Running News Daily

How to handle—and prevent—this increasingly prevalent quality-of-life condition.

Last winter, I was one of eight people on a Sunday long run. We spent most of the run in four groups of two. When I got home and my wife asked about the run, I said I’d spent most of it beside Erin, an ob-gyn who loves to discuss books. My wife asked about Erin’s recent work and reading list. I said I didn’t really know, even though we’d just spent more than an hour talking with each other. That is, unfortunately, the norm for me on group runs. I have a form of severe hearing loss One manifestation is that it’s extraordinarily difficult for me to follow a conversation when there’s competing background noise. That includes restaurants and movies with music atop dialogue. But it also means something like that group long run, where Erin and I were sandwiched by lively conversations ahead of and behind us.

Hearing loss intrudes on nearly every aspect of my life. Some consequences are trivial (not hearing beeps from my running watch), some are moderately annoying (always seeking the quietest parts of public spaces), and some are depressing (regularly missing sounds and experiences that bring joy to others). There’s also the knowledge that my hearing is likely to continue to deteriorate, which puts me at risk for other conditions that could further erode my quality of life.

As the world gets increasingly louder, hearing loss is a growing problem. Here’s what it’s like to be a runner with hearing loss, what can be done about it, and, probably most importantly, how to lower your risk of winding up like me.

Running and Hearing Loss

Running’s health benefits are extensive and, in some cases, unexpected: Did you know that runners tend to have fewer cataracts and are less likely to develop glaucoma? Unfortunately, there’s no evidence that regular running helps lessen your chances of developing hearing loss. Indeed, as we’ll see, one key aspect of many runners’ routines can elevate their risk.

The most common type of hearing loss is sensorineural, in which there’s permanent damage to the inner ear or the nerve that connects the ear to the brain. Noise exposure and age are the two leading causes of sensorineural hearing loss. Between the din of much modern life and an aging population, it’s not surprising that 15 percent of Americans 18 and older report trouble hearing. 

It’s also not surprising this is no longer just an older-person issue. “We’re seeing more kids high-school age with noise-induced hearing loss than in previous generations because it’s so prevalent to have things in your ears,” says Carissa McCauley, a runner and doctor of audiology at Rutland Regional Medical Center in Vermont. Research published last fall estimated that more than 1 billion people aged 12 to 34 are at risk of developing noise-induced hearing loss.

Hearing loss is inconvenient, for those with the condition and the people they try to communicate with, and, in some environments, unsafe. Untreated hearing loss increases your risk of cognitive and functional decline, social isolation, and depression, especially in middle age and beyond, according to Sarah Hill, a runner and audiologist who works for a hearing-aid manufacturer in Boston. McCauley adds that untreated hearing loss will likely get worse faster. 

One tricky aspect of hearing loss is that it’s insidious. Without regular testing, you’re left with subjective experiences of poor communication: the restaurant’s music was cranked, it’s loud inside a car on the highway, your partner likes to conduct conversations from two rooms away. It’s easy to convince yourself the mishearing was a one-off rather than part of an increasing pattern. This is a different form of coming to grips than, say, realizing words on a page or screen are blurry enough that you need glasses.

The cause and progression of my hearing loss are fairly typical. As I teen, I played drums while wearing maxed-out headphones several hours a week. In my 20s and 30s, I saw hundreds of indie rock shows in bedroom-sized clubs. I often had tinnitus for a day or two after these exposures. (Tinnitus is usually defined as high-pitched ringing in the ears, which is an adequate description of mine, but it can present in many ways.) The tinnitus became permanent around 15 years ago. Then I had increasing difficulty following nearby conversations in loud environments. Also, being in such environments started to cause days-long spikes in the severity of my tinnitus. Finally, I found myself straining to understand my wife from even a few feet away in our quiet house. 

