60 Hockey Puns That’ll Have You Skating on Thin Ice
Hockey is the only sport where you can lose teeth, get into a fight, and still call it a Wednesday.
Running is the only sport where you pay money to suffer in public and then brag about it for weeks. I’ve been a runner on and off (mostly off, if we’re being real) for about six years now, and the thing that’s kept me going isn’t the endorphins, it’s the puns. Running puns are everywhere once you start looking. They’re on race bibs, in group chat names, on those Instagram posts where someone’s standing in front of a sunrise looking way too composed for 6 a.m.
Anyway, here are a bunch of running puns I’ve collected, stolen, and frankly made up while sleep-deprived after long runs.
My running shoes have a sole purpose.
Why did the runner break up with the jogger? They just weren’t on the same pace.
Honestly, this one works on like three levels if you’ve ever tried to run with a partner who’s significantly faster or slower than you. It’s relationship counseling and running advice wrapped into one.
I’m not running away from my problems. I’m running towards the finish line. The problems are just, you know, still there when I get back.
My running shoes are sole-mates. I’ve gone through four pairs of Hokas this year and I’ve gotten emotionally attached to every single one. The retirement ceremony involves placing them on the garage shelf and whispering “thank you for your service.”
I’m running late for my running club, which feels like the most on-brand sentence I’ve ever said.
What’s a runner’s favorite type of music? Anything with a good beat.
Don’t jog my memory, I’m trying to run a race here.
This one’s stupid. I know it’s stupid. I’m including it because my friend Jake texts it to me before every single race and at this point it’s tradition.
“How was your interval workout?”
“It had its ups and downs. Mostly downs. I was doing hill repeats.”
I told this to my running group and exactly one person laughed. That person is now my best friend.
I’m not a fast runner, but I’m ahead of where I used to be.
This marathon is no walk in the park. Unless you hit mile 22, in which case it might literally become a walk in the park.
Chasing my dreams… usually on a treadmill. 🏃♀️
My legs are sore but my spirit is soaring.
(That’s a good post-race caption too, tbh. Screenshot it.)
Why did the runner bring a ladder to the race? To get over the wall at mile 20.
Okay this one barely works. The original version I had was even worse, something about “reaching the finish line”, and I scrapped it. This revision is only marginally better. Moving on.
My friend asked me what I thought about his 400m strategy. I said it sounded like a lot of negative splitting hairs.
If you know, you know. Negative splits, running the second half faster than the first, are basically the holy grail of race strategy that everyone talks about and almost nobody actually executes. It’s the “I’ll start my diet Monday” of running.
Running on fumes… and the promise of pizza.
I like to run because it helps me track my progress. Literally. On a track.
I’m not just running, I’m making strides.
This is one of those puns that’s so clean it almost doesn’t register as a pun. It just sounds like something a motivational poster would say, which is maybe the most devastating critique I can offer.
My running playlist is un-beat-able. 🎧
What do you call a runner who bonks at mile 18? A hit-and-run victim.
For non-runners: “bonking” is when your body runs out of glycogen and you basically become a sentient pile of regret. It’s not funny when it happens to you. It’s very funny when it happens to someone else and they describe it later over brunch.
Don’t sweat the small stuff, just run with it.
(The third one isn’t even a pun. I just can’t stop myself.)
A step in the right direction? More like 40,000 steps in a generally forward direction with two wrong turns and a porta-potty break.
I told my physical therapist I was running circles around the competition. She said that explains my IT band issues.
Running a marathon is a real foot feat.
Ngl, I almost deleted this one. It sounds like something you’d mumble with a mouth full of peanut butter. But it’s staying.
I’m pacing myself for success.
My running watch keeps telling me my VO2 max is “unproductive.” Honestly? So is this blog post. We have a lot in common.
If you’ve ever obsessed over the color-coded training status on your GPS watch, you know the specific sting of your wrist telling you that your hard work is, quote, “maintaining.” Thanks, Garmin. Really needed that energy today.
This trail run is a breath of fresh air. Except for that section near the dairy farm.
Why did the runner get kicked out of the library? He was running his mouth about his PR.
My coach said I need to work on my kick. I said, “What is this, soccer?” He said, “No, it’s the last 200 meters where you look like you’re trying to walk through waist-deep pudding.”
The “kick” in running is your final sprint to the finish. Most people’s kick looks less like a burst of speed and more like a slightly faster shuffle. Mine certainly does.
