Why volunteering at parkrun is the best way to spend Saturday

Said by, well, me — but with all the enthusiasm of someone who’s discovered the joy of hi-vis and never looked back.

I’ve always been the type to wake up early. My mum still loves telling the story of how toddler me would burst into her room at 5am, just after she’d finally settled my newborn brother. Some habits, it seems, never change.

But for years, my early rises were spent doing things that were, frankly, a bit selfish. Running, gym sessions, walking the dogs, all good and all healthy, but all for me. I wanted to give something back.

Volunteering at parkrun wasn’t really part of the plan. I was a regular runner, yes, but a hi-vis hero? That felt like a role for someone far more organised and less chaotic.

Then my running club held a parkrun takeover early last year. I missed out on the core roles, but there was space for pacers — and if there’s one thing I’ll happily do, it’s try and pace a race.

And that was it. I was hooked.

There’s something exhilarating about having a group tucked in behind you, chasing their PBs, and knowing your encouragement might be the nudge that gets them there.

Suddenly, I’d fallen headfirst into a community that’s both wonderfully chaotic and strangely soothing. A weekly ritual that belongs to everyone.

The first thing you notice is the colour: that unmistakable hi-vis pink. Pulling it on feels faintly ridiculous and official at the same time. You’re no longer just a spectator, you’re part of the machine.

Me as a pink hi-vis hero at Darlington parkrun (Image: The Northern Echo)

The clappers, the cheerers, the barcode scanners, the course-checkers. The ones who keep everything moving.

That’s the magic of it.

When you volunteer, you see people at their absolute best.

Nervous first-timers hovering at the back (pretending they don’t care about their time). Older runners gliding past with enviable ease. Parents pushing buggies and still managing a breathless “thank you!” as they go by.

Regulars who know the course better than their morning commute.

As a marshal, you become a tiny landmark in their morning. At my spot, the three trees, I clap and shout, “Well done, great running!” to every person who runs past. And without fail, everyone calls back, “Thanks, marshal!” as if I’ve done far more than wave enthusiastically.

But for them, I have done something. I’ve shown up. I’ve helped make it happen.

And in return, I get this sense of belonging that’s hard to find anywhere else.

My favourite moment is the tail walker’s appearance in the distance, a sign that the morning is winding down. That’s when volunteers close ranks, cones are collected, signs are stacked and packed away.

It’s truly local life stitched together by people who might never meet if it weren’t for these Saturday mornings.

Volunteering at parkrun has taught me something unexpected. Community isn’t built on grand gestures. It’s built on turning up.

Again and again. In drizzle, in sunshine, in frost. With a smile, a cheer, and a vague point in the direction runners should go.

And honestly? I can’t think of a better way to start the weekend.

Darlington parkrun is held at South Park every Saturday at 9am.

Junior parkrun is held every Sunday at 9am.

First timers briefing is held at 8.50am, and there is always a friendly face in a pink hi-vis willing to offer a helping hand for anyone new and nervous about attending.