Natalie McManus
Brighton Marathon - here I come
Fundraising for Rebecca Seymour Foundation
Story
The Rebecca Seymour Foundation was set up in 2013 in honour of Rebecca Seymour, who died in a car accident in November 2005. Rebecca, Bex to her friends, was an exemplary member of Brighton and Hove Athletics Club - friendly, precocious, supportive and committed. She was well regarded by coaches and athletes alike, and later went on to manage the winning young athletes Sportshall League team for the club. She was training to be a PE teacher when her life was tragically cut short, but her legacy remains to this day: a legacy of supporting those who others might overlook or neglect.
I first met Rebecca Seymour in 1998. I was an outcast at school, the victim of school bullies. I had been hit, spat on, ridiculed, taunted, both casually and maliciously. I felt worthless. The more I tried to fit in, the less people accepted me. I had no friends, ate lunch in the library, was disliked by teachers for asking too many questions. I was plain, confused, unable to make sense of why I was the kid people said spiteful things to, why I was the one who they hit, refused to let pass in the halls, called ugly. After being beaten up by another pupil at my school, a teacher told me I was out of order for provoking her. She had thrown her shoe at me during an art class; I had refused to give it back.
Later, when the bullying was finally reported, it got worse: everyone ignored me. I felt I had no one. I couldn’t understand why being me wasn’t good enough. I was eleven years old.
Then I met Bex.
She was a girl who made an effort to be friends with everyone. She smiled a lot, and made others laugh. She lived in a world where people treated each other with respect and love, and pulled everyone else into it.
When I joined Brighton and Hove athletics club there was finally a reason to feel proud of myself – a club to feel a part of. There were possibilities of one day being the kid who won the team award for contribution – or performance. But mostly, there was acceptance. A feeling of turning up to a place where you could build your confidence, where beating your personal best was a celebration even if you didn’t win.
At that age, I wasn’t especially good at athletics. But that really didn’t matter. There were, of course, coaches who encouraged greatness, who pushed and pushed. There were talented athletes who would make the coveted trip to the nationals. But mostly, there was acceptance. A feeling of turning up twice a week to a place where you could build your confidence, where it wasn’t about winning – I’ll confess, that came later – but was about knowing that here, you were special for being you.
Over the coming years Rebecca stood up for me, joked with me, ran with me. She was my advocate, my best friend. With two other friends, we formed the Sewing Circle, a group of rather slow runners, usually to be found coming last at Sussex cross country races. And even though there was always a threat of being lapped, we eventually brought home a team medal for the club – a testimony to friendship prevailing over talent.
As we grew into people, with ideas and hormones and boyfriends, we supported each other, and even as we chose different disciplines – sprints, rather thankfully, replaced cross-country – competitions brought us together. We had the joy of sharing a two hour coach journey before a track meet; Saturdays became increasingly important, even though getting a great sun tan often took precedence over winning a race.
I learned who I was because of my training group. I was shaped by them, even by the negative times – and there were arguments; of course there were arguments. But they mattered less than they would have done anywhere else, because, for the first time, I trusted people to accept me, regardless of my faults.
Life moved on. My training partners went to different universities, but we kept in touch. We would run together when we came back home during holidays. Only one of us didn’t come home.
And, for a while, life stood still.
With Rebecca’s death, the world lost a person who encouraged others to aspire for more, to accept, and to support those struggling to find their place. No child should feel unloved, or worthless, or lonely. The damage done by the bullies at school lasted a long time. I wear it now, on bad days when the world seems less bright. But thanks to Rebecca, those bad days are few and far between. Thanks to her, I know it’s okay to be me.
That is what the Rebecca Seymour Foundation is all about: showing kids that they are fine just the way they are. Showing kids that there are places, and people, in this world, that will hold you up, instead of pulling you down.