Pubrun: A Tribute to 100 Unique Venues

We’re in a fuckin strange place right now in the world eh, my default position (and probably the default position of most of the people in the world, that were born after me) would be to somehow write this emotive piece, either entire with AI, or certainly with the assistance of. When I think about that it makes me sad really. All of us talking like robots, sounding the same using stupid fucking polite language. So anyway, needless to say, its 9.10pm, ive worked about 40 hours this week already, and im relaxing with my third red stripe (which is apparently a Jamaican beer, brewed down the road in Bedfordshire), Or so my local NISA Supermarket owner tells me.

Its Wednesday April 22nd 2026, in 8 days’ time, I would have been in England 4 years. I’ve been in a job that’s absolute chaos for almost that whole time as well. I wont bang on about this, because its not relevant, but it is, in the context of this story, and what im trying to portray, it is.

Sometime in late July 2021, Maria and I were walking the mean streets of Hadfield, Victoria with Mila (who was 1 year old at the time) and Maria brings up for the 10th time, but with more conviction this time, that she wants to move to England, spend a bit of family time. We agree, and 6 months later in April 2022, off we head on our 2-year adventure.

Some of you will get this, some of you won’t, but when you move somewhere, and its only for a short time (whether that be in your head, or otherwise) you end up rationalising taking no steps at all, to actually make the place you’re living a home. You basically permanently live in a state of flux. You end up rationalising not hanging any pictures on the wall or getting that new King Bed you always wanted because you won’t be here for long, so you may as well save the money for when you’re back to your real home.Anyway, this attitude, as well as some general negative sentiment towards England, issues with the lack of sun, and ocean, as well as some other complexities in the mix at the time with a bit of post-concussion syndrome, it really became one of the most challenging times of my life. Infact, I would probably say the most challenging time.

I came here for Maria and for Mila and for the family, but through my own actions, or inactions, was making it difficult for us all to thrive.

That’s a long intro, to what I wanted to write about tonight. Ive never really been bad at meeting people, that’s not been a challenge for me, as a heart on your sleeve New Zealander, ive always found that most humans, respond to a bit of genuine banter, and abit of love. So pretty quickly after arriving, I signed up to the GCR running club in my local hood in Welwyn Garden City. Within 20 minutes Willow Gibson (from Westport, New Zealand) is up in my DMs welcoming me to the club, and some dude Richard (who I would later go on to be a massive fan of, as a human and mate) also immediately offers me both a uniform, and a lift to the midweek league race, that was on the next night. I accept, Maria drops me up to Knightsfield (where the fuck is Knightsfield I thought to myself) and that’s all nice and good. A mere few weeks later, im at one of the regular Tuesday runs (I have photos of the event actually, Russel Morris (3rd place, Endless Garden Backyard Ultra 2025) was the run leader actually, in attendance that night was also a much heavier Jamie Rose, Cecelia (who I would find out later was there on Day 1 of Pubrun) as well as Rob Jones and Caroline Hughes were all there.
Anyway, that part doesn’t matter, what matters is that the cabbie Rob Jones, who loves a yarn more than most bundles me up post run with his cockney chat, and starts chipring with pride about this thing called Pubrun. The exact sentiment of the convo I don’t recall, but I do think it was some thing like “ohh this is a bit of a breakaway group, its kinda invite only, you have to be fit enough” and he also mentioned the go somewhere new most weeks, have a 10km run and sink a few pints. PERRRRRFECT.

Pubrun itself has a genesis story, but that’s not really my story to tell. I wasn’t there (I was 18 months out) I know it was at the Waggoners, and I know that the original formation cast of misfits is somewhat in dispute. Chris Loveys is acknowledged as the founder (Ayatollah) and I think Cecelia and DJ John Warden were there, but anything else from that night remains the subject of hearsay.
Interestingly, my first Pubrun (which ended up being a month or so after Cabbie Rob chirped about it) was from a spot just down the road from my eventual home (Melbourne Court), The Sun in Lemsford. From my Strava records, I ran with Loveys and Glen and the title of my Strava Run was “Thursday Pubrun with two older blokes who have (significantly) higher vo2 max than me”
Now really, to tell the story I came here to tell, we need to jump forward in time.
The TLDR was that I started going regularly, building some relationships with the guys.
Pubrun to be frank, became part of my identity as a Human. Each week I found myself looking forward to Thursday night, it was my favourite night of the week. I would be out on the trails in the countryside. I would be talking drivel to whoever would listen, and then we’d go back to and hit 2-3 pints (depending on if I was driving) while continuing the chirp.

