The Running Track
1983
I’m ten years old, at Summertown Middle School, Oxford in the U.K. I was living on a council estate called Cutterslowe, in Oxfordshire, where my young parents had just purchased a council house. My dad was a builder and he was in the process of building an extension on to the property which had a generous garden. We had foreign students living with us. Often Japanese, Italian or Spanish women who all became part of the family. They would come and go and bring a little culture and warmth with them, well most of them anyway. I had a brother who was four years older than me. He was the cool kid at school, very popular with both the boys and girls. Everyone knew my brother, he was a risk taker and a warrior of sorts and I was known as Marc Molyneux’s little brother. My mother was working part time at a department store in Oxford and was always home from work by the time we made our way back from school.
I had fond memories of that school, out of the three schools I attended that was the only one I can remember enjoying. It was the eighties and at all the schools I ever attended we never had to wear a school uniform. I remember growing a little pixie tail, I think that’s what it was called, a lock of hair at the back and I had a bleached blonde streak and wore pixie boots – following the fashion of The Thompson Twins.
I had good friends, boys and girls and it was a good time in my life. I wasn’t popular, nor unpopular. I wasn’t smart nor was I particularly struggling, although I never enjoyed reading out loud in front of the class and I was very conscious of my weight. I was a little overweight at that stage in my life and in the p.e lessons, was neither strong, co-ordinated, fast or had any stamina. I couldn’t climb a rope and would lag behind on the athletics track. My personal nightmare was when we had to take our shirts off and play against shirts on in a basketball match during the p.e class. I really felt the shame of having a little excess fat in those days.
I had teachers I was fond of, Mrs Lord and Mr Walker are the two I remember. I was lucky enough to get to know Mrs Lord as an adult in my thirties.
My story is about a race, it was the summer of 1983 we had to run the 800 metres, twice around the running track on the school field. I had never been asked to run that far before, and after about 400 metres I experienced a stich in my side, I was out of breath and ready to give in. I kept going, I pushed through the pain in my side and as I reached the halfway stage of the last lap I noticed a group of girls at the side of the track calling me on, they had seen I was struggling to finish and the started cheering for me to complete the course. There was only two of us left in the race, the others had long since finished, myself and someone further behind me.
Those girls cheered me to the finish line, their encouragement made all the difference and without them I wouldn’t have made it. I received what I needed, it was an opportunity to grow, and a big one. And one I am still thankful for. Their small act of encouragement made all the difference to me and stayed with me to this day. I still use that experience to help me. I run now often, and I frequently push the boundaries of what I believe I can do. When I reach the point at which I feel I want to stop and rest and give up I remember those 10 year old girls cheering me on and I harness that memory to get me across the finish line.
The lesson for me here was to see how I too can help others grow through encouragement and being their cheerleader. It is also to use those powerful memories from the past in order to push through the pain barrier or find that hidden extra inside of me. There is rarely anyone else in my life pushing me on, now it’s an inner journey, yet those girls remain with me, locked into my memory. They have got me over many finish lines since.