Now, in my late 50s, I have profound loss at higher frequencies. This means not only that I miss out on things like bird songs and running watch beeps. I also struggle to distinguish certain higher-pitch consonants, such as “s,” “f,” and “h,” especially at the beginning of words. These problems compound when there’s a lot of background noise. It’s not that I can’t hear what others are saying as much as that I can’t quickly make out what’s being said. I guess at some words to see if they make sense in context. But by then people are on to the next sentence, and I’m still processing the previous one while trying to catch the gist of the current one and seeing if it’s reasonably linked to what I think the previous one was. It’s frustrating and exhausting. Sooner or later, I check out.

On runs, I often interject “uh huh” and “right” and “hmm” more in reaction to the tone of what others are saying than the content. If there’s reason to run single file, I scoot to the front to have any chance of following the conversation. If we’re running two abreast, I try to stay farther from traffic to lessen competing sound. If it’s just two or three of us, running with others can be my best hearing experience of the day. Rhythmic breathing tends to introduce pauses in conversation, giving me a better chance to process what’s being said. Large group runs are another matter. I’ve skipped many simply because I don’t feel like having to concentrate so hard just to follow along. 

Are you on the road to hearing loss? McCauley and Hill agree that tinnitus is a major warning sign that you’ve been overexposed to noise. “That ringing is noise-induced damage, whether it goes away quickly or two days later,” Hill says. McCauley says that if you experience tinnitus after a given environment, “next time you need to wear hearing protection or avoid it if you can.”

Another warning sign is what’s known as a temporary threshold shift. “That means your hearing sensitivity has declined,” McCauley says. “Everything seems temporarily muffled. That’s another blaring red flag that you were doing something damaging and probably need to stop doing that.”

Constant tinnitus merits getting a hearing test from a licensed audiologist. “Most folks who have tinnitus have some degree of tinnitus,” Hill says. Other signs that you’re a good candidate for a hearing test include:

You frequently ask people to repeat themselves. (Or the people you talk with the most say you keep asking them to repeat themselves.)

You struggle to follow conversations when there’s background noise, such as other conversations, music, an air conditioner, or a television.

You have a harder time understanding children and women, who tend to have higher-pitched voices. Losing the ability to distinguish higher-frequency sounds is often where hearing loss starts.

You turn up the television volume but still can’t understand everything.

You feel like you hear better in one ear than the other.

You have issues with balance or dizziness.

Runners’ Risks of Hearing Loss

In a 2016 Runner’s World survey, 61 percent of respondents said they listen to music or other audio while running. That’s great, given the research showing the performance benefits of running with music. But that can also be problematic if you pump up the volume too much.

“If you have any ringing in your ears after running with music, it’s absolutely too loud,” Hill says. “Also, if you notice that, outside of being tired from running, you’re mentally fatigued in conversations or having trouble paying attention to somebody, it’s probably too loud. Those are signs that your brain is a little overstimulated.”

These recommendations, which are valid at all times, deserve a running tweak: Research presented at a 2014 conference on noise and public health looked at temporary threshold shifts after people listened to music while not exercising, exercised while not listening to music, and listened to music while exercising. The threshold shifts were significantly greater after listening to music while exercising, and included losses at high frequencies. The researchers speculate that decreased blood flow to the cochlea (part of the inner ear with a key role in hearing) during exercise can compound the problems associated with noise alone.

“My thought is, it should be a little lower than you want it to be,” McCauley says about the proper volume for on-the-run audio. “I tell my active patients to put the volume where you want it, and then turn it down at least a click.” This lower setting comes with a safety bonus of greater awareness of what’s going on around you.

Hill offers another solution: bone conduction headphones, which are worn outside your ears and transmit sound while avoiding potential damage to your inner ear. “It’s really hard to make those too loud,” she says. “They kind of max out naturally, so there’s much less of a risk of overexposure to noise.” Hill also appreciates how bone conduction headphones give her greater environmental awareness in busy Boston.

Hearing Aids for Runners

I haven’t been completely forthright so far in this article. The examples of struggling to hear are accurate—if I’m not wearing my hearing aids.

I had my first hearing test in 2007, after two intercontinental flights in three days made my tinnitus constant and more pronounced. The audiologist told me I had mild hearing loss at high frequencies and that it was likely I’d need to learn how to live with the tinnitus. I then waited 10 years for a follow-up. That visit resulted in a prescription for hearing aids.

