The photo above is of Mrs Tin’s race number, which in a couple of hours time she will be wearing in the Dublin Womens’ Mini Marathon.
Mrs Tin is entering unknown territory here, not just because she rarely goes into Dublin. She has not done this before and at this moment (and she has no idea that I am writing about her, by the way) she is terrified. To make matters worse she has the most awful cold, not I am sure the best condition in which to take on such an event.
Many women will be entering hoping to beat last year’s time, or to set a personal best. Mrs Tin has neither of these ambitions. She is not hoping to finish higher than her race number, or to be home in time to watch the race on the six o’clock news. She would quite like it, though, if she isn’t overtaken by my stepmother at some stage.
It may seem as if I am making fun her here but believe me I am not. While I am spending the afternoon practising my mindfulness (sitting on my arse), reading my book (sitting on my arse) and writing this post (talking through my arse) she will be out in the sunshine (of course it’s back for today, just for the race, it’s like the way it always comes out on the first day of your exams) pounding the streets of Dublin in order to raise money for Crumlin Children’s Hospital.
So this is a post full of admiration, and pride, and love. I’ve seen coverage of the event on the TV, thousands of women of all ages, running, jogging or walking the course, united in the sheer, carefree, uninhibited sense of fun that women together are so good at. I think she’ll get caught up in all of that and will arrive home elated and thrilled with herself.
I hope so, she deserves it.
