That’s me on the left… in all my golden glory
It’s funny how memory works.
Last fall, in a fit of de-cluttering, I came across a storage bin full of old trophies: awards from various run/bike/swim events I’d competed in, cross-country ski loppets, mountain bike races. When I was in my late teens and early twenties, endurance sports were a big part of my life. There were academic awards, too, my Ontario scholar plaque, a couple of prizes from the short time I spent as a Toastmaster.
I had to ask myself what I was keeping all this stuff for. In comparison to the richness of my memories, this ‘hardware’ looked cheap and ridiculous. Knick-knacks. They weren’t even on display, they were sitting out here in the damp.
I picked up a trophy and read the plaque: Scanlon Creek Mountain Bike Race 1995, 1st place. The plastic cyclist perched on top was now riding a little askew. 1995. That would have been the summer we bought our first house, this house, the summer when I became pregnant with my first child. I remember one particular day during that time with absolute clarity. I was pedaling my road bike up a steep hill on a back-country road, something I was very good at. I was inexplicably short of breath, not able to get enough air in, and suddenly it occurred to me: “Could I be.. is it possible… am I pregnant?” This epiphany, this life-altering moment, came while I was on a bike, doing something I did well, powering a bike straight uphill.
I put the trophy back down.
My husband helped me take photos of my collection – and his, too. We chose a handful of trophies to keep and trashed the rest. There is more work to do here, more paring down , and there remains this lingering question–what to do with those memory-charged objects, the ones that remind you of something important that trigger a memory of say, the moment you realized you were pregnant with your first child?
Because there is no denying it. There is a tangible power there, a visceral connection that can’t be captured by a photograph. That’s what makes it so hard to let go of this stuff, these things: they light up old, forgotten memories with vividness, depth, colour, emotion. They light up feelings from another time and place.
And so I tucked that one trophy away. For now.