This part of my story is also typical. Hill says that, when she was in private practice, everyone she recommended hearing aids for should have gotten them earlier, usually by a factor of several years. It’s estimated that at least 28 million Americans who could benefit from hearing aids don’t have them. 

So why, as someone with hearing aids, did I struggle to hear my friend Erin during that large group run? Because I wasn’t in the habit of running with them at that point. The audiologist who fitted me with my first pair cautioned against getting them wet. When I told her I’m a ridiculously prolific sweater, she recommended not running with them. Over time, I wore them less and less in everyday life, because the inner ear portion made me feel like I was constantly being tickled by a Q-Tip.

This summer, I learned that, as with running shoes, a lot has changed with hearing aids in recent years. Water resistance is now a common feature. Smaller domes over the inner ear portion eliminate the tickling sensation. I’ve worn my new hearing aids on hours-long hikes and forgotten I had them in until I realized I was catching everything my wife said.

Most importantly, sound quality has improved dramatically. There was a metallic clang to what much of what I heard through my previous hearing aids. (Imagine water dripping on a taut piece of aluminum foil.) Now, I hear what I assume most people hear. Conversations are crisp. Music sounds full rather than compressed. I can sit on the patio and actually hear the birds and crickets that I know are just yards away. Restaurants are still annoyingly loud, but I can understand the people I’m with. 

The hearing aids I have, the Phonak Audeo Fit, are also noteworthy in how they reflect two demographic trends—people are getting hearing aids at younger ages, and people are staying active later in life. The Audeo Fit tracks heart rate, daily steps, and time spent in different exercise-intensity zones.

Like most modern hearing aids, the Audeo Fit can connect to phones, televisions, and other gadgets, and it has Bluetooth connectivity. The latter is great, if that’s your thing. But I mostly value them for the human connectivity. Erin, the next time we run together, I promise I’ll really listen.

Long before he became the fastest man in history, before the Olympic gold medals, world records, and global superstardom, Usain Bolt was simply a gifted teenager with extraordinary speed and limitless potential. In 2002, on the track at Kingston's National Stadium in Jamaica, the world witnessed the first chapter of a story that would forever change athletics.

At just 15 years old, Bolt lined up for the men's 200 metres at the World Junior Championships with the weight of expectation resting on young shoulders. Competing before a passionate home crowd, the Jamaican prodigy produced a performance that instantly captivated the athletics world. Crossing the finish line in 20.61 seconds, he became the youngest athlete ever to win the men's 200m title at the championships.

It was far more than a gold medal. It was the moment the world realised that a once-in-a-generation talent had arrived.

Bolt's victory in Kingston marked the beginning of one of the greatest careers in sporting history. Over the years that followed, he rewrote the record books, dominated the Olympic Games and World Championships, and transformed sprinting into a global spectacle through his breathtaking speed, infectious personality, and unrivalled confidence. His legacy continues to inspire young athletes across the globe, many of whom dream of following the same path he once began as a teenager.

This week, that dream comes alive once again as the World Athletics U20 Championships take centre stage at the iconic Hayward Field in Eugene, Oregon. The venue has already witnessed the birth of future superstars. In 2014, it was where Britain's Dina Asher-Smith and Uganda's Joshua Cheptegei captured their first global titles, launching careers that would later produce world championships, Olympic medals, and lasting legacies in athletics.

Twelve years later, another generation arrives in Eugene hoping to create its own defining moment.

Among the brightest young talents is Great Britain's Jake Odey-Jordan, the 200m bronze medallist from Lima who now owns the European U20 100m record after an astonishing 10.01-second performance. He enters the championships eager to build on his growing reputation as one of Europe's most exciting young sprinters.

The United States will look to Tate Taylor, who has already made history as the first American high school athlete to break the 20-second barrier for the 200 metres. Fresh from a Diamond League victory in a sensational 19.75 seconds, he arrives in Eugene carrying the momentum of one of the most remarkable junior seasons ever recorded.

