You were faithful to me for almost 20 years, and I betrayed you.

I was a first-year student at the University of Calgary when I saw you in the bookstore. You were a baseball cap design and looked to be made of fine quality material, with stitching that said “UofC”. Being that I was a proud freshman, I was smitten.

Then I saw the price: $21.95. That’s a lot of money for a hat. I could buy plenty of beer for that money. I’m not much of a hat person anyway. Screw you, expensive hat.

I walked away, miffed, but was drawn back. Fearing I might suffer from buyer’s remorse, I snatched you off the rack and bought you. I never once regretted it. I do, however, deeply regret our parting.

You were with me on many adventures. You were my Indiana Jones hat, always there for me on my worldly travels. I’ve lost count of how many countries we visited together. When I climbed the pyramids of Teotihuacan and Palenque you were there. When I ran along the shores of Lake Michigan you kept the sun and sweat out of my eyes. When I was having coffee in a small village in Guatemala you helped me make a friend because he recognized the hat as representing the University of Calgary. When I got lost running in Hanover, Germany you didn’t laugh at me when I had to flag down a cab.

When I thought I might die in my sea kayak off the coast of British Columbia, you were ready to die with me.

On my runs through warm weather you were my constant companion. Even though you weren’t like those fancy-material hats that are specifically designed for runners, you did a great job of keeping the sweat from dripping into my eyes.

You were finicky. If I dared to throw you in the washing machine you turned all my other clothes red. It didn’t matter how many times I hand-washed you in the sink, you still had plenty of red dye that you were ready to leech should I dare to trust some machine to your cleansing.

That was okay. It was all part of your charm.

Then, after 20 years together, I cast you aside like so much trash.

It was a warm and sunny day and since my car was in the shop I thought I’d run to the U of C gym, taking our favored route through Nose Hill Park. Of course, you came along for the 9km trip. You waited patiently in the locker while I lifted weights and then we made a quick stop at the library so I could look something up about Albert Bandura’s self-efficacy theory.

Outside the library I was repositioning things in my backpack to make it more comfortable for the run home. Then I left.

I left. You stayed behind. I forgot you at the library.

I was 2km away when I realized what I’d done. I still had 7km left to get home, which was going to make for an 18km day plus the weightlifting. It was pushing my limits and I didn’t want to add in another 4km of running to go back and get you.

I’m sorry. If I could take that decision back, I would. I would have run another 20km to go back and get you. Indiana Jones would have for his hat. Sadly, I’m not Indiana. I’m not that tough. I’m weak. I wasn’t willing to make the extra effort for my old and trusted friend.

I went back to the library the next day to see if you were in the lost and found bin, but you weren’t.

I have nightmares now, seeing you rotting away in some landfill. You deserved better.

I’m sorry.

I have a new hat now, and we go on runs and other adventures together, but it’s not the same.