Jayne folds the green T-shirt in her own special way, ensuring that a small part of the colourful logo can be clearly seen. Placing it on top of the neat pile, she gives it a gentle stroke, as if she is petting her cat Sammy. The shelf is crammed to the brim, yet every shirt is easily identifiable. As she allows her eyes to drift down the collection, she realises that each one has its unique individual story. This green one though, has a slightly more important tale than all the others now lying beneath it; this will be the last shirt she ever places on the stack: Jayne’s running days are over.
~~~
Several years ago Jayne had taken up jogging. It started with a few tentative steps down quiet back lanes, where nobody would see her and ended up with her travelling all over the north of England to enter race after race. She joined the Striders Club and enjoyed both the camaraderie and the hint of competitiveness; every Monday and Wednesday evening they were out there, whatever the weather. On the other, days Jayne would run by herself. Recently she’s been out a few times with Henry, her grandson.
~~~
Jayne was very nervous entering her first real race. It was near Blythe, not too far from where she lives. The experienced club runners encouraged her with kind words and reassurance. The fact that much of this course was downhill was certainly helpful.
So, twelve years ago, on a warm Sunday in May, Jayne ran her first 10 kilometres and crossed the finishing line to loud cheers from her fellow club members and the small crowd of interested onlookers. Proudly she hung the small medal around her neck, before walking over to the water station for a well-deserved drink. Jayne certainly hadn’t won, but she had passed that line. She had achieved her goal: Completing a race, before her 50th birthday.
Geoff, from the Striders Club, came over to her.
“Brilliant Jayne. Very well done. Your initiation is complete. You did really well. Let’s go to the village hall to pick up our T-shirts. You always get a nice one here; top quality. Well worth the entry fee. I’m sure there’ll be some application forms for other races scattered over the tables. Pick up a couple. I think you’re ready to enter a few more.”
Geoff led the way across the road that had been temporarily closed to traffic.
A few minutes later Jayne emerged from the ladies’ toilets, wearing her new bright red T-shirt. A yellow boat was emblazoned across the front, with the words ‘Blythe Finisher’ written on its flag.
“Been there. Got the T-shirt. My first one,” she said to a young lady, who was waiting outside the cubicle.
“Well done you,” the lady said. “You’re right to be pleased with yourself.”
~~~
Before she closes the bedroom cupboard door, Jayne decides to count how many T-shirts she has collected over the years. She lifts them out and places them on the bed in several small piles, to make her task a little easier.
There are five from the Great North Run. Jayne puts them into a bundle and pops them on top of the pillow. The dark blue one from 2014 is her favourite; not because it’s the best-looking shirt, but it is from Jayne’s first half marathon. Of course, she can still remember her finishing time. And she can still recall that feeling of exhaustion when she collapsed onto the damp grass, in South Shields. Jayne willingly admitted it was the crowds, packed along the roadside, that got her through that race, rather than her own fitness.
A couple of the shirts are from Leeds and three from York. Jayne stretches them out across the duvet. An orange, sleeveless one from Bradford goes next to those from Leeds. The black Berwick shirt she drapes over the headboard. Without planning to, Jayne has started to create a map of northern England.
She stops what she’s doing when her phone buzzes. The screen lights up with her daughter and grandson’s faces.
“Hi, Nicola.”
“Hi, Mum. All okay?”
“Yes, all good here. Just looking through all my old running shirts. It’s bringing back loads of memories.”
Nicola laughs, then says, “You must have a good few. How many are there?”
“Funny you ask. That’s how it began. I was going to count them, but I’ve ended up making a map of all the locations I got them from. You should see my bed, it’s a right mess.”
“Oh Mum, that’s a brill idea. You could cut the front off each one and make a patchwork quilt.”
“I’ve got to say that’s not such a crazy suggestion. It will need more stitches than I ever got while running!”
She imagines Nicola raising her eyebrows at her attempt of being humorous.
“Anyway, I’ll certainly think about it. So, what did you call for, apart from inspiring me?”
Nicola laughs again. “Just double checking whether you are still okay to take Henry to his appointment tomorrow.”
“I’ve not forgotten, don’t worry. It’s in my diary. I’ll definitely be there before eleven.”
“Thanks Mum, you’re a star. And I’ve not said this before, but I am really sorry that you had to give up running because of your knee. I know how much it meant to you. And you know how you’ve influenced Henry. I believe it would be nice to do something with all those shirts. Better than just having them shoved into a wardrobe. It will be lovely to look back on when you get even older.”
“Cheeky. But you’re so right, thanks. And don’t you worry about tomorrow.”
“Great. Love you, Mum.”
“Love you too. Back to my job now. See you later.”
Jayne returns to her shirt piles and refolds them in such a way that just a square front is showing. Then she begins to put the jigsaw together. A few have to go on the floor as the bed isn’t big enough. And, before she forgets again, she quickly counts them: Forty-seven.
