By the Mizuno Shoe Guy
A few weeks ago, my mother called and asked whether I wanted my grandfather’s extensive stamp and coin collection. She was cleaning out all the useless stuff in their house and his collection was just collecting dust mites, but it was mine if I wanted it.
My grandfather was a gruff, stern German who had survived unimaginable horrors in World War 11 before immigrating to America. I never knew how he made it here, but somehow he escaped Nazi Germany to start a new life in Illinois. When I was very young, both my parents worked and I ended up spending a lot of time with my grandfather. My memories are a little fuzzy, but I do remember my grandfather tried and tried to pass on his hobbies to me, but I was as interested in old stamps and coins as I was in soccer and math (not at all).
I’m just not a collector. Not in stamps, coins, baseball cards or even running stuff. I’ve just never been that guy. For example, I love to read, but have never collected books. Books are supposed to be read, rather than displayed on a shelf for all to see. Same with my running detritus.
Anyone who has run and raced for awhile, knows what I’m talking about. Over the years, we tend to accumulate all sorts of running stuff—race shirts, water bottles and numbers, medals, magazines and old shoes—that does nothing but pile up in a corner. Except, in my house. I don’t keep any of that around anymore.
I used to and had hundreds of race shirts going all the way back to 1977 and had a mound of race numbers organized sequentially and by distance. But even a runner can have way too many shirts and the only time they were ever worn was by my kids who used them for pajamas. The stacks of race numbers served absolutely no purpose. I used to keep the medals, but they were rendered meaningless when even 5-Ks started giving out finishers’ medals.
One year after I completed the Boston Marathon, I climbed over and out of the finishers’ chute on Boylston Street to get back to my hotel, even though I wouldn’t get a finishers’ medal unless I went all the way down to the Commons to pick it up. But I didn’t much care. Boston was what mattered, not the same medal everyone else would have that I would just throw in a box when I got home with all my other pointless race tokens.
Having said that, I readily admit to keeping some of the age-group awards I’ve won over the years. (It helps to get old.) Those are keepsakes I’ve earned and symbolize that on a certain day I somehow ran well, rather than just finished. I haven’t exactly won any races—at least none since high school—but the plaques and trinkets I’ve collected are proof that even someone as slow as I am now, can even have a good race every once in a while.
I don’t begrudge people who love to collect stuff—running or otherwise. If you want another race shirt or finishers’ medal to add to your collection, just let me know and you can have some of mine.
If you want it, I’ll even toss in my grandfather’s old stamp and coin collections.
(photo credit: Chris Hollis)