"Bling Whores"

This term was used on a site by someone who has decided to host virtual races via her blog as a fundraiser. I freely admit that I love medals. It is a lovely reminder of how you conquered whatever struggle facing you on your path to the finish line. T-shirts fade, race bibs get lost or destroyed, but that medal is there, a shiny reminder that of what you did. Finisher medals are so very different from other race tokens. You don't get them for just showing up, you only get them when you cross the same finish line that ever other racer did. No matter how fast or slow you ran, no matter what your time was, everyone in that race has to trek across that same finish line. That is what makes finisher medals so great.

My first finisher medal was for Run 4 Your Lives. I was the fattest person in my wave and one of the fattest people there. It took me two hours to cover this 3.1 mile rolling, wet, muddy course. I completed 8 of the 12 obstacles. All of my flags were taken. I finished as a zombie. The thing is though, I finished. I look back on it now, and the fact that I even showed up counts as something. The Barbarian Challenge was even more daunting than that, because more than physical ability was challenged, my pride was also put on trial. I'm used to taking care of myself and handling my own problems on my own. The idea of being in a position where I have no choice but to accept help is a sore issue for me, even though I know the thought is completely illogical. Every time I see that medal, I remember the lessons learned from that event.

Of the five (yay!) finisher medals in my possession, four of them required me to travel to a race, four were out-of-town, two were out-of-state. Only one race was local and that was because it was a virtual race. Even that virtual race came with a life lesson and a challenge to face. It was during that race that I faced my longtime fear of running at night, a fear that I deeply resented.

Yes, I love medals, but not because of some concept of "bling whoredom." These medals are snapshots of my journey. They last longer than photos and they will last longer than my memories. I keep them right under my first race bib. They are the first thing I see in the morning. It is not done out of ego, but because I need to remember what each of those races represented for me. I need to remember the deeply personal challenge that came with every registration and how it mirrored my own personal battles.

Most importantly, I need to remember that I conquered that challenge the second my toe touched the finish line.