A running group is not a club. It is whoever turns up, and this is who turns up.
The regulars
First name and initial, which is how the group talks and rather more than the internet needs. Portraits are being taken across the coming weeks, one or two a Sunday; a card without one shows a clean frame rather than a hole, and the photograph drops straight in when it lands.
The occasionals
Not every Sunday, but often enough to be missed. The ledger does not grade anyone on attendance; it only keeps count, and it keeps it for everybody.
Sundays, streaks and races fill themselves in the moment the roll is called on The Ledger — the group already has eight Sundays logged with field sizes, just no names against them. The same list feeds The Clock. One job, three pages.
One spot, every portrait. Same wall, same time of morning. That single decision is what makes a dozen photographs read as a set instead of a collage.
After the run, not before. Salt, sweat, hair wrong, still breathing — that is who the log is about. Portrait orientation, chest up, camera at their eye level, and stand one step further back than feels right. Portrait mode off: the fake blur eats hair and sunglasses.
Three frames each — one looking at you, one looking away, one laughing at something you said. The third is usually the one.
Whoever turns up is the team.