Illustration by Rania Abdallah
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It’s the classic slogan – my parents went to Florida and all I got was this lousy T-shirt.
But when I began running about 30 years ago, it was indeed all about the shirt you got for participating in a race. They weren’t lousy – they were a badge of honour. Even though many didn’t even include the year or the city the race took place in, you earned your shirt.
Serious runners followed the in-the-know runners’ code – don’t wear the shirt until you’re done the race, and never wear a shirt from a race you haven’t done.
Once, when I was proudly wearing my sprint triathlon T-shirt in a pool locker room, a woman asked me, “Is your grandchild a triathlete?” As if I would wear a shirt from someone else’s race!
A woman in my exercise class, who wasn’t a runner, surprised me by apologizing for wearing a race shirt in class that she’d bought at a thrift shop. She was aware of the unwritten code. I assured her I wouldn’t shame her.
Walking the Camino gave me time to grieve at last
As I ran more and more races, my treasured T-shirts began to pile up. They were a reminder of what I’d accomplished since taking up running around my 50th birthday – two marathons a year for 20 years, plus innumerable shorter races in between.
I didn’t want to donate them to a thrift shop, but they were edging out everything else in the closet.
I saw companies on the web offering to make quilts out of running shirts, but I decided to go the DIY route. Ten years ago, I approached a friend whose quilting group made quilts as a charity project and took the occasional commission to help purchase supplies.
Under their guidance, I began by digging into the overflowing box of T-shirts I’d brought to their quilting room.
In my first session, the quilters taught me how to use a rotary cutter like a pizza cutter to remove a square with the race logo or text and, because I’m left-handed, to turn around the blade. I filled a clear garbage bag with shirts that had their middle cut out, and my small pile of squares and rectangles with their printed running logos grew. The quilters turned the unneeded T-shirt pieces into neckerchiefs for dogs.
The following week, it was time to finish cutting up all the shirts and assemble them into the shape of a quilt on a big table.
In the air with my pilot son, I realized he’s not my little boy any more
It was a much bigger project than I’d envisioned: ironing on backing, arranging pieces in order, sewing them together, layering and temporarily securing the layers together or “sandwiching,” quilting and binding, stitching by hand, stitching on machine. I needed a lot of help. With weekly sessions under the supervision of the quilting group, it took a couple of months to finish.
But I was so delighted with the result that I scooped up my remaining race T-shirts the following year, and created a second quilt at the same place.
Now, whenever I look at the T-shirt quilts on my quilt rack, I relive my earlier races. When my two grandchildren visit, I have a quilt to put out on the sleeping cots for each of them.
Of course, with my old T-shirts disembowelled, I can’t wear them any more. And now that I prefer taking the green option at races – no shirt, no medal (I’ve also got too many of those stacked in shoe boxes in my closet) – they aren’t being replaced with any new race shirts.
But these are different times. Many races encourage participants to wear their T-shirt as they’re running, ideal for selfies and marketing.
Fortunately, as I run less, I volunteer more – and volunteer organizations do provide shirts.
I wear last year’s hot-pink Ironman volunteer T-shirt to exercise classes with pride, and I’ve signed up to be a food distribution volunteer for the Ottawa Ironman in August. I’ll add that shirt to this year’s collection that includes Canadian Tulip Festival volunteer and Ottawa Race Weekend volunteer.
I don’t have enough for a quilt, but I have a different volunteer shirt for each 7 a.m. exercise class five days a week.
No apologies, I’ve earned them.
Louise Rachlis lives in Ottawa.