Swiping on Sport

“Stop staring at your arse and get out the door!” my flatmate shouts from the kitchen, as I check my new leggings in the mirror for the tenth time. I’ve never worn leggings on a date before. Yet here we are.

I’m Frankie, 27, bisexual, living in South East London. A freelancer by day and a serial swiper by night, I’m on the lookout for someone who’s as keen on shin pads as they are on snogging. I’m mostly sober these days, and frankly, if I never sip overpriced Sauvignon in a bar with an accountant from Clapham again, it’ll be too soon.

I can knock out a PowerPoint and a plank, but lately the real challenge has been navigating the bewildering world of modern dating apps. Hinge, Tinder, Bumble- I’m on them all, and, reader, I’ve earned the thumb RSI to prove it.

After a thousand pub dates, a hundred awkward hugs outside tube stations, and enough “what do you do for work?” chats to last ten lifetimes, I decided it was time for a new approach. Instead of hunting for love between the bells of last orders, why not try finding chemistry in cardio? Let’s be honest, I want someone who can keep up with London’s pace, and my own.

So, I hatched a plan. Five dates. Two weeks. Five different sporty activities. If the gods of sport smile upon me, maybe I’ll find love, or at least a decent running buddy…

Going on a date that’s built around physical activity has a reputation for being awkward, but it also comes with a decent shot of unexpected magic. The research is on my side here. Studies show that activity-based first dates are more likely to lead to a second, with hiking alone boasting a success rate of around 50 percent, and psychologists say the combination of novelty, shared effort and a few endorphins can help people feel closer far quicker than a standard sit-down drink.

So, this is my experiment, diving headfirst into sporty dates with strangers I’ve matched with, swapping the safety of a pub table for indoor climbing, wheezy jogs, clumsy tennis rallies, or even roaring with football fans in a packed pub. The aim isn’t to suddenly become some Lycra-clad dating evangelist, just to see what happens when you mix a bit of sweat with small talk.

And, for the record, while I’m game for the experience, the images in this article are stock, not from the actual dates. Everyone knew I was writing about them and was fine with it, but the idea of me stopping mid-serve or halfway up a wall to start snapping pictures? Absolutely not!

find love

Date 1: Run for Your Life

I matched with Mia, a warm and funny architect from Brixton, on Hinge. We agreed to meet for a morning run along the Thames, partly for the fitness and partly because it is hard to look awkward when you are concentrating on not getting hit by a cyclist. The morning was crisp, the river stretching beside us, and London putting on that quiet, early show that feels like a secret.

By kilometre two the chat had turned to wheezes, my breath coming in ragged little gasps, while Mia was clearly holding back, downplaying just how bloody good she is at running. There was something about sweating next to someone that quickly broke down the usual first-date walls. We laughed through the wheezing and gave each other small, competitive nudges to keep going. By the London Eye, we stopped for a selfie. I looked utterly dreadful, red-faced and hair all over the place, but at least we had earned the post-run coffee.

There were no fireworks or heart-fluttering moments, but it felt daring to start a dating week with a runner’s high instead of another night of overpriced espresso martinis. Mia also shared some brilliant advice about trainers. It reminded me that meeting someone in motion often beats sitting across from them at a sticky pub table.

Date 2: Vertical Flirting

Next on the list was Jake, an easygoing graphic designer with a golden retriever-esque smile. I’d meant to ask his favourite sport, but whatever garbled version of the question actually left my mouth must have been incomprehensible. He replied “Queen” and, in my flustered state, I decided this was a bold confession of his devotion to the monarchy. It took me an embarrassingly long time to realise he meant the band.

We met at the Mile End Climbing Wall, an indoor space filled with the sound of clinking carabiners, the smell of chalk dust, and clusters of climbers stretching like they were about to scale Everest. Climbing is all about trust and coordination. As we took turns belaying for each other, we laughed at our clumsy foot placements and quietly celebrated when one of us made it higher than expected. Jake’s calm voice guiding me on where to place my feet kept me focused.

By the end, we were sitting on the mats, cheeks flushed, water bottles in hand, swapping stories about work, music and the monarchy. Indoor climbing turned out to be an unexpectedly brilliant date. There was no time to overthink or get awkward when you were too busy concentrating on not falling. It felt like a genuine shared achievement, and I walked away thinking I might just want to see Jake again. (Spoiler, we never saw each other again.)

