My Story - part 1

One of our Commissioners gives us a privileged insight into their life. They give us the good and they give us the bad. The story helps us understand poverty a little better. Here is part 1.

I couldn’t hear myself for the sound of the crowd. I couldn’t quite believe I was actually there.  It was electrifying.  I knew I had to try and focus but it was hard - I couldn’t hear myself think.  I knew what I was waiting for though.  Once I heard that pistol that would be it.  Just go…

I was 15, living in Dennistoun, skipping school, told by the teachers I would never amount to anything in life - and standing at the start line of  the 800m  in Scotstoun.    Running for Scotland. There were nine of us in the race and I was nervous, but I just dug deep into what I was good at.  I knew I could run, and I  knew I could run well.  When the pistol went I got into my wee zone.  At the 400m mark I overtook the leader and the way I was running was just so fast. I was off and no-one was catching me.

When I crossed the finish line I ended up falling to the ground - I couldn’t believe I actually won.  Even though I got over the line, I was still like - what just happened?  I was exhausted, lying on the track they had to pick me up and tell me I had won.  I couldn’t take it in; my first race for Scotland and I won gold.   I can still remember it so clearly in my head.

Running for Scotland in that race was the high point of my life. It made me feel great.  I was doing something I was good at, something that was worthwhile.  For once I could believe I was good at something no matter what other people told me.  I was good at it and I just went for it.  Who knows what the road for me could have been.  Who knows?  If I hadn’t messed up, maybe I could have been running in the Commonwealth Games.

I grew up in Dennistoun and Duke St. and lived there for twenty-six years.  It was a great community to grow up in.  There was a lot of happiness there.  The people were great and it’s an amazing place.  Everybody knew each other and looked out for each other.  It was a good area. I’ve got a lot of good childhood memories.  

I remember going on my first holiday when I was about six.  We went to Blackpool, got the bus down from Buchanan St.  I just loved seeing all the lights, I kept thinking - wow – there was just so much for your eyes to feast on.  

We went for a week, my mum, my dad and me and it was good. I remember wanting things out of the shops, nagging my mum and dad for them. And I loved it down on the beach.  I loved just being on holiday, and didn’t want to come home.  I kicked up a fuss, moaning and crying because I wanted to stay.  It was a great holiday.

Watch out for part 2, tomorrow...