Jamaica, the nation that introduced the world to Usain Bolt, will once again have high hopes through Shanoya Douglas. The talented sprinter has established herself as one of the championship's leading contenders after producing lifetime bests of 10.98 seconds for the 100m and 22.11 for the 200m this season.

History has repeatedly shown that the World U20 Championships are far more than a junior competition. They are often the first chapter in the careers of future Olympic champions, world record holders, and global icons. Every generation arrives with ambitious dreams, but only a select few leave having announced themselves to the world.

No one can say with certainty whether the next Usain Bolt will emerge this week. Greatness cannot be predicted, and legends are never manufactured. Yet every legendary career begins with a single breakthrough performance.

For Bolt, that defining moment came in Kingston in 2002.

Now, under the famous lights of Hayward Field, another group of gifted teenagers stands ready to chase history. Somewhere among them could be the next athlete whose name will inspire the world for years to come.

"An athlete cannot run with money in his pockets. He must run with hope in his heart and dreams in his head." More than seventy years after those words were spoken, they remain among the most powerful messages ever shared in distance running. They are often quoted as simple motivation, but behind them lies a remarkable story of sacrifice, courage, conviction, and an unwavering belief that true greatness is never measured by financial reward.

Few athletes have left a legacy as enduring as Emil Zátopek. Known around the world as "The Czech Locomotive" for his relentless determination and unmistakable running style, he redefined what was possible in endurance racing. His legendary performance at the 1952 Olympic Games in Helsinki still ranks among the greatest achievements in athletics history. In the space of just nine days, he captured Olympic gold in the 5,000 meters, the 10,000 meters, and, incredibly, the marathon—a race he had never attempted before.

Yet the world in which Zátopek competed was vastly different from today's professional athletics landscape. During the 1950s, elite sport officially operated under strict amateur rules. Olympic athletes were forbidden from accepting prize money or earning a living directly from competition, although unofficial financial arrangements existed in many sports. Zátopek himself never raced for appearance fees or lucrative prize purses. Instead, he served as an officer in the Czechoslovak People's Army, receiving a military salary while representing his country. Running brought him glory, but not personal wealth.

It was within that environment that his famous words carried genuine meaning. For Zátopek, success was never driven by the promise of money. He believed the greatest performances were fueled by hope, ambition, discipline, and the courage to pursue dreams that seemed impossible. Those qualities, rather than financial incentives, formed the foundation of lasting excellence.

With the benefit of history, his words carry even greater significance. In 1968, during the Prague Spring, Zátopek openly supported democratic reforms in Czechoslovakia. When the movement was crushed, he paid a heavy personal price for standing by his principles. He was stripped of his military rank, removed from public life, and forced into years of manual labor. The man who had once stood proudly atop the Olympic podium found himself performing physically demanding jobs, far removed from the stadiums where he had inspired millions.

His story reminds us that the values he expressed were not empty words crafted for public admiration. He lived by them, even when doing so came at enormous personal cost. His belief that hope and conviction mattered more than material rewards became evident not only in the races he won, but also in the hardships he endured with remarkable dignity.

Distance running has changed dramatically since Zátopek's era. Today's elite athletes compete in a fully professional sport where prize money, sponsorship contracts, appearance fees, and endorsement deals can be worth millions. Success on the track and roads now offers opportunities that were unimaginable during the age of amateur competition. Professionalism has transformed the sport, allowing athletes to train full-time, access world-class coaching and sports science, and build financially secure careers.

Yet despite these changes, the essence of Zátopek's message has never lost its relevance.

Every elite runner naturally hopes to earn a good living from years of dedication and sacrifice. There is nothing wrong with financial success, and the rewards available today have elevated the standard of competition across the world. But history consistently shows that money alone is rarely enough to sustain greatness. The athletes whose careers endure the longest are often those driven by an inner passion to improve, to test their limits, and to chase excellence for its own sake. Financial rewards become the result of that commitment, not the reason for it.