Date 3: Another Run

This time was with Alex, cool, a bit scruffy, and refreshingly honest about his slow jogging speed. We met at Greenwich Park, his suggestion since he lives nearby with his English bulldog, Bowie. Anyone who knows bulldogs knows these charming creatures are not exactly built for speed or long-distance running. Bowie’s ideal workout is more about a dignified plod or, better yet, finding the closest bench and insisting on a sit-down. While Alex and I took turns running and walking, Bowie happily settled into the role of chief rest stop, plonking himself down with a contented sigh as we circled him.

What made this run feel different was not the pace but Alex’s attentive ear and the easy flow of conversation. We chatted candidly about the unpredictable freelance life, our mutual retreat from drinking (me for my peace of mind, him following a disastrously off-key karaoke night), and the little rituals that keep us sane in South East London. After the run, we wandered to a nearby market, grabbed some food, and settled into the long grass under dappled sunlight. It was relaxed, real, and comforting.

I felt a spark and contemplated suggesting a lowkey follow-up, just the three of us, me, Alex, and Bowie, on a lazy walk. He agreed enthusiastically, but then the messages stopped. Days of silence followed. Was it ghosting or did the dog eat the phone? With Bowie’s preference for the bench over the run, perhaps the dog had simply found a better walking buddy.

Date 4: Tennis in Brockley

Next up was Felix, a charming man from Spain who looked just enough like Carlos Alcaraz to make tennis the obvious choice, despite the fact I am truly awful at it. We met at a park in Brockley, both carrying rackets, and I felt a flicker of misplaced optimism as we walked towards the courts. That optimism dipped slightly when we found the gates locked.

Just as we were debating whether to abandon the plan, an older man who helps run the park ambled over. After a short chat and a smile from Felix, he agreed to let us in, passing us the code like it was a state secret.

Once inside, any hope of hiding my lack of talent vanished. My first serve hit the net. My second soared off into the fence. Felix was patient and good-humoured, offering gentle tips while effortlessly returning the ball to places I had no chance of reaching. I stumbled after shots, missed easy returns, and generally confirmed that Wimbledon will never come calling.

We played on until I was red-faced and laughing, more from my own hopelessness than from anything resembling athletic achievement. Afterwards we wandered to a café nearby, cooling down with cold drinks and chatting about London, Spain, and how sport can be fun even when skill is nowhere in sight.

Sadly, Felix is heading back to Spain for the rest of the summer, but I have been invited to “visit him for a rematch” if I ever find myself near his hometown. I am not convinced my tennis will have improved by then. Still, sun, sangria, and a man who looks like he was born holding a racket? I could be persuaded to pack my trainers… even if they never leave the suitcase.

Date 5: Lionesses

Last but definitely not least was football on a Sunday that had the whole pub in Peckham on the edge of their seats. That morning, after a bit of back-and-forth chatting, Daisy texted me: What are you doing for the Lionesses tonight? I had planned to watch from my sofa because of an early Monday start, but she persuaded me to join her and her friends at their reserved table in a pub. I told myself I would just go for the first half. I stayed until closing.

The atmosphere was electric. England versus Spain in the Euro 2025 final. The pub shook with screams and cheers, and when it went to penalties the tension was unbearable. Chloe Kelly’s winning penalty tipped the place into full-blown, pint-spilling celebration.

Daisy was a joy to watch with, hugging me when we scored, laughing with everyone around us, and making me feel instantly part of her gang. Still, I must confess that at points I thought about Felix, the Spanish guy from my tennis date the day before. If we were married, who would we support? Which team would our kids cheer for? Maybe I liked him more than I realised.

After the match we spilled outside with her friends, still buzzing, debating the best chip shops in Peckham and joking about starting a five-a-side team. The vibe was more friendly than flirty, but I could see myself hanging out with her and her mates again. Frankly, it was the perfect end to my sporty dating run.

small wins

Five dates in and I had swapped the usual polite pub chat for moments that actually felt alive. I did not meet The One, but that was never really the point. I wanted to shake the dust off my dating life and see what happened if I tried something different. The research was right. There is an ease that comes with doing something side by side that makes conversation flow and connection feel natural.

Sporty dates are not about showing off or suddenly finding a hidden talent. They are about shared laughs, small wins, and seeing someone in the middle of a real moment rather than on their best behaviour. I might not have found love, but I have found a better way to date, and that feels like a win worth keeping.

And if reading this has you thinking you would like to be date number six, this might be the moment I reveal my identity to the world. DM Glorious if you fancy your chances…!

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