We live in a 4-bedroom house. Since we don’t actually need two guest bedrooms, one of them has become an office. Unfortunately, the word office in our house often translates into room to dump all the crap into before guests arrive. Between normal junk-dumping and preparing for Christmas, the office has looked like a disaster area for at least two months.
So, in the midst of taking down the Christmas decorations (yes, at least two weeks ago), I decided that it would be oh-so-intelligent to also tear apart the office and start reworking it, inch by inch. I promised myself that I’d be finished working on it by the end of this month, which thankfully seems likely. As we’ve been tearing into things, I’ve come upon little ditties that have made me smile and think back to a fun time here or there (I should mention that all of my photography equipment … including extra photos … is stored in the closet of said office, so most of the ditties were photos).
A few nights ago, I was plowing through all of my scrapbooking materials, trying to separate them into boxes for future scrapbooks. One box became the “race book” box. Over the years, I’ve saved every bib, every pamphlet, every little thing I could from races that Will and I have been in. As I was sifting through the stuff, I found my inspiration to get back out running and hopefully stay there – my medals.
As a child, I was completely not athletic. I was too shy for group activities and I just didn’t enjoy chasing a ball around any sort of field. I did figure skate for a couple of years, but that got too expensive and I had to quit before my poor parents had to remortgage the house. The only medals in my bedroom were ones that said “Honor Roll” or “No Absences” on them. I lie – I did have one bowling trophy from maybe 1987, but that was it. Seeing those race medals, in particular the one from the 2006 Jefferson Hospital Philadelphia Distance Run reminded me of how accomplished I felt to have that medal put around my neck as I gasped for breath at the finish line (hey – I finished; no one said I did it gracefully). We were dog-assed-slow (I believe we finished in 3:15:xx), but we were so proud of ourselves. I realized, I want that feeling again. And now I want it at my more recent pace (12:00 – 12:30 miles … still slow, but at least I’ll finish before the walkers).
I think that’s what I’ve been needing. I’m not going to foolishly sign up for a race yet; I have a toddler who needs me more than the distance run does, but I’m aspiring to get myself to a point where I can get out there and run that distance once again. I’m thinking maybe those medals deserve a place of honor somewhere on the walls of our house – a constant reminder that I did it once and I can certainly do it again.