When I was little I went to a school where we wore our names printed loudly across white sports shirts. The letters were velvety to touch and you could choose the colour and size of font.
My family lived in Malaysia then. I was just seven but remember the thrill of wearing that t-shirt on humid, sticky school Sports Day. I cleaned up at the track events, collected medals and trophies, stood on a podium and felt adored by the crowd. I was pumped. Everybody knew my name. It was written across my shirt...
So much life has happened since those dreamy early school days. There have been first loves, lost loves, cigarettes and a passport full of inky stamps. There has been illness, loss, terrible hurt. There have been bullies. And bitter, regretted words. Then there has been laughter – knicker-wetting, muscle-hurting laughter. There has been friendship – the thrill of new ones, the joy of old ones, the sad, muted passage of dying ones.
There has been fear, doubt and rage. Loss of hope. There have been bad mistakes and very good ones.
There have been beautiful words, love notes and delicious scribbles in school books. There have been weddings, and one in particular. There have been vows. There have been two beautiful babies.
There is much still to come. But to date, I am not yet the adult confident enough to wear that t-shirt. Life has bashed me a little, chipped away at this and scratched away at that. Put me in my place. I am over sensitive and too full of doubt. I lose the rag at my kids. I worry too much about what people think and too little about what I think. I cry too easily – usually at television commercials.
But through the creaks, groans and treasures of life I’ve had these things - my legs, this heart, these lungs. This mind.
After giving up smoking I ran. When I had my heart broken I ran. When I didn’t get that job, I pulled on running shoes and ran. When I felt lonely in a new place I ran. While my belly swelled with new life I swam. When I was overweight after having my babies I ran. When I couldn’t be bothered I ran. When I didn’t think I’d ever run again, I surprised myself and ran – it wasn’t far but it was a start.
I’d feel the pacing of my heart, the stretch of my lungs and the strength of my mind.
And this is what I tell myself. That though I am flawed, I am also determined. For the past three months I have trained on my own for a triathlon. I’ve had no coach, running group or swimming buddy. I’ve just had me.
In a few days time I’ll be one of hundreds standing on a beach at 7am ready to tackle this thing. There will be nothing that stands me out from the crowd except my number, etched in black ink on my arm and leg. There will be no t-shirt bearing my name. And nowadays, that’s how I like it.
Determination is silent but solid. It cannot simply be measured by medals, trophies or where you stand on the podium, if you get there at all.
I will finish this thing I started no matter how much it hurts. I will be knocked, scuffed and possibly a little drowned but I will come back. I may fall off my bike but I will climb back on. The seat of my tri-suit may well split and those behind me will just have to put up with a view of my fish-belly-white bum, poor souls. I will most probably arse up the transitions but I’ll keep going...
Now, how do you fit all that on a t-shirt?....
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