Running on sunshine… and a good pair of shades. ☀️
My running technique is flaw-less. And by that I mean I have fewer flaws than last year. I still have plenty.
I’m running on adrenaline. And also two gels and a Clif bar I found in my pocket from a race three months ago.
Quick sidebar: why do all energy gels taste like they were designed by someone who’s heard of food but never actually eaten any? The salted caramel ones are fine. Everything else is punishment.
What do you call a running ghost? A sprinter. (Spirit-er? Get it? No? Fair.)
That’s a terrible pun. Genuinely terrible. The kind of pun that makes you want to un-read something.
Outrun your excuses. 💨
“How do you feel after that tempo run?”
“I’m doing a cool down.”
“No, emotionally.”
“…I’m doing a cool down.”
My running partner and I have great chemistry, we bond over miles.
My running shoes are toe-tally awesome.
I apologize for this one. Truly. From the bottom of my sole.
Every time I tell a non-runner I’m doing fartleks, they think I’m making it up. It’s a real Swedish training method. It means “speed play.” But yeah, it sounds exactly like what you think it sounds like, and no, I will never stop giggling about it.
You could say my fartlek workout was… a gas. 💀
I’m so sorry.
I’m running on empty but my water bottle is full. Priorities.
This race is going the distance. (It’s an ultra. It’s literally 100 miles. “Going the distance” is an understatement.)
If a run isn’t on Strava, did it even happen? I guess you could say the data just… didn’t log right.
It’s a marathon, not a sprint. Unless it’s a sprint. Then it’s a sprint.
I tried running in jeans once. It was a bad move, denim-strating very poor judgment.
That’s a REACH. I know. I can feel you wincing through the screen. But I had to fill this list somehow and we’re deep in the trenches now.
Running wild on the trails!
My running journey has been a long haul. Mostly because I keep signing up for longer and longer races like some kind of masochist with a credit card.
What do you call a runner who only runs downhill? A declining athlete.
I told my coach my easy runs feel too easy. She said I was in my aerobic zone. I said it felt more like my boring zone. She said that means I’m doing it right.
The 80/20 rule (80% easy, 20% hard) is the thing every running coach preaches and every amateur ignores because running slow feels like failure. It’s the broccoli of training plans. You know it’s good for you. You still don’t want to do it.
Running is my therapy, it helps me process my thoughts. Also it costs less per mile than my actual therapist.
I keep my running schedule tight. Some might say I’m running a tight ship.
My friend asked why I only race in the fall. I said I prefer autumn PRs, the weather’s better and the competition really leaves something to be desired.
Double pun. DOUBLE PUN. Leaves, like autumn leaves, AND leaves as in “leaves something to be desired.” I will not be taking criticism on this one. This is my masterpiece. Frame it.
My running coach says I need to work on my form. I said my form’s great, I filled out the race registration perfectly.
Running on pure grit. And also some gravel that got in my shoe around mile 3.
What’s a runner’s favorite type of joke? A runny one.
Yep. That’s the whole joke. It’s bad. I’m not even going to defend it.
Running on empty but my heart is full. 🖤
I tried to start a conversation at the running club but everyone just kept giving me the runaround.
“Why do you always run so early in the morning?”
“I like to hit the ground running.”
“That just sounds like tripping.”
My metronome app says I should aim for 180 steps per minute. I told my running buddy I’m trying to improve my turnover. He said, “Same, but I’m talking about the apple kind.” We are not the same.
My running watch helps me keep track of my pace. It also keeps track of how long I spend standing in the kitchen eating cheese after a run, which is data I did not ask for.
Running a tight race against my own expectations. Losing, mostly. But it’s close.
Cross country runners do it in the woods. That’s not a pun, it’s just a fact and also a t-shirt I saw at a meet in 2019 that I think about more often than I should.
You could say I’ve really been putting my best foot forward. Both of them, actually. Alternating. That’s kinda how running works.
Alright, I’m cooling down. (See what I did there.) If you made it through all of these, you’re either a runner or you’re procrastinating, and honestly those two things overlap more than people realize. Now go lace up, or don’t. I’m a pun blog, not your coach.
Hockey is the only sport where you can lose teeth, get into a fight, and still call it a Wednesday.
Swimming is the only sport where you can be horizontal, gasping for air, and somehow still call it “relaxing.
Soccer is the one sport where you can use your head and your feet but somehow still end up looking brainless and flat-footed.
Football is the only sport where you can watch a guy named something like “Brock” get absolutely flattened by a 300-pound man and the...
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