That Comrades Marathon Medal

Even before my old shoe-box was full of medals for doing runs between 10 to 160 km, they had kind of lost their value.

Not the running, the medals.

At best I could see myself old, one had holding a rattling teacup, the other hand in the medal box lingering in the residue of running.

My Comrades medals aren’t in that box. When others want to see, I get them.

It’s a funny thing looking at those unassuming medals, rich with the story of me.