured in kilometres or finish times. It was found in the laughter around the table, the stories shared between friends, and the simple pleasure of spending time together. Because, as we were gently reminded, community is built not only through organised activities but also through moments of connection.

From Princes Park to Squash, the morning was packed with smiles, community spirit, and plenty of food for thought. It was a reminder that every time GoodGym turns up, we don't just make tracks around the park, we leave a positive footprint in the community too. Here's to many more mornings of running, chatting, sticker collecting, and proving that the shortest distance between strangers is often a friendly conversation.

On a beautiful summer Monday evening, GoodGym Liverpool once again answered the call of the Friends of Princes Park.

Twelve GoodGymers volunteered for the task. One by one, we gathered along the park's main avenue near the Friends of Princes Park building. The evening carried the gentle warmth of summer, and the park seemed to be waiting for us. After a few minutes, we were welcomed by Katie and Laura, from the Friends of Princes Park group.

Liam, our task leader for the evening, gathered us together for a safety briefing and outlined the mission ahead. Beside him stood two wheelbarrows laden with gardening tools, impatient soldiers waiting to be deployed. The moment Liam finished speaking, the wheelbarrows rolled into action and our small expedition set off.

Liam and Sophie led the way while the rest of us followed, chatting as we walked through the park. Along the route, a small comedy unfolded. Bekah, believing Leo was still somewhere behind us, thoughtfully sent him the location pin and tagged him in the group chat. Moments later, Leo appeared in a selfie with the group, having already caught up.

Our destination was a quiet corner of the park, tucked away from the main lake and resting beside a beautiful pond. It was one of those hidden places where the world seems to slow down, allowing nature to speak in its own language.

Before I had even decided where to begin, everyone was already hard at work.

One team cleared grass from the roadside and used the removed turf to repair a waterlogged area nearby, transforming it into a neat and orderly patch that looked freshly planted. Another team trimmed grass and vegetation growing along the retaining wall. Several friends were amazed by how quickly everything had grown. Nature, it seemed, had been busy while we were away.

Others gathered and removed the cuttings, ensuring the site remained tidy. Everyone worked in harmony, each person contributing their own small part to a larger achievement.

Yet the loudest activity of the evening was not gardening.

It was sneezing.

The pollen season had arrived in full force, and before long an unexpected symphony filled the air. Sneezes echoed from every corner of the work site, one answering another in almost perfect rhythm. It was a concert unlike any other, performed without rehearsal and entirely free of charge.

If someone had opened a nearby tissue stand, they might have retired by sunset.

Then, suddenly, the symphony stopped.

"Frog!"

Bekah and Tsitsi had spotted a frog that had fallen from the retaining wall and was desperately attempting to climb back up. Again and again, it tried, as though the word surrender simply did not exist in its vocabulary.

The determined amphibian continued its struggle until Naser decided to intervene.

Armed with a shovel and perhaps more confidence than expertise in frog transportation, he gently launched the frog several metres into the grass. To everyone's surprise, he did not aim for the pond as expected.

The frog experienced what was likely the longest jump of its life. Perhaps it broke a personal record. Perhaps it is still telling the story to its descendants. Either way, I doubt it will forget the experience anytime soon.

Then, far sooner than anyone wished, the announcement came.

"Time's up."

What a strange thing time is.

In ordinary life, people count the minutes until work ends. Yet here, among friends, nobody wanted the evening to finish. Everyone wished for a little more time, another conversation, another laugh, another shared task.

When people truly enjoy being together, time loses its meaning.

The tools were packed away; a group photograph was taken and then came a surprise announcement.

It was Sallyann’s birthday.

Not simply a birthday.

Her sixtieth birthday.

They had arranged a small celebration, and suddenly the evening became about something much greater than gardening.

Some people may think these weekly tasks and reports are repetitive.

They are mistaken.

GoodGym is not merely a running club that volunteers. It is a place where people practice community. A place where exercise becomes friendship, where volunteering becomes belonging, and where strangers slowly become fellow travellers.

Each of us joined for our own reasons. Some came to run. Some came to help. Some came searching for company. Yet over time, something deeper develops. Empathy. Trust. Kindness. Friendship.

Shared goals bring people together.

People give those goals meaning.

That truth became beautifully visible during Sallyann's celebration.

Bekah led the presentation of gifts. Many had been carefully Organised by friends both present and absent. Behind the scenes, people like Heetu, Bekah, Miriam and others had quietly spent time planning this moment.

As Sallyann opened each gift and read each message, she tried her best to remain composed.

Above us, the sky was heavy with clouds.

It wanted to rain.

Yet somehow it waited.

Message after message, memory after memory, gratitude after gratitude. Each word touched her heart a little more deeply.

Eventually, the clouds no longer needed to rain.

Sallyann's eyes did it for them.

The first tears appeared.

Not tears of sadness.

Tears of belonging.

Tears of gratitude.

Tears that only appear when a person feels truly seen and truly loved.

It was a beautiful sight.

A group of people from different countries, backgrounds, professions and cultures had gathered to celebrate one person who had touched so many lives. Sallyann had lived through countless moments over sixty years, yet this simple gathering of friends carried a magic all its own.

As Sally later reflected:

"I joined GoodGym because I wanted to make a difference. I don't think I had any idea of the difference it would make to me, or how important it and everyone within it would become. It truly is a group that supports, helps and makes a difference. When I say that, I don't mean only the wonderful things we achieve with spades, shovels, shears, litter pickers and paintbrushes. I mean within my life, my heart and my soul. Thank you so much for being part of my life."

Those words captured something many of us already knew but perhaps had never fully expressed.

We often hear that teamwork, volunteering and shared goals create belonging, reduce loneliness and strengthen communities.

But how do we measure success?

Not in kilometres run.

Not in flowerbeds restored.

Not in volunteer hours recorded.

The true measure of success was that moment.

The moment Sallyann cried.

Tears are often the most private possessions a person has. They emerge only when something reaches the deepest places of the heart.

Those tears revealed that over the years, through leaders and members like Sallyann, GoodGym has become more than a group.

It has become a family.

In an age when so many voices preach division, communities like GoodGym quietly build unity. While others draw lines between people, groups like this build bridges across them.

Charities, community groups and organisations like GoodGym are beacons in a fragmented world. They remind us that kindness remains stronger than indifference and that belonging remains stronger than isolation.

Happy Birthday, Sallyann.

Thank you for being exactly who you are.

Thank you for reminding us of what community looks like.

May your eyes shed tears only for joy.

And may we all be fortunate enough to celebrate your hundredth birthday together.