Chadwell

The early stages of my life were formed in Chadwell Heath, from attending Furze Infants School to my primary. I still recall the open roof we used to play in, feeling as though we were mystical birds soaring through the vast sky. My greatest pride being that I was able to criss-cross while skipping. Only real ones know about that... The glorious milk cartons they served us at lunch... Cows just aren't producing like they used to.

There’s so much to discuss, so much detail to explore about what lay beyond those green gates.

But today, I will talk about another set of green gates, dark green to be precise. I still remember the first time I was old enough to ride the 62 to school. It wasn’t so much the journey that excited me, for I'd witnessed the route a numerous number of times by car, but everything else that accompanied it.

Adult, that’s what I felt like, all grown up and ready to face the world. Or should I say, ready to face a solo 30-minute bus journey. Nevertheless, it was invigorating. Truly mesmerising. Simple things such as store-fronts and pedestrians fascinated me as I studied all there was to see. I used to giggle when I saw the Store which bore the same name as my school. Warren. The first time I realised the cameo I was so impressed...

These were the early stages of my life.

I was giving athlete, I was giving Olympian... I still retain the feeling of community. Whether it be belonging to the X-country team, Indoor athletics team or the Outdoor athletics team. The sense of community is poignant in my heart, the thrill of winning. The insatiable desire to succeed as you pass the baton to your teammate during the final events. All of it was addicting, give me a pen and paper and I could take you down an even deeper walk down memory lane. It would probably be more of a meandering drive…

After a while you forget about such glory. You forget about the hard work you and your friends and your teachers put into your team. You grow, you age and you move on. But when you invite over your little cousin who lives far away. When she walks into your room, taking in the surroundings. When she gasps and comments on the collection of medals you have hanging on your wardrobe handle. Taking them in her hands, admiring their glimmer. She asks you, "when did you get these?"

At first, you’re annoyed by the question, you’re trying to rest and the last thing you want is a little child asking you questions. But, when you stop to ponder for an answer, you think, "When did I get these?" Drawing a blank, but suddenly more interested than beforehand. You remember those early stages of your life. You recall how lucky you were to school where you schooled, to be taught by those teachers, to have befriended those friends.

And you start to notice those previously ignored medals. Staying up until ungodly hours, organising them by colour. After a while realising that a chronological order would be more efficient. Thinking that would suffice then realising that some medals weren't dated. That some ribbons are softer than others, or more vivid in colour. Or that some were too intricately designed. That the numerous 'special awards' can’t be categorised by whether they are bronze, gold or silver. Nor can they be categorized in order of importance. They all played a part in making me who I am.

In a way giving a definition to the name Racheal.