J has been “shadowing” the high school cross-country team and tonight marks J’s fourth cross-country practice. I can’t shout louder from the rooftops how proud I am of how hard he’s been working. It’s been a hard week. A lot of learning curves. But he keeps going back, and the high school kids are so great with him. The coaches are so willing to work with us. And he ran the best he’s ever had so far today. Today, he actually said, “no breaks now mom, I want to make it to the next (traffic light, stop sign, road sign, etc) without stopping.” Who’d have ever thought that J would love to run? We started this summer, every morning running. It wasn’t love at first sight for J. In fact, he hated it. We started with a quarter mile and he’d run and cry, and yell, and cry until it was done. I thought it wouldn’t last more than a few days. But then J surprised me. He started waking up in the morning, begging to go for a run. And then we were able to get to a half mile, then mile. By the end of the summer J was doing 2 miles a day with a few short breaks. Just before the school year began, I suggested to J’s special ed team that we sign J up for cross-country. I’d told them about J’s running experiences this summer. I even said I’d run with him, so I could be there if there were any problems or meltdowns. They loved the idea. Initially,the middle school and I thought we could place J with the 6th grade team (the year younger than him), but as his special education team looked into it further, we realized that because of North Dakota public school athletic rules, J would have to “compete” with those in the same grade. In our circumstance, the seventh graders run with the high schoolers. Still determined to make something work for us, J’s middle school then made arrangements and talked to the high school to see if they could accommodate J. I set up a time to talk with the boys coach after the first day of school (without J). When I arrived at the high school, however, I had this confidence-shattering, panic inducing flashback to when I first moved to the United States. I was starting grade 11 (or Junior year of high school) coming from a big Canadian city to some small nowhere town in the Midwest, USA. I’ll never forget that feeling when I first walked into the high school–the one of pure terror. I knew no one, I had no clue where I was going. My mom had to come with me to register me. My marks/grades had to be transferred to the school and then “re-translated” because the grading system was different. I got a tour of the school and even after that I couldn’t remember where anything was. I just wanted to go home and crawl in a hole. Here I was again, almost 20 years later, walking into a high school I’ve never known, explaining our “special circumstance” with coaches I’ve never met. We were starting a few weeks into the season and so we were already out of place and behind.  When I got back to the car, I didn’t want to crawl in a hole, but I wasn’t so sure if I wanted to sign J up for cross-country anymore. These kids were big high school boys. There are only 4 other seventh graders on the team–one of those being Joshua. Could he really handle this? He has meltdowns all the time at school. It would be embarrassing if they happened here. These kids wouldn’t understand. They haven’t read the autism literature we pass out to his classmates. This could go bad quickly. I had one of those “Am I ruining my child?” parenting moments. But deep down I knew we had to try it. When J and I showed up dressed and ready for the first day, I felt intimidated all over again. The girls team trickled out of the locker room young and fit, and I had to suddenly squish down any sort of body image complexes and insecurities I have about getting older. Then the boys team came out and I thought, “what are they going to think? a seventh grade kid who has to have his mom run with him?” We then followed the boys team down the hall to a classroom to talk about goals. I held my breath for the entire 20 minutes. J had to wait to run–he HATES waiting. We had to go to a classroom he’d never been in before and he kept whispering to me, desperately wanting to know what room number we were headed to. (Luckily it ended up being a “safe” one). Amazingly enough, the team meeting was held in a room that looked like an American History room–posters of the Presidents of the United States plastered all around us. J’s definition of heaven. He’s absolutely obsessed with Presidents of the United States and all the trivia that come along with them. He managed to make it through the 20 minutes. Then one of the coaches awarded two sets of cookies to the kids who improved the most that week. J had his eye on a bag, and said quietly, “I ran hard too this week.” The coach asked J to repeat what he had said, and J said, “I ran hard too this week.” The coach answered sincerely, “Good for you,” and then, when he read J’s disappointment in his face, softened it a little by suggesting that “maybe one of the kids would share after practice.” And I thought, “This is perfect for J. He’s going to have to play with and follow the big kid expectations. He’s going to learn we don’t get cookies for ‘just showing up.’” We headed outside for our first run with the boys and by now my confidence was up again. We had practiced running all summer. J could do this. I know he could. J was so excited as we started. “Hey mom, I’m running with