The ones who said why not.
Three continents in 24 hours. A song finished at 38,000 feet. The Atlantic, alone. Receipts: boarding passes, timestamps, the people who watched you pull it off.
The audacious, the absurd, the quietly heroic — every real thing you've actually pulled off, told beautifully and backed by receipts. No feed. No leaderboard. A record worth holding up.
The 4am training runs. The song you finished mid-flight. The 24 hours you spent on three continents on a dare. The kid you tutored for three years. The album. The marathon. The Saturday you cooked for 80 strangers.
Supermedal is for the wonderfully strange and the quietly heroic — anyone who actually pulled something off and wants it told properly, with the receipts. Not a feed. Not a leaderboard. A record.
The whole point: medals don't have to be marathons. They can be a song finished mid-flight, a Vespa rebuilt from parts, a long-table dinner for strangers. As long as it really happened — and we can prove it.
A photo. A link. A name we can ask. We turn the claim into a record — quietly, without theatre. So when you hold up the medal, it holds up.
Attach the bib photo, the GitHub commit, the program PDF. Stays with the medal forever.
Endorsements from coaches, colleagues, neighbours — by name and relationship, not anonymous likes.
Boston Athletic Association. Eagle Scouts. Your school. We talk to them so you don't have to.
Every medal carries a date and a receipt ID. Immutable, citable, yours.
Jordan started running after a knee injury that doctors said would end it. Ten years and 4,200 logged miles later, the BAA stamped the receipt. On Supermedal, the medal sits between a poem he wrote at 19 and a Saturday spent coaching ninth-graders at Roosevelt High.