Forget metrics. Success lives in the moments. At just 16, Sam McGowan was chasing likes, leaderboards, and perfection. Until he burnt out, now, he’s running without a watch and without apology. This is how he found freedom on his terms.
It started with a 5K Instagram challenge during lockdown. At 16, Sam McGowan found comfort in the miles around his hometown near Cambridge, running to socialise.
By 18, he had run two marathons, but online pressure had pushed him past his limit. Now 20, he runs without a watch alongside his girlfriend, no longer chasing pace perfection. “We run at any pace, and I don’t worry about it. I just enjoy it.”
With every mile, social media blurred the line between passion and performance. During his first marathon prep, Sam discovered Nick Bare, an Ironman and former Navy SEAL, as well as an online fitness force. “I wanted to train like that,” he says. His feed was soon flooded, “MyProtein, Bulk and gels being pushed down my throat. At 16, I had no clue. BCAAs, Omega-3s, it was overwhelming.”
After joining a Sixth Form Strava group, casual runs became public performances. With virtual leaderboards and split tracking, Strava experienced significant growth among Gen Z. Individuals aged 18–24 logged 62% more activities in 2023 than in 2020. He started chasing likes and comments as much as miles, “Sure, I set out for myself, but I was getting recognition for posting runs online. It fed my ego, so I kept pushing.”
An invisible pressure started building, one Sam couldn’t name. “Strava held me accountable, and I could see great progress, but I’d be embarrassed if I posted a slow run – people in my year would see.”
The external validation couldn’t sustain the internal pressure. Something had to give.
Post-marathon, he hit a wall. “I didn’t know what was next. I realised I’m not gonna do an Ironman at 16,” he says. “I gave up. I thought it wasn’t going anywhere. I was getting shin splints, and my IT band was hurting. I couldn’t take it. “I fell out of love.”
At 18, after burnout, his second marathon was different. Joyless.
“My brother pushed me to do the Manchester Marathon. I didn’t have the motivation; I was just running for the end goal. “The entire training process was pure dread and anxiety. I didn’t enjoy it” What Sam didn’t realise was that he wasn’t just tired, he was burnt out.
He was experiencing classic signs of burnout: injury, detachment, and emotional exhaustion. “No one talks about falling out of love with running”, he says, “People might be quiet while training, realising the end goal has become a chore.
“You’re anxious because you told people you can do it. You don’t want to be a failure.” The British Journal of Sports Medicine (2021) found that 30% of male endurance athletes report anxiety or depression, often tied to overtraining and social pressure.
Meanwhile, Sporting Minds saw a 42% rise in support requests from under-21 athletes between 2020 and 2023. Sam ran until his body couldn’t take it
Ignoring injury, Sam turned discomfort into damage. Twelve miles into a 20-mile run, he says, “My ribs flared up. I was in pain, but I kept telling myself ‘You set this goal, you need to achieve it.’ I was in pure agony by the end.
“I had pushed through the pain, but I couldn’t run for weeks.”
On TikTok, #marathontraining has over 850 million views. The content Sam was watching glorified the ‘grind’, whatever the cost.
For him, the mindset was toxic. “That David Goggins mentality, ‘carry the boats,’ ‘go 100% every time’- it’s terrible. If you’re always at max, you break. That voice turns a hobby into a chore.” Algorithms favour pain over pacing. Sam’s identity blurred with performance. “If I wasn’t
improving, I felt worthless.” His running stopped.
He turned to the gym, but the same self-worth traps followed.
“I felt small. I’d see guys like David Laid and think, ‘If I get bigger, I’ll get more girls. People will appreciate me more. I’ll be more confident.'” But gym content mirrored running media: perfection, pressure, and new metrics for self-worth. “You only see incredible physiques and genetic freaks. It’s hard to escape comparison culture.”
You forget most people aren’t in the gym five days a week, don’t track calories, can’t lift what you are lifting, and it is impressive. But you’re so locked in the echo chamber.” He takes a deep breath and adds, “Body dysmorphia isn’t spoken about enough.”
He’s not an outlier: over half of UK men aged 18–25 are unhappy with their bodies, according to a Men’s Health survey (2023).
The goalposts keep shifting. “Look back to Tobey Maguire in Spider-Man. Back then, I was like, ‘Wow, that’s such a cool physique,’ but expectations have moved so far.
“Body dysmorphia is the worst thing I got from influencing.” Sam pauses, “I get really anxious any time I have my shirt off at a pool.” What was reflected wasn’t reality but a warped standard he couldn’t reach.
These distortions, he warns, “can cause eating disorders. If you’re really skinny, you’re told to eat in a surplus. It leads to force-feeding yourself tonnes of bad food.” It took stepping away from online definitions of success and seeking real knowledge for Sam to begin removing the toxic narratives.
Now 20, studying strength and conditioning with rehabilitation at Anglia Ruskin University, Sam wants to influence with insight. “A lot of people grab a camera without any education and pretend they’re an expert.
“I started watching evidence-based creators like Jeff Nippard and Dr Mike Israetel, who has a PhD. They break down research before advising, not just yell on TikTok.” He started muting toxicity. “I don’t listen to David Goggins. I don’t need that nagging voice saying I’m not good enough.”
But lasting change didn’t come from content. It came from a connection.
Running with his girlfriend. “I started running without my watch. We just enjoy the time together, and I don’t care about the stats anymore.” He laughs. “At first, I felt the urge to clarify my pace on Strava, like ‘ran with my girlfriend’, but now I don’t even post.
“I’m just proud of us. I’m enjoying it. It brings us closer.” He’s redefining success on his terms. “I had to remember why I started. Not to impress anyone. Not to prove anything. Just because running made me feel free and fit.
“Nowadays, if I don’t feel like I can run further, I just stop.”
NEED HELP?
If you’re struggling with motivation, mental health, or body image, you’re not alone. Visit Sporting Minds UK or speak to your GP.
