I don't talk about this often.

RUNLY NEWSLETTER #152
Sept 17th 2026

 Robbie here, Runly founder.

You know, in the previous 151 editions of this founder update, I've spoken about my own running just a handful of times.

Mainly because all of this - Runly - is not about me.

It's about you.

But I figured it would be interesting to share.

Perhaps over the journey when you've seen my face on Instagram, read these emails or popped past us at an expo, you might have thought.. 'I wonder if he runs'.

Maybe you haven't.

BUT IF YOU HAVE. This is the answer you're looking for.

Like many people in sport, I've had my ups and downs.

As wonderful as sport is, it has its fair share of heart-break. For every win, for every picture of someone holding a medal, or a trophy, there is someone that is hurting.

For me, I have faced my fair share of sporting adversity.

Like a lot of Aussie kids, I grew up playing many sports. Footy, cricket, athletics, cross-country, soccer - you name it.

And while I was a solid runner, I chose to pursue footy.

I went through the system, made squads, got cut from squads, questioned my identity, questioned my own abilities, but was always resilient in adversity.

I missed an entire year with a chronic injury in a crucial point in my development, and despite making a strong comeback, the AFL draft eluded me.

And from there, I played for the love. But overtime my love started to fade. It became a chore.

And on my 26th birthday, playing for my local footy club, it wouldn't be me who decided that I were to stop playing, that was taken out of my hands.

I went down to pick up the ball and got crunched from front on.

Concussed. But not just any concussion, it was my 7th as an adult.

Football is a brutal game.

And that was the final straw.

I spent six months at a concussion rehibilitation program, which at the time was cutting-edge.

I was not legally able to drive for six months, and relied on family to get around.

I had trouble concentrating for extended periods, and frankly, I was worried about what my future might look like.

But Robbie, what does this have to do with your running?

This is a key moment that my journey in running really began.

Just a couple of years prior, I ran my first marathon in the off-season. 

Off the back of a few weeks of training, 0 gels & hardly any water, I ran a marathon in a respectable time.

But after the concussion, I was miles off it.

My first attempt at a jog around the block post-concussion instilled an incredible fear in me.

A fear that perhaps my days of sport & fitness where completely done.

Something that I had built my entire life around until that point.

I set off.

I was not at the level of elite fitness I was previously, having 6 months off.

But within just several hundred metres, my head was spinning. 

I was off balance.

A stumble forward to stop myself from falling over.

The dream of getting back into it was almost over.

Instead of getting sad, I put together a plan.

Who do I need to see that can help me?

I booked in with neurologists, physios and GP's. I got tests, I worked the problem, and within a year I was flying.

I was banking kilometres like I never have before. PB's left right and centre.

This is the time that Runly was born.

I couldn't have been in better shape and I was loving every second of it.

But of course, sport heart-break entered the chat.

In the first few km's of a long run after work my leg buckled underneath me on a slight decline.

I tumbled and hit the fencing along the path.

I was dazed and confused.

And it was nothing to do with a concussion, I just didn't know what had hapened, or how it had happened.

I looked down at my knee and it had blown up.

It was swollen and it was making an incredibly hard-to-listen-to crackling noise.

I made the call of shame to get picked up mid-run. We've all done it.

It took two years of tests and consultations to finally get to the problem.

My cartilage had worn away. No, not just worn away. Cracked away like a jig-saw puzzle piece.

If you know much about this, well, it's not good.

You can't grow it back, and it doesn't heal.

The surgeon described it as a resemblance to one of the worst car crash knee injuries he'd seen.

He said to 'Are you absolutely sure you haven't been involved in a car crash?'

Yes, I am absolutely certain.

Surgery came and went to clear out the floating cartilage. It was grim. And the recovery was long.

I underwent physiotheraphy for a long time, hoping for a miracle. But I still hobbled, with my knee buckling underneath me as I walked around corners for some time.

It brings us to this year.

The start of 2026. 

I said F*** it.

I had made no progress. If anything, I had gone backwards.

I'm going to sign up for the Melbourne Marathon 10km.

And while it may not sound like much in a world where we are watching people on Instagram run around the entirety of Australia, for me it was the big hairy audacious goal.

I took the training into my own hands. Strength training four times per week. Focus on getting everything around the knee as strong as it can be.

Bike ride or swim three times per week - build up the fitness base.

And just one very, very short run.

I started with just a few hundred metres.

I filmed myself to track my form. It was horrible.

I was all over the shop.

I built up to 1km, but doing 100m at a time.

But I quickly found that it was the stop start that really killed me.

So I started doing it continuously. And very slowly.

But something really clicked, and it wasn't my knee.

For my whole life I have been a long-strider.

It was my secret weapon in another life - where I could make up ground so quickly both in football and running.

But now, it was putting so much pressure on my knee being out in front of the body.

So I changed my running mechanics.

On my own. A camera, analysis, iteration.

My stride got shorter, my gait stance became more efficient, striking the ground in a much better place. I also consciously slightly rotated my foot at strike point to activate my quads more, taking pressure off the knee joint.

And all of a sudden, I was running.

Nothing special.

2km. 3km. 5km.

It was pure bliss.

Ringing in the back of my ear as I was out amongst nature, doing something that I love, was my staunch surgeon saying 'You will never run again'.

And just yesterday, I ran my first 10km in 3-4 years.

An incredible milestone I didn't think would be possible just a short time ago.

But I am not blind to the fact that I am still limited, and my running can't ever go back to where it was.

But the fact that I am running, and I am enjoying it, means everything.

And I share this with you for a number of reasons.

Firstly, perhaps you wanted to know about my running journey. Now you know all of it.

But most importantly, it's that sport & running are hard. We are all on our own journeys.

To the people that are out there, having a crack, working to be better, putting themselves outside of their comfort zones - I see you.

'One day' is today.

Thanks for reading & being here for the journey.

Run well,
Robbie.