Day 138 - Running Medals (Throw)

I grew up thinking of myself as a non-athlete.  (I was an ARTIST, uninterested in throwing an inflated leather ball repeatedly through a hoop.)  Everyone assumed that because I was tall, I must love/play basketball, but I only ridiculed basketball (because I was no good at it!). 

I was well into my adult years when I started running on a regular basis.  It was the year before I met Melissa.  I ran because I had a hyperactive dog and no fence around my yard.  She needed exercise and she dragged me along with her.  I still didn't think of myself as an athlete.

During the early years of our marriage, my desire and drive to run (now without the dog) came only in periodic spurts, and I could not imagine running more than 3 miles at a time.  Not an athlete.

In 2007, we were living back home in Indiana and my sister-in-law talked me into running the Indy Mini-Marathon with about 6 weeks notice.  Once I committed, Kristine made me run with her on a Saturday morning and it was the first time I broke the 6 mile mark.  I was huffing and puffing (and slowing her down), but I DID IT. 

I was hooked.  The Mini itself was quite an experience.  35,000 people elbow to elbow at the starting line.  Little garage bands performing along the route.  Getting passed by gray-haired men as if I were standing still. Part of route winds around the Indianapolis 500 race track.  That's halfway - and as I ran that section, I could watch the big screens showing reporters interviewing the race winners! It took me over 2 hours and 20 minutes to finish the 13.1 miles, but I did it.  I was officially an athlete!

I ran again the next year and the next.  When I turned 40, I ran a full marathon as part of my mid-life crisis.  (Much more affordable than buying a convertible.) 

At the end of each race, volunteers are there to hang a medal around your neck.  They are all quite big and gaudy and all the racers wear them with pride.

Once at home, my medals went into the closet.  The sense of accomplishment was real enough to me that I didn't feel the need to display the medals where I and others could see them often. 

So why keep them at all?  What am I going to do with them in the future?  With the passage of time, they will only become sad reminders of something I once did ... something I was once able to do. 

Who needs that?  Tonight I threw them in the trash.

All but the first one.  It was actually the smallest and it holds a bit more meaning than just the running.  That year, the race bib came with a free pass to a Saturday morning pancake breakfast and qualifications at the Speedway.  I took Ida and Dats - who were looking super cute in their baseball caps and sunglasses. 

Ida spilled syrup all over the front of his shirt.  And Dats couldn't stand the noise the cars were making as they zipped around the track.  But it was a real father-and-sons day and an overall pleasant memory.  I'm going to hold on to that first medal and put it in my box of memories to keep...

Ida and Dats looking so cute in 2007!