When competition is motivated solely by wealth, its deeper purpose can fade. But when an athlete races with genuine belief, relentless determination, and an unwavering dream, extraordinary performances often follow naturally.

That is why Emil Zátopek's words continue to resonate across generations. His legacy extends far beyond Olympic medals and world records. It lives in every runner who laces up their shoes with a goal that cannot be measured in dollars, every athlete who refuses to surrender when the race becomes painful, and every competitor who understands that the greatest victories begin long before the finish line.

The economics of distance running may have evolved beyond recognition, but the heart of the sport remains unchanged. Every athlete still arrives at the starting line carrying something far more valuable than money—hope in their heart and dreams in their head. Those invisible qualities have always been, and will always remain, the true fuel of greatness.

Winning a major championship is never just about crossing the finish line first. Behind every gold medal lies a carefully crafted race plan, and Josh Kerr's unforgettable Commonwealth Games triumph in Glasgow was a perfect example of tactical brilliance meeting extraordinary finishing speed.

While the final time of 3:54.12 for the mile will be remembered as the official result, the split times reveal a much deeper story—one of patience, precision, and devastating acceleration when it mattered most.

Kerr resisted any temptation to force the pace from the gun. Instead, he settled into a controlled rhythm, allowing the opening stages to unfold naturally. His first four 100-metre segments—14.9, 15.1, 15.3 and 15.1 seconds—brought him through 400 metres in 60.4 seconds, a measured opening that conserved valuable energy while keeping him firmly in contention.

The second lap remained equally composed. Passing 500 metres in 15.3 seconds before recording splits of 15.7, 16.2 and 15.4, Kerr reached 800 metres in 2:03.0. The pace had eased, but that was exactly where the Scottish star wanted to be. Rather than chasing early speed, he was setting the stage for a decisive finish.

Everything changed after halfway.

Kerr gradually increased the tempo with smooth, controlled acceleration. His 900-metre and 1,000-metre splits of 15.2 and 14.9 seconds signalled that the race was beginning to stretch. He then surged through 1,100 metres in 14.3 seconds before covering the next 100 metres in just 13.4 seconds to reach 1,200 metres in 3:00.8.

From there, the home crowd witnessed championship running at its finest.

Instead of fading, Kerr became even stronger. He reeled off three consecutive 100-metre splits of 13.4, 13.4 and 12.8 seconds, dismantling the field with every stride. His final 100 metres were covered in a stunning 12.5 seconds, sealing an emphatic victory and sending the Glasgow crowd into celebration.

The progression of his race was remarkable. After opening with relaxed 15-second splits, Kerr transformed the closing stages into a demonstration of world-class speed endurance. His ability to accelerate continuously over the final 600 metres highlighted not only exceptional fitness but also supreme confidence in his race plan.

Championship middle-distance racing is rarely about producing the fastest possible time from the start. More often, it rewards athletes who understand when to conserve energy and when to unleash everything they have left. Kerr executed that philosophy to perfection.

His split chart paints the picture of a runner who never panicked, never wasted effort, and saved his greatest weapon for the closing stages. It was a textbook display of patience followed by relentless aggression—a combination that turned a tactical race into a memorable Commonwealth gold medal performance.

For aspiring middle-distance runners, Kerr's Glasgow masterpiece offers an important lesson: the strongest finish often belongs not to the athlete who runs hardest from the gun, but to the one who knows exactly when to make their move. On home soil, Josh Kerr timed that move to perfection, producing a performance that will stand as one of the defining moments of the championships.

At just nine years old, Oliver Smith has achieved something extraordinary—not by chasing records or medals, but by proving that determination, compassion, and consistency can create a life-changing impact.

Hailing from Wombwell, on the outskirts of Barnsley, Oliver set himself a remarkable challenge at the beginning of the year. Rather than attempting a single marathon, he decided to complete the equivalent distance of nine marathons over several months. From January 1 to April 26, the young runner covered an incredible 380 kilometres, breaking the distance into manageable daily runs suitable for a child his age.

