The Brussels 20K, the art of running together

Some races tell the story of popular running better than others.

The 20 km of Brussels is one of them.

A popular event, in the noblest sense of the word. A race that doesn't just cross a capital city, but seems to awaken it from within each year.

People come to run fast.

People come to finish.

Sometimes people come without really knowing why, pushed by a colleague, a friend, a desire to get back into running, a promise made to themselves.

Perhaps that is the profound beauty of the 20 km of Brussels: this distance that is just long enough to command respect, just accessible enough to invite the greatest number. Twenty kilometers is not yet a marathon. But it is no longer a stroll. It is a serious conversation with oneself.

In Spiridon N°51, published in August 1980, the first edition of this race, organized on June 8, 1980, was already being reviewed.

There were 4,659 at the start. The jogging wave was beginning to rise in Europe. Running in the streets did not yet have the obviousness we know today. The popular runner was still sometimes viewed as an original, an obstinate, a somewhat strange being who found it natural to sweat without being forced to.

And yet, that day, something happened.

Thousands of women and men set off through Brussels to reach the finish line under the Atomium. Among the men, Werner Mory won in 1h03. Among the women, Magda Ilands won the event in 1h15. But ultimately, it may not have been just the ranking that mattered.

What mattered was the movement.

This word, movement, is dear to us. It means more than sport. It speaks of momentum, getting back on track, the desire to start again. This is also what Honorine Magnier so accurately describes in her podcast Mouvementé, to which I had the pleasure of being invited: this simple and profound idea that moving is never just about the body, but often a way of taking control of one's life again.

But let's go back to 1980 with the still new idea that a city could give itself to its runners. That streets could be closed not for an official parade, but for a crowd in shorts, tank tops, and sneakers. That individual effort could become a collective celebration.

Spiridon then wrote this very apt sentence:

"Two novices of the 20 km of Brussels: sometimes it takes a competition to decide to run regularly."

It's true. And it resonates with many of us.

Running often begins this way. Not with a grand heroic resolution, but with a small, almost fragile decision. A registration. A date circled on a calendar. A bib number that obligates you a little. An appointment with yourself that you no longer dare to cancel.

Because running regularly is not simple.

You have to negotiate with fatigue, work, the weather, winter, the very reasonable excuses you cleverly make up for yourself. Sometimes a race needs to call to us from afar to get us back out there.

The 20 km of Brussels has that virtue.

They welcome the trained runner, the anxious beginner, the old hand returning, the friend accompanying, the motivated group, the one who wants to beat their time, the one who simply wants to finish.

And perhaps that's why this race has grown.

From a first edition born in the jogging wave, it has become one of the great popular road running events in Europe. An event capable of bringing together tens of thousands of participants from Belgium, Europe, and elsewhere.

Because the 20 km of Brussels is not just about the stopwatch.

They tell another story.

They tell of the power of a collective start. That strange moment where everyone carries their intimate goal, but where everyone moves in the same direction. They tell of that discreet camaraderie of popular races: the breath of others, anonymous encouragement, aid stations, tired glances, smiles at the finish line.

La Fontaine wrote:

"We must help each other, it is the law of nature."

One might think this sentence is far from running.

Yet it is very close.

Because in a race like the 20 km of Brussels, no one really runs alone. Even when the last third of the race requires digging deeper than desire, there are always others.

Those who overtake you.

Those you catch up to.

Those who walk for a moment and start again.

Those who remind you, without knowing it, that continuing through difficulty is sometimes more important than a time.

That's also why this photo from Spiridon N°51 has its place on our blog.

It's not just an archive image. It's a piece of memory. It takes us back to a time when popular running was inventing itself, when jogging wasn't yet an industry, when people discovered that running could change daily life, a city, sometimes a life.

Since its origins, Spiridon has never considered running as merely a sport. It was a language. A way of taking one's place. A gesture of freedom. A way of saying that the body was not reserved for champions, that effort did not belong in stadiums, that everyone could, in their own way, enter into this great conversation with movement.

The 20 km of Brussels tells this better than many speeches.

They say that running can be demanding without being exclusive.

Popular without being trivial.

Urban without losing its soul.

They say that you don't need to go to the ends of the earth to experience an adventure. Sometimes it's enough to start, in the middle of a crowd, in a city you think you know, and to discover that at the twentieth kilometer, it's no longer quite the same city. Nor quite the same person crossing the finish line.

That is the greatness of popular races.

They don't always promise a feat.

They sometimes offer something better: a reason to start again.

And perhaps that's what, deep down, running is all about.

Not just going faster.

But getting back on track.

Once again.

With others.

Franck TUIL