If you’ve lived in New York long enough, you become inured to the very idea of randomness. No day is complete without a subway encounter between two loudly aggressive strangers that would be frightening if you hadn’t seen thousands of identical standoffs across generations. However, even having earned those bulletproof layers over many years, there’s a level of randomness that — even in New York, even to a New Yorker —will occasionally beg the question, “What the fuck, why?!” I recently found my curiosity threshold when two weeks ago, the Atlanta rap star Gunna announced he’d be hosting a 5K run around Brooklyn’s Prospect Park on an early Wednesday evening in September. I couldn’t figure out what would bring a Georgia-bred melodic rap genius to my literal backyard, the 526 acres of green space a few blocks from my apartment, where I watch music and movies, picnic, ride my bike, and where my children often play.
Though I had some theories.
Gunna released The Last Wun on August 8th, nearly a month ago, debuting at #3 on the Billboard 200. As of this week, he has around $166,000 in sales, just above his first-week sales for the album DS4 in 2022, when, allegedly, thanks to his former mentor Young Thug, he took the #1 slot from The Weeknd. In addition, Gunna has recently moved aggressively into the wellness space, coming for 50 Cent Vitaminwater money with Flerish — “a watermelon-based hydration drink” that sounds like what would happen if an Italian spot made Gatorade. He invested in Cymbotika, an organic beauty and health brand, and he’s possibly using this occasion to launch something called Wunna Run. Also, it’s for charity, for his Atlanta-based non-profit Gunna’s Great Giveaway. The run was sponsored by Gunna, a free registration 5K with the option to donate funds for those who had them to give.
So there was a lot to promote, a good reason to host a run in New York, because of its fitness culture and infamous run clubs, but also because of the rap GDP New York still leads the planet in: Our “thriving” traditional and social media industry of content creators. They showed out. Throughout the warm-up, there were major media outlets alongside dudes in Gallery Dept Tees with DAP pants and Supreme backpacks rehearsing their spiels next to their telephoto lensed digital camerapeople. But the primary documentation that took place from the race was everyday social media users who leapt at the stunt premise of running with Gunna. I’m writing this a few hours later, and the moderately successful TikTok recaps from the park are already streaming in.
All 1,200 runners (allegedly, according to a headcount from a race employee) who showed for the event seemingly loved Gunna and vibed to the continuous loop of songs off The Last Wun that played as the crowd assembled, but the ratio of pear-shaped rap fans to legit marathoner types was surprising, with the latter far outstripping the former. Many of the participants — wearing mesh shorts, Under Armour tanks, and polarized wrap sunglasses — were clearly legit runners, with the defined abs and pecs visible beneath their shirts.
Runners killed time in groups and debated the nuances of park running vs. street running vs. treadmills. They talked shit, compared their pace PRs (Gunna pre 5K: “It’s not a race, it’s a pace!”), and promised their competition was getting smoked once the horn sounded. A young woman with her dyed blonde hair shaved down under a coral Nike running hat loudly proclaimed, “I’m trying to do this shit in 20 minutes flat!”
As I hung around on a curb waiting, I talked up Sahill and Ans, two fit 27-year-old twin brothers born and raised in Kensington, off the park’s southwestern corner where the race began. They’re as much into running as they are into Gunna, which is to say they fucked with both a lot, and had signed up the moment the race was announced on the NYCRuns IG page.
The independent race organizer had just hosted a half-marathon, which the twins had participated in, and they were hyped to run in a heat with Gunna. Ans saw the 5K as a genuine expression of his passion. “Since jail, he’s been focused on his health. He’s locked in now, not rapping about lean and drugs and the shit he used to rap about as much.” Ans suggests, before politely excusing himself to go do pre-race pull-ups with his brother in the woods across the street.
Ultimately, regardless of the degree of random spectacle, you find me an event in this city and I’ll find you a hardened New Yorker too cool to give a fuck about it. I found one about an hour before the race began, in a pack of teenage boys walking down the park’s transverse past the lineup. One asked his friend if he wanted to run alongside Gunna when the race started. “Fuck no! I’m a lazy little bitch.” the kid replied dismissively.
Several people wondered if Gunna would actually run, and if he did, how much security would accompany him, referencing the recent drama in Atlanta around the leaked Thug calls. It’s all pertinent because the run was closed to new registrants, but Prospect Park can’t be closed off, outside a lane or two of its wide paved loop, so the runners, registered and otherwise, would be commingling with the jaded cart ladies, the e-bike delivery drivers, the kids crossing the road, and the standard weekday afternoon morass of humanity the park attracts on a daily basis (though perhaps slightly less on the city’s first school night in several months, the day before public schools are back in session).
As the race started, Gunna led the way with the number one on his bib and perhaps a small crew of “his guys” around him, but it was a smooth and peaceful procession. Beforehand, he posed with the dignitaries but also took time for as many selfies with the crowd on the other side of the gate as he could. Once the race started, he rubbed shoulders with fans, clearly enjoying himself before getting into the serious business of his run. As the thousand-plus runners passed, they were turbulent waves of Liberty shirts with matching seafoam kicks and hats, waterproof clear plastic phone case armbands, the same as most 5K crowds I’ve seen, save for several women running in sports bras as tops, with freshly laid hair and a full face of makeup.
The finish line was far better entrenched for schmucks without credentials than the start, which meant that after Gunna crossed the finish line around 25:30, there wasn’t much to see or do. So I unlocked my bike and kicked back onto the road. It had filled up, packed with joggers and riders getting a sweat in after work. They were focused on their ear buds and on their pace, unaware of the celebrity cooling down a few hundred feet away, and unconcerned as they raced into the fleeting, random dusk enveloping them.
