Coming home to the folks is always a joy, especially at this time of year. Last night I was discussing with the folks how I was feeling about my training for the London marathon, when my mum piped up: “You’ve got a tin of medals upstairs, which you may want to look at.” So post-run this morning, I dug out my medal haul and the photo above is the result.
I have to admit that at this stage I’m rather nervous about the London marathon. After all, it is the first marathon since my injury last year and I don’t feel completely on form.
Nevertheless, if I needed any encouragement, this tin was the right way to go. Simply the sight of these medals has lifted my mood. Now I’m not the type to count how many races I’ve done and if you ask me even now, I’m not even sure. It’s more the memories attached to the medals and races that make me smile.
Take the Santa Race, for example. I remember running the five (or maybe six) km course around Battersea Park in a full-on Santa outfit, including beard, thinking I wish I could just strip out of this ruddy hot costume. But I didn’t. In fact, nobody did because the entire point of the race was to look silly and join in with your fellow Santas. Sure, there are some races that you compete in to get your PB but there are others that you do to be a part of something. And I guess we all wanted to get hot in a red felted disguise together and be the proud owners of a Santa costume afterwards.
Other memories spring instantly to mind when I look at these medals – like my second Silverstone half, when I had to race to the starting line as we were stuck in a traffic jam. Or my first Paris marathon, where I was amazed by the handing out of wine (I joke not) at mile 22. For every medal I look at, it’s like a flashback to the race in question.
If anything, laying out my life of races like this reminds me that no matter what happens on race day, it will be more than just a another memento to pop in my tin.