It's not "Just another bib"

           If you are a triathlete or runner, chances are you like to decorate your walls with race bibs, hang medals wherever possible, and place your trophies in plain view. Endurance sport becomes such a big par of your life that you must have race memorabilia close at all times. Because, obviously, your non-running friends never get tired of you talking about your races. No one needs reminding that you are a multisport athlete, but the bibs, medals, and trophies are a part of you that you can hang on the wall or place on your mantle.
              I recently moved across town, which meant that I had to pack up my life into boxes, only to unpack them in a new location a mile down the road. As I re-created my room in my new apartment, it took me twice as long as it should have. I was too busy reminiscing. I hung my race bibs on the wall behind my desk, re-counting each race in my head as I placed them up one-by-one. I remembered the firsts: my first triathlon, Trigator race, Olympic distance race, half marathon, and marathon. I grinned as I hung those from my PR races, and grimaced as I thought about those that didn't go as well. But what about all the others? Were they "just another race"? Of course not.
           I realized that every race had a story. Some were more mundane than others, but they had a story nonetheless. My first Great Clermont bib reminded me of how sick I was, how I wanted to quit after the first lap of the swim, and how I finished the race anyway. My Mitchell invitational bib reminded me of the moment that I realized that I loved cross country. I didn't even run that well, but my runner's high had me beaming all the way home. My Mountain  Dew bib brings me feelings of disappointment, but now I realize that it was a springboard to some of the best running of my life. It also reminds me of how loved I felt that day, with the support of my old cross country team and new friends. My Suncoast Triathlon bib makes me pack a safety pin for my timing chip (the one from that day is sitting at the bottom of the Gulf). The Wildman bib from last year almost makes my feet go numb (it was 65 degrees at the start). Every race is special in some way.
          To me, race bibs are a tangible part of the race that I can keep with me. Sure, I have the ingrained memories of burning legs, debilitating cramps, trials and tribulations. But my bib is my proof. My bib is like a snapshot of myself on the day of the race. I was a very different athlete when I earned my states bib than when I earned my Women's Half Marathon bib. Maybe I'm just a pack rat, but I love keeping my bibs. I have visions of myself at 80 years old, going through my old and yellowing bibs with my grandchildren saying things like "I got this one when I ran my 20th Gasparilla Half Marathon at age 40". I guess only the time (and bibs) will tell.