Holiday gift guides are inescapable, insufferable, and mostly useless. So instead of hawking stuff you don't need, here are eight immaterial gifts every runner should put on their wish list this season.
As a veteran of running media, I hate holiday gift guide season.
Twenty-five gifts under $25 that will all end up in the back of a closet or a landfill. Gifts for men that imply all a guy could ever want is whiskey, knives, more whiskey, and somewhere between 11 and 20 watches. Gift guides for women that are only marginally less insulting, insinuating we’re all manic pixie girl bosses who need an entire arsenal of planners with room for manifesting, practicing gratitude, and, God willing, horoscopes.
But here’s the thing: the stuff that actually changes your running life can’t be bought in a store. My purpose in formatting this like a tongue-in-cheek gift guide is to reframe how we think about these things. Could you gift yourself something immaterial this year? You can’t wrap up a dream and put it under the tree, but what would it actually look like to give yourself more time and space to chase what you love, no strings attached?
So, in lieu of clogging up your inbox with yet another gift guide full of stuff you don’t need, and that I lack the rhetorical powers to trick you into wanting, here are ten immaterial gifts runners should put on their metaphorical wish list this holiday season. None of them come with a tracking number. All of them might actually make your 2026 better.
Next year, sign up for one race that scares you. The one you’ve been politely sidestepping with “I’m not ready” even though a small, stubborn part of you knows better. When I was a younger ultrarunner, I kept waiting for a sign from the galaxy that I was truly ready to toe the line at a hundo. A fortune cookie with an UltraSignup discount code, perhaps. A shooting star that spelled out “DO IT, COWARD.”
After a couple of years of consistent training, my friend and pro runner Cat Bradley finally said the thing I needed to hear: “No one is ever going to tell you you’re ready. Stop waiting for permission and register for the damn race already.”
So if you’ve been scanning your tea leaves, or hoping Scott Jurek materializes on a burnt piece of toast to give you the thumbs-up, consider this your sign. Ready is a moving target anyway. You might as well have fun chasing it.
Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is quit. Consider this gift permission to drop the race you signed up for out of obligation, the training plan that’s making you miserable, or the Strava streak that has become a chore. Ultrarunners are gritty by design, and often the folks clinging most desperately to goals that no longer serve them are the ones who most need to write that goal on a piece of paper, set it on fire, and yeet it into the nearest body of water.
This sport isn’t always going to feel fast, fun, or easy, but if it never feels that way, it’s probably time to reassess where you’re pointing your compass. Walking away counts as building your aerobic base, probably.
Sometimes being part of the ultra community feels like trying to make friends at a convention for people who struggle with small talk, eye contact, or existing indoors. We’re a weird, solitary bunch, a pack of lone wolves who somehow all showed up to the same trailhead five minutes apart.
This year, if you’re in a slump (or even if you’re not), give yourself the gift of actual humans. Find a running buddy. Join a group run. Stop treating every workout like a monastic pilgrimage to Planet Lonely Guy. Some of the best training adaptations happen mid-conversation, when you’re too busy laughing or complaining to notice you’re climbing 800 feet.
Friendship is wildly performance-enhancing, and most people won’t even make you pee in a cup for it.
Conversely: protect some runs as sacred time. Between family obligations, Zoom boxes, and whatever passes for a “social life” in my world, running is often the only part of my day where I’m not piping someone else’s voice or ideas directly into my skull. No podcasts, no music, no pace target. Just me, my breath, and whatever my brain needs to sift through.
These quiet miles are often where I do my best thinking. Unfortunately, very little of it survives contact with civilization.
This year, bring someone else onto Team You. Maybe it’s a coach who can help ensure your training reflects your goals and life circumstances. Perhaps a dietitian can help ensure you’re eating enough to support your training. Maybe it’s a therapist who can help you unpack why, on God’s green earth, you’ve chosen this as your “hobby.”
Whoever it is, remember this: most goals worth pursuing can’t be accomplished in total isolation. You deserve someone in your corner, helping to lighten the cognitive load so you can stop reinventing the wheel every Sunday night. Too many runners stall out waiting to be “good enough” to “deserve” expert help, when the only real qualification is wanting to grow. That’s it. The bar is subterranean. And you’re already over it.
Not the “active recovery” that mysteriously drifts into threshold because you got bored or a Charli XCX track hits. Actual rest. Real, planned time off. A nap so deep your watch thinks you’ve died. The radical act of letting your body exist without demanding performance from it every waking minute. Give yourself permission to stop, to do nothing, to let the machinery cool. It’s not lazy. It’s the foundation everything else stands on.
After some rest, give yourself the gift of leveling up. Try something you’ve never done before. Go a little harder in a workout, or a little longer on a long run. Not in a “train insane or stay the same” internet-bro way, but in a way that’s intentional and meaningful to you.
Maybe that means stepping onto the track for the first time since poking people on Facebook was cool. Maybe it’s walking into the gym to lift something genuinely heavy instead of defaulting to your usual routine. Maybe it’s doing a workout with just enough focus and effort that you surprise yourself with what you can hold.
The point isn’t suffering for its own sake. The point is choosing a challenge that feels slightly outrageous for who you used to be, and perfectly aligned with who you’re becoming.
Chances are, if you’ve read to the bottom of a metaphorical wish list for trail runners, you’re already blessed with the gift of endurance. This year, instead of buying another pair of carbon-plated trail shoes you don’t really need, buy into your own hype. Self-doubt isn’t humility; it’s just noise that never made anyone faster.
Trust your training. Trust your body. Trust that you belong at the start line even when old narratives say that you’re too [insert whatever your critic’s go-to adjective is here] to [insert thing you’ve always wanted to do, but haven’t yet because of said critic’s chosen adjective].
People who are fully bought into their own growth are exciting to be around, and their hype is infectious. Be so pumped on your own progress that it pushes others to invest too.
And if you insist on buying something, make it socks. Perfect, plush, blister-proof socks. The universal love language of runners.
I really connected to this; thought it was very insightful and well-written. Grateful to say I got all of these gifts in 2025… looking forward to continuing growth in 2026.
Well said!
And the eleventh gift … Give the gift of being a VOLUNTEER at a local trail event. Too often we all run Monday thru Friday to be able to run a race on Saturday or Sunday. Step off the trail as a participant and stand on the side of the trail as a volunteer. Watching and aiding the effort of others will strike your core and re-energize your soul and body as a runner. Giving support to others gives back to you.
Zoe, thanks for that. I’m old geezer at 64 with some health issues but hey, I’m guessing I still have a few races left in me. I’m printing out your list and will refer to it to freshen things up. Happy 2026
Thank you for these wonderful suggestions. It’s exactly what I needed since I’m facing burnout.
This really resonated with me. Thanks!