Lettering in Life

During yesterday’s nine-miler, I got to thinking about how it’s almost funny I am running a half-marathon. I didn’t excel at sports as a child. I tried, but I was far from the star athlete.  I enjoyed softball, but my parents reminded me how much I (read: they) loved boating and how my weekend softball tourneys would interrupt that. I was on JV tennis in high school for three years. I’d call me “fine.” I cut out of tryouts senior year because of a heart murmur that showed up during my physical. And, as a senior you couldn’t be on JV—had to make varsity—and I knew that wasn’t happening. Thank goodness for the heart murmur, right?

Not being a great athlete at Millard North High School; however, was hard. Hard because letter jackets were super cool at our school. At any given party there would be an assortment of black Reebok high tops scattered in the entry way and a pile of blue-wool and grey-sleeved jackets on the couch.  And obviously, since I didn’t letter in a sport, I didn’t have a letter jacket. (I did letter in academics but that was not the cool letter—sorry Josh. Only kidding, buddy.) 

While thinking about the irony of me—the non-athlete—running 13.1 miles, I thought “so what?” Who cares if some 18-year-old could run the 40 in record time or can make three-pointers like it’s nobody’s business? Is that what matters in life? While in 1998 it might have seemed so, the answer is no.

And that got me thinking about a lot. My job I love. My home. T Fitch and his great job. Macy. My incredible friends. My family. The fact that I have raised $4,600+ for breast cancer research and walked 120 miles over six days to show my commitment to the cause. Kappa. A college degree.

The list goes on.

Whether I’m walking around in a North Face fleece or a Banana Republic trench, these are the accomplishments I am proud of.  I don’t need them written on my back to remind me.

Someone get Eric Crouch on the phone...how’s that letter jacket fitting nowadays?