His routine was built on dedication. Saturdays were reserved for parkrun events, Sundays for junior parkrun, while the remaining kilometres were steadily accumulated throughout the week. Averaging approximately 3.3 kilometres each day, Oliver never lost sight of the goal that inspired every step.

The challenge carried deep personal meaning. Last summer, Oliver's father, Tom Smith, suffered a devastating health setback after losing most of the vision in one eye. Medical examinations revealed a 4-centimetre meningioma wrapped around his optic nerve, leading to a complex 12-hour operation at the Royal Hallamshire Hospital in Sheffield.

Throughout the family's difficult journey, The Brain Tumour Charity provided invaluable guidance, support, and reassurance. Grateful for the help his family received, Oliver decided he wanted to give back in the most meaningful way he could. He launched a fundraising campaign with an initial goal of raising £2,000 to support others facing similar challenges.

What followed exceeded everyone's expectations.

Oliver brought his incredible fundraising challenge to a memorable conclusion at the Mini London Marathon, finishing on the very same day his mother, Hannah Smith, completed her first-ever London Marathon. It was a fitting family celebration of courage, resilience, and perseverance.

By the time Oliver crossed the finish line, donations had soared beyond £16,500—more than eight times his original target. His remarkable achievement captured the hearts of supporters, demonstrating how one young boy's determination could unite an entire community behind an important cause.

For Oliver, however, the journey is far from over. Inspired by the overwhelming support and the difference his efforts have made, he has already begun working toward his next fundraising challenge.

His story serves as a powerful reminder that age is no barrier to making a meaningful difference. Sometimes, the greatest acts of courage are measured not by speed or distance, but by the willingness to take one small step after another for the benefit of others.

Oliver Smith's inspiring journey is more than a fundraising success—it is a testament to the strength of family, the power of kindness, and the extraordinary impact that can begin with the simplest decision to help.

Sometimes the smallest opportunity creates the greatest triumph, and Jamaica's Navasky Anderson proved exactly that with a stunning performance to capture the men's 800m title at the 2026 Commonwealth Games in Glasgow.

Less than 24 hours after scraping into the final by the slimmest of margins, Anderson produced the race of his life, surging to victory in 1:45.33 to complete one of the most remarkable comeback stories of the championships. His gold medal was not only a reward for exceptional talent but also for courage, determination, and unwavering belief when everything was on the line.

The journey to the top nearly ended in the semifinals. Locked in an intense battle with England's Max Burgin for the final qualification place, Anderson threw himself across the finish line in a dramatic dive, stopping the clock at 1:45.38. That desperate effort earned him the last available place in the final as the fastest non-automatic qualifier, keeping his Commonwealth dream alive by the narrowest of margins.

With another chance in his hands, the Jamaican made sure it counted.

In a fiercely contested final, Anderson displayed outstanding tactical awareness and patience throughout the opening stages before unleashing a devastating finishing kick down the home straight. His perfectly timed acceleration left the rest of the field with no answer as he crossed the finish line first, securing a memorable Commonwealth crown and one of Jamaica's standout victories of the Games.

Australia's Luke Boyes delivered an impressive performance to claim the silver medal in 1:45.93, while Kenya's Wyclife Kinyamal battled strongly to take bronze in 1:46.12 after another highly competitive championship race.

Anderson's unforgettable triumph will be remembered as one of the defining moments of Glasgow 2026—a powerful reminder that championships are not always won by the fastest qualifier, but often by the athlete who refuses to surrender. From a fearless dive that kept his hopes alive to a brilliant gold-medal performance less than a day later, the Jamaican wrote one of the most inspiring chapters of these Commonwealth Games.

Men's 800m Final Results

1. Navasky Anderson (Jamaica) — 1:45.33

2. Luke Boyes (Australia) — 1:45.93

3. Wyclife Kinyamal (Kenya) — 1:46.12

Navasky Anderson arrived in the final as the last man to qualify, but he left Glasgow as the Commonwealth champion—a remarkable transformation that perfectly captures the unpredictable beauty of championship athletics.