3 min readI love a good race day photo. Ever since I crossed my first marathon finish line in 2016, when the photographers captured me in my full Keira-D’Amato-victory-arms glory, I’ve loved hamming it up on the course and, better yet, being surprised by the grittier moments captured when I was wasn’t even aware a camera was focusing on me (yes, even when it’s a down step).
Lately, though, I’ve been frustrated by the number of runners hyperfocused on shooting their own content during increasingly crowded races. If you’re actively filming yourself—arm outstretched and angled down, narrating your mile splits like a sweaty David Attenborough—I’m going to politely ask you to put your freaking phone down before you take out another runner.
Courses are hosting record-breaking numbers of runners: 55,000 spots are available for this summer’s Peachtree 10K; nearly 28,500 runners finished last weekend’s Brooklyn Half Marathon; and the 2025 London Marathon saw a record-breaking 56,640 finishers. These events are designed to be a collective experience, one that celebrates community alongside individual grit. They’re not meant to be a backdrop for your personal vlog. When you’re filming yourself in the middle of a race, you’re shifting the focus from the shared to the solo.
At best, it’s selfish and disruptive. It also raises issues of consent; while races are public events and people can’t have a strong expectation of privacy, that doesn’t mean they necessarily want to be part of someone else’s content (especially if that footage is being monetized).
At worst, it’s a safety issue. Ever tried dodging a TikToker who decided to record a “just hit mile 10!” update? There’s already a lot to navigate—hydration station detritus, pace group packs, banana peels —and swerving around someone’s selfie arm like Ariana Grande dodging a Victoria’s Secret Angel’s wing, which I found myself doing multiple times in this year’s Boston 5K, is frustrating and potentially injury-inducing. Stopping short or abruptly pivoting at race pace never did an ankle any favors.
I get the urge to document an exciting and challenging achievement. Running is more visible than ever. Social platforms have given amateur athletes a way to amplify their individual experience—and that’s not inherently bad. Influencer storytelling is partly why these races have grown to such sizes.
If you’re going to whip your phone out, though, you better be aware of your surroundings and intentional about how you’re filming so you’re not prioritizing your content over other runners’ comfort or space.
But when you’re performing for the camera, are you really even present? The point of running a race isn’t to capture how good you look doing it. It’s to do it. I’m not going to judge anyone for a quick snap waiting at the starting line photo or a short finish line recap while wrapped in your foil blanket. Instead of disrupting other runners in the moment so you can relive your experience after the fact, consider keeping your phone in your pocket and soaking up the magic of race day in real time.
The best moments—those pain cave breakthroughs, that stranger who high-fived you at mile 18, the way your legs nearly forgot how to work as you approached the finish line—rarely translate on camera. They’re visceral. They’re meant to be felt, not filtered.