Which weird and wonderful cats would turn up this week? Which farmers field will we get lost in tonight? My story gets a bit muddled from here, as there is a lot of stories to bring up, and everyone loves to hear stories about themselves. I’ll just share a few memories.
A few months in, I decided to lead for the first time (keeping in mind id been in England cumulative 80 days in my life) and under my mother in laws guidance, plotted a mid-summer route from the Green Dragon in London Colney. Only the heartiest soldiers turned up for this one, Glen, Rich T and Marty and I reckon we ran about 4.45 pace, everyone not wanting to be one upped by the new bloke, hopped up on testosterone. Keep in mind that Marty would have been 63 at the time, so for him to keep up with some of Hertfordshire’s finest running stock was no mean feat.
We all made it around ok, and it was collective pints of lager than night, cause from memory it was about 30c which is rare for the UK.
My second memory that’s with me forever, was in London Colney again actually. In this case I don’t recall the full cast, but it was certainly with Bel and Rich T, and the final 15 minutes of the run ended up being in some biblical strength downpour. Undeterred, we marched into the pub at The Bull, looking like drowned rats, and had one of the most memorably beautiful nights of pints and cheesy chips I can remember. The Bull held the greatest cheesy chips of all time, until very recently when it was taken over.
Eventually, (it would be up for dispute for sure about how long it took) I wound my way into the fabric of pubrun. WhatsApp popped off, plenty of temporary beefs sprung up, Video blogging started becoming a thing (you had to introduce yourself and where you were from, otherwise it was met with jeers), and the group grew.

Alongside the running there was something that really was quite intangible, about what pub has given to me. I would probably venture a guess that it might have meant more to me than almost anyone else. It’s hard to put a finger on, but it’s the lightness you feel driving home. Work might be fully fucked, (and multiple days it was), you might be anxious about your health, and the sun hasn’t shone in three weeks, but for two hours on a Thursday, none of that exists. It’s a run, with no music, just the chirp of Phil wanting to talk to you about Lord of the Rings or WW2 Bombing raids. It’s the feeling when Richy Sids got back to the bar early and loaded up a massive order of Pizzas at the Cricketers Arms. Its those unexpected nights (like last Thursday actually), when you get a bunch of weirdos that shouldn’t click together, and the post run session lasts well past 9pm.
You go home and your cups fuckin full.

People over the years have said to me that Maria must be saint, “letting me out so much” etc. She is, don’t get me wrong, but she’s smart, and she does so with intent. She knows that me being out running in the mud and having that time to be with my people is immensely valuable to me, and subsequently to us as a family. Maria is absolutely categorically a massive fan of pubrun, for what its given me.
The thing about that ‘intangible’ feeling that Pubrun gives me, is that it’s literally been the antidote to the flux.

I spent years rationalising taking no steps to make this place a home, keeping my bags packed in my head and waiting for ‘real life’ to start again back in Australia. But Pubrun changed the math. You can’t stand in a circle in a dark, muddy car park, waiting for Russell Casey to turn up, while shivering with a bunch of dorks who had been in Hertfordshire their whole life, and still feel like a stranger.

Somewhere between the cheesy chips at The Bull and when Eleanor mocked Neil about his Black Hokas in Hertford that night I stopped looking at the exit door. I realised that home isn’t actually the King Bed you’re too tight to buy, or the pictures you haven’t hung on the wall. Home is just having a place where people value you to showing up and talking some smack. Its where your mates you met 8 months prior, are watching your dot run around Frodsham in the Chester 50 mile, betting you cant do it, but knowing you fuckin can.

I came here for Maria and Mila (now I got Leni too, go me!), and I’ll always be grateful for that nudge. But I got comfortable, mentally and emotionally, largely (mainly?) because of this group of misfits. Pubrun didn’t just give me a Thursday night activity; It saved me from the health anxiety, saved me from the black dog, and honestly, it probably saved my time here in England.

So, to the Ayatollah, the Cabbie and anyone over 65 that’s run a sub 23-minute 5km. To Cancer survivors, and stunt women and horse lovers, to the boys that meet me on other nights for pints, and those that give me beds when I need them, to those that love a wine and those that love a whine, to the good run leaders and the horrible ones, to the part time battlers and the full time soldiers. To the core, and those that are nowhere near core, and even to Steve Edwards.

I love you, and thank you.

Sincerely,

Malcolm from pubrun.