In the wake of COVID, I found myself regularly heading to the bay at Olivers Hill, plunging into the cold water as a way to reset, to find stillness in the chaos.

At the same time, I wanted to rebuild my fitness. So I started running. Alone, in the early hours, I’d tackle laps of Oliver’s Hill, sometimes with a weight vest strapped to my chest, other times balancing a kettlebell on my shoulder.

It was my own experiment in discipline. Cold, dark mornings. Up and down the 600-metre hill. 4am. 5am. No one else around.

As I shared my new-found routine with friends, I came to a confronting realisation. More and more women told me they wished they could do the same - run freely, early, outside. But they didn’t feel safe.

It hit me hard: a privilege I hadn’t seen until it was pointed out, the freedom to move through the world without fear.

For many women, the idea of an early morning run meant waiting for the sun to rise, or settling for creaky treadmills in stuffy gyms. Not because they didn’t want to be out there, but because safety wasn’t guaranteed.

That’s when the idea for a run club was born. A space to reclaim mornings. A way to make movement more accessible.

Today, Oliver’s Hill looks very different. Runners of all backgrounds show up before sunrise - not just to run, but to connect. We high-five each other on the way up and down, offering encouragement, safety, and community in equal measure.

Everyone arrives with their own story, their own reason for being here. But we all move forward with the same belief: We’re safer together.