In the annals of Good Gym history, last night’s gathering will likely stand out as one of those delightfully peculiar events where the unexpected becomes the norm. It was a Group Run, you see, except for the small matter that we didn’t actually run as a group. But, as with all things in life, it’s the little surprises that keep us on our toes—metaphorically speaking, of course.

The evening began with a plan: meet at the park, do some good, get a run in. Simple enough, you’d think. But as the day unfolded, a collective decision was made: Why run when you can meet directly at the destination? Perhaps it was the distance to the park, perhaps it was the lure of a more leisurely approach to our community efforts. Whatever the reason, the running shoes stayed curiously clean for most of us.

However, not everyone succumbed to this unorthodox notion of a non-run. Enter Ashley and Rupesh, our heroes of the evening, who took it upon themselves to uphold the sacred tradition of the Group Run. With a spirit that could warm the coldest of hearts, they laced up, hit the pavement, and ran from their homes to meet us at the park. Their effort was nothing short of commendable, the kind of commitment that deserves a standing ovation—if not a medal.

The rest of us, on the other hand, chose a path of less resistance, assembling at the park like a slightly underwhelming flash mob. And what a lovely park it was! As we gathered, the air was filled with the cheerful chatter of comrades who had collectively decided that tonight, the run could take a backseat to the task at hand.

The evening’s mission was accomplished with all the usual Good Gym gusto, albeit without the cardio component we typically associate with these events. litter pickers. in hand, we tackled the task with the same enthusiasm we usually reserve for a good sprint. The work was done in record time, perhaps motivated by the thought of the comforting, stationary journey home.

As we wrapped up, there was a shared sense of achievement—though whether it was from the good deeds or the successful evasion of a run, it was hard to say. We parted ways, some walking, some catching a ride, and Ashley and Rupesh, well, they ran. Again. True legends of the night.

So there you have it: a Group Run where we mostly didn’t, a task completed with smiles all around, and a reminder that even when plans go awry, the spirit of Good Gym remains gloriously intact. And, in the end, isn’t that what it’s all about?

and also a big shout out to Ashley on her first goodGym event.

from Jacqui.

Sally and I did our litterpick around the Moco museum. Modern, contemporary and digital art inside, but outside plenty of discarded Whisky bottles and cigarette packets to fill our bags with! 🚮

did mine at lunchtime today. Thanks again for listing this Paul Brown

Last weekend’s heavy rain will have led to high flows along the River Ravensbourne which in turn washes down litter from higher up stream; it was certainly evident in the tight flood plain in Brookmill Park. A full black bag’s worth was collected, much of it done under the watchful eye of one of the herons (just visible in the photo).

from Paul Salman

One sultry afternoon, when the sun blazed with the intensity of a toddler mid-tantrum, I decided that a stroll along Dollis Brook would be the perfect antidote. Of course, this wasn’t just any walk; it was a GoodGym litter-pick walk with my faithful companion, Gus, who I suspect secretly believed that he was not so much a dog as an honorary park ranger.

The Brook, in its charmingly modest way, was behaving itself quite well that day, displaying only the merest suggestion of rubbish in the usual suspects—benches and bushes, which seem to attract discarded snack wrappers like magnets attract, well, anything metallic. I was armed with my litter picker, a device that is best described as a T. rex arm on a stick, and I had the slightly smug satisfaction that comes with being prepared to do good. Gus, for his part, maintained his vigilant sniffing duties, which mostly involved scrutinizing the places where less civic-minded dogs had left their mark.

As I navigated the meandering path, I noticed a bright orange council van sidling up to one of the bins, the way a cat might stalk an unsuspecting mouse. Inside, a council worker—decked out in what appeared to be the official uniform of high-visibility gear and an air of mild resignation—was dutifully emptying the bins. I nodded approvingly at this sign of municipal upkeep, my litter-picker swooping down to snag an errant crisp packet that had made a bid for freedom in the breeze.

Then, to my mild surprise, the council worker headed directly towards me. For a brief, irrational moment, I wondered if there was some obscure bylaw against unsanctioned litter picking. But no—he beamed at me like I was some sort of civic hero. “Thank you for your litter picking,” he said, with all the warmth of someone who truly means it, as though I had single-handedly solved the borough’s rubbish problem. “Would you like some council bags?”

Naturally, I graciously accepted, trying to convey through my expression that yes, I was exactly the sort of person who not only wanted council bags but also knew exactly what to do with them. It was the sort of small victory that adds a surprising amount of satisfaction to a day.

As I continued on my walk, council bag in tow, something remarkable happened. People—a surprising number of them—began to acknowledge my efforts. “Thank you for what you’re doing!” they’d call out, as though I were a one-person anti-litter brigade. It was immensely gratifying, though slightly puzzling. I mean, all I was doing was picking up rubbish. It wasn’t as though I was rescuing kittens from trees or single-handedly solving the climate crisis.

With my bag increasingly heavier and my spirits proportionately lighter, I made my way towards a nearby bin where I left my satisfyingly full sack of collected litter, neatly tied like a Christmas gift for the sanitation department. I felt an odd sense of accomplishment as though I had performed some small but significant service for the community.

Not one to let an opportunity pass, I even took advantage of the local exercise machines along the way, which is essentially gym equipment re-imagined by someone who has never actually been to a gym. I gave them a go, feeling thoroughly virtuous and a bit like a child on a playground, which, to be honest, was no bad thing.

By the end of the walk, Gus and I were both suitably entertained and I, at least, felt quietly heroic in that way one does after making even a modest contribution to the public good. I imagined that the council worker would drive by later, spot the neatly tied bag, and think to himself, “Ah, the work of a true professional.”

As for Gus, he was far more interested in finding the next promising scent, but I like to think that, in his own way, he was as pleased with our good deed as I was. It was a good walk, a good litter pick, and, as a result, a thoroughly satisfying day.