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Almost lost amid the clutter of our basement office are two cardboard file boxes. They contain a nearly complete and mostly chronological record of an amateur athletic career now well into its fourth decade.

One box covers the prehistoric era, roughly defined as the period from the mid-1970s until 1990. To fully understand this era, you need to know that I started running long before it was popular.

My early athletic aspirations followed the mainstream. Like my friends, I wanted to play football or hockey. These dreams were gradually dispelled by the overwhelming reality that I was neither big enough nor talented enough.

But when the dreaded one-mile run was forced upon us in gym class, I found myself at the front of the pack. I did as I was told and reported to the cross-country coach after school. My relationship with running had begun.

I admit that I have never been a great runner. Not like my younger brother Paul, who was a natural athlete and a star from the day he took up the sport. If this had been hockey, I would have been a dependable second line winger. Paul would have been the starting centre.

The record of my early running career is told mainly through tattered race numbers that rekindle memories of small-town races all around Southern Ontario.

A yellowed photograph shows a wall of teenagers (including me) running down Main Street in Hamilton. Here's a number recording the fact that I ran in the Toronto indoor games on the track at Maple Leaf Gardens. My time and placing were quite forgettable, and I never got past the heats. But I was there.

The mud of a provincial cross-country championship in North Bay is permanently preserved on the front of another number. My neatly written notes on the back remind me that I finished 134th.

Still, I was the only kid from my school to finish Hamilton's gruelling 30-kilometre Around the Bay Road Race on a frigid day in March, 1978. A picture reminds me just how tough that race was.

There are dozens of numbers stuffed into the box, with no record of either the venue or my performance. I can't bring myself to throw them away.

My relationship with running continued through university, marriage, first jobs, relocation to Alberta and the arrival of two children. The record of those years isn't perfect either.

By then a veteran, I had learned that with hard work I could be a solid, if not spectacular, runner. And that twinge of jealousy about Paul's superior running ability, the one that had nagged me during high school? It had turned into deep pride for what he was able to accomplish.

So what about the second file box, from the modern era? A few medals and plaques document my significant achievements. I finally broke the three-hour barrier for the marathon, after several attempts. I ran on several strong Jasper-Banff relay teams, and I still get goose bumps when I look at the numbers from those epic races in the mountain parks.

My records show that everything came together in 1992, a year that was (almost) touched by magic. If my running career is judged by race times alone, then 1992 was the pinnacle of my achievements. It was also 17 years ago.

Fortunately, I know that other measures are important too. Like the lessons running has taught me about myself, about my limitations and, most importantly, about my potential. I've learned that I can handle adversity. I can set tough goals, make plans and achieve them. I've proven that dedication and perseverance pay off. I only hope I've been able to pass some of these lessons on to my children.

In 2001, I fulfilled a 25-year dream by running in the Boston Marathon. I was fortunate to have my wife and sons there to celebrate with me.

I'm struck by the way running has changed. Now it has become mainstream. It seems that everyone has run a 10K or a half-marathon. I marvel at the crowds that are attracted to races.

Yet, in some ways, things haven't changed at all. I approach running the same way I did in 1975. I'm thankful that technology has improved, but for me, running doesn't need an iPod or a belt loaded with energy drinks. I enjoy the camaraderie of running with friends, but I would still rather hit the road on my own. After all these years, running is the one thing in my life where I am completely in control.

Even my wife sees benefits. When I'm in a bad mood she'll say, "Why don't you just go for a run?"

In spite of my inevitable slow decline I still race, and I still get butterflies in my stomach on race day. At least now most organizers are good enough to print the event name on race numbers. Computer timing and the Internet ensure that race results — good or bad — are always available. This makes my slightly erratic recordkeeping a little easier.

I'm just about ready to start another file box. And I wonder what the next era will bring.

Steve Kelly lives in Calgary.