File this one under Things I Keep Meaning to Tell Y’all…
When I sign up for a race, I do it for the experience. I’m looking to run a certain distance and to challenge myself. I am generally not at all interested in the race swag.
If I sign up for a race that’s 10 miles or a half marathon, I do expect to get a finisher’s medal when I cross the line at the end. It’s a silly little thing, really, but I think we all know that I have silly tendencies.
The Jenworld fridge is much like most families’ fridges: Covered in photos, kids’ art, important reminders, and more. Hanging on one side are some photos, some other odds, and ends, and a few medals that we here in Jenworld have brought home. One is from Grace’s first fencing tournament and one is mine from the 1o-miler.
And then there’s this:
If that looks handmade to you, you would be correct.
When I crossed the finish line at the half, someone handed me the hat pictured at the top, not a medal. The hat is black mesh, just like the kind that truckers wear. It is, I repeat, not a medal. Luckily, my sister had already told me that this half marathon doesn’t include medals, so I wasn’t expecting one. And, really, I should be mature enough to not need one.
But it irked me to no end. Ask Pete. He’ll affirm that I griped incessantly about it for weeks. Weeks, I tell you. I threatened to make a medal of my own and finally, a week or so ago, I did.
The metal end of a tube of Pillsbury cinnamon rolls + a leftover ribbon from a gift + plus a piece of packing tape + a Sharpie = equals one rather low-brow and pathetic, but just-fine-with-me medal. The Martha I am not, but I’m not too fussed by it.
Tell me, what have you jury-rigged lately?