I have a deserved reputation among friends and family as a borderline-infamous purger. I’ve gotten rid of a vintage Gucci handbag, a beautiful copper pot, and my wedding gown. But I still have all my race medals.
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Shoes GEOX D Ponza B D25GVB 021ZI C6001 Cognac Hood to Coast, a 199-mile overnight relay from Mount Hood to Seaside, Oregon. My husband drove the team van, and when it was my turn to sit in the front seat, I asked him whether he wished he were competing. “I would rather stick a fork in my leg than ever run another race,” he answered. Yet he’s saved the medals from the two races he’s run, both of which he signed up for under duress. We’re not the only ones with a medal-hoarding trait, Nike running coach Jes Woods tells me. “Nine out of 10 runners I know keep their medals, “ she says. Woods is that 10th runner. She recently moved to a new apartment in New York City, and her medals did not come with her. “They were taking up closet space, and it seemed kind of collegiate to hang them up.” But she did pack up her ultramarathon belt buckles, the customary awards for those uncustomary distances.
My friend Kim Fusaro, a runner since high school whose latest run streak is more than 700 days long, has divvied up her 20 or so medals among her kids’ dress-up bin, her in-laws’ house, and the key hooks by the front door. Last year she trimmed and stitched the ribbon on a 5K medal to make a smaller loop she could hang from a Christmas tree branch. “That way I had an ornament with sentimental value—and more to show for the $48 entry fee and 29:26.75 of my time than another play ‘necklace’ lost in a heap of tiaras,” she says.
Kim’s father-in-law actually sells medal displays. They would have come in handy for my father-in-law, who has only ever displayed his Boston medal, which he hung over a framed photo for a while. “All the rest of them are stuffed in a box somewhere,” he says. “Part of life’s detritus waiting to get tossed out someday.”
But not by him, not yet. Likewise for most of us with our own medals. Why is it, in this age of life-changing tidying up, we can not bear to throw these little metal discs away? Do they really spark joy?
BYO Race Awards
Michael Kors Nikko Sneakers.
When I hold each of my medals in my hands, per professional declutterer Marie Kondo’s method, I don’t feel the effervescence she’s built an empire around. But I do feel recognized, and I think that’s a universal desire. It’s why we save thank-you notes and make humble brags on social media. It’s why we—or maybe just me—text our partner from the parking lot to ask, “Where’s my medal?” after a particularly epic Target run.
Our medals are about more than validation, though. I store mine in a box with the hospital bracelet I wore when I gave birth to my daughter and a little spiky seed pod from the tree that marks the spot where I scattered my dad’s ashes in Kauai. I am a cerebral person, as I suspect many runners are, and these artifacts confirm that I have a body with powers that are great as well as finite.
They’re also proof of maximum effort, which is not something I can sustain day to day. I cut corners when I cook. I look at Instagram when I’m talking on the phone and Twitter when I should be working. Races, however, are different. Maybe it’s because races are also finite (unlike, say, raising a child), or because people are cheering for you, or because I don’t run with my phone in my hand, but 100 is the amount I give when I’m chugging toward a finish line—and only then.
alternativa idónea para aquellos que se inician en el mundo del running | Better Than Medals
Instead of a medal at the finish line, you’ll get…
So much feels ephemeral, including the selves we’ve been. I’m still a runner, but I don’t currently race. I’ll probably never be a student again, or a New Yorker, or a new mom. So many of these selves go unmemorialized. My daughter won’t remember that I used to wake up throughout the night to feed her, let alone make me a plaque for my trouble.
Medals—for valor, honor, este, or finishing a race—are evidence that we existed in a meaningful way. They confirm our identity, past and present. They prove we persevered.
During my last Target run, I saw a tchotchke printed with the phrase “Every flower must grow through dirt.” You could buy it for $5, a cheap reminder that beauty comes from struggle. Or you could run a race. The entry fee’s higher, but the memento at the end is priceless.
alternativa idónea para aquellos que se inician en el mundo del running | Declutter for a Cause
Don’t want to hold onto your medals anymore? Medals 4 Mettle repurposes half-marathon, marathon, and triathlon medals for children and adults battling cancer and other chronic illnesses (medals4mettle.org). And the volunteer-athletes at Sports Medal Recycling (sportsmedalrecycling.com) Boots RIEKER 73341-24 Braun.