~~~
Jayne would have easily made it to fifty shirts if her left knee had held up. All the miles of uneven paving and sloping fields had taken its toll. Her passion for running, which had grown from a challenge she set herself so long ago, had caused her some pain. The discomfort was more than compensated by all the pleasure accumulated during her ‘running career’. However, Jayne refused to stop exercising completely; last week she had bought herself a second hand bike. She hopes to get out on it most days, weather permitting. The doctor had told her that the linear movement of pedalling would be good for strengthening her cartilage. And when she isn’t going to be out on her bike she will have a lot of cutting and sewing to do. The “Running Map Quilt’ is another thing she’ll start and hopefully make it to the finishing line.
~~~
True to her word, Jayne picked up her grandson and took him over to the surgery. Normally he would have driven himself in his mum’s car, but the treatment required anaesthetics, so driving was out of the question.
Whenever Jayne was with Henry, the conversations usually touched on running. He had always been proud to have a grandma who ran races. None of his mates had a ‘Jogging Nanna’. He’d attended a few of her runs as a spectator, cheering her on. Occasionally he joined The Striders Club and had shown he was far quicker than his grandma ever was. She didn’t mind; as long as he waited for her to catch up at the top of the hills. He wasn’t keen to enter any races as he wasn’t a competitive person; happy to run just for the fun of it.
~~~
By the end of the week, Jayne has cut out forty-seven squares, all roughly the same size. Arranging them is proving to be a far more challenging task than running the races themselves. So many of the shirts are from the coastal regions. Jayne has to be quite artistically creative with the geography; you certainly won’t be able to plan a journey using this map! The other problem she has, is the awkward number she is working with. Forty-seven squares is a bit tricky.
~~~
A few days later Jayne is standing near the starting line of a running race in a large village, just north of Durham. Her friends from The Striders Club are happy to see her. Geoff asks whether her knee has made a miraculous recovery.
“I wish,” Jayne says.
“We all have to give up at some stage. I don’t think it will be much longer until I run my last one. Achilles hurts like mad, both of them,” Geoff responds.
“Then you’ll have to stand and watch, like me.”
“For a moment I thought you’d come to cheer me on, but I know you’re only here for your Henry. His first race. I think he’ll be back at the finish long before me. He’s got real potential to turn into a good athlete.” He pauses before adding, “It must run in the family.” Geoff laughs at his own little joke.
“Not all the family!” Jayne nods her head in the direction of her daughter walking towards them, carrying two paper coffee cups.
Geoff smiles, checks his watch and says, “Only a few minutes to the start. See you later.” He turns and soon merges with the cluster of fidgety runners, swarming closer and closer to the start banner, which is flapping noisily in the breeze.
Henry is at the far side of the crowd and gives his mum and grandma a nervous wave. They raise their cups and shout in unison, “Good luck.”
Nicola blows him a kiss. Henry pretends to bat the kiss away. He looks very anxious.
A whistle is blown, over a hundred competitors set off down the street and Henry disappears out of view. Nicola and her mum watch them turn the corner by the church, then they slowly make their way down to the finishing line. They’re in no hurry; it will be over thirty-five minutes before the first one gets there: Time for another cup of coffee.
Geoff, is still breathing heavily and sweating profusely, when he spots Jayne and Nicola standing near the barriers.
“That was a tough one,” he says, between deep breaths. “It certainly doesn’t get any easier.”
Jayne offers him her cold cup of coffee. “Thanks. I’ll get some water over in the school hall. Anyway, how did that little whippet of yours do?” Geoff asks.
“Oh, he was back here hours ago,” Jayne says ultra seriously, with a beaming smile.
Geoff shakes his head, laughs and walks off across the driveway, towards the school’s large green doors.
“Speaking of the devil,” says Nicola, as Henry joins them. He’s carrying a bottle of bright red liquid and a see-through plastic bag.
“Here comes our champ.”
“Gran this is for you. I’ve been there. Got the T-shirt!”
Henry passes over the bag. Inside is a shirt with a yellow and blue cross printed on the front.
“Mum told me all about your quilt project. Forty-eight shirts will be much easier. Make sure that you put this one south of Sunderland,” he says smiling brightly.
“Oh Henry, thank you so much. This is absolutely perfect. My missing piece. So kind of you.”
Nicola wraps her arms around her son and says, “I’m very proud of you.”
“And so am I.” Jayne stretches up and plants a noisy kiss on his glowing cheek.
Surprisingly Henry doesn’t swipe this one away.
“How proud would you be then, if I ever win?” he asks.
“You already are a winner. You really are,” says Jayne, hugging the new shirt tightly to her chest.
(Published, People’s Friend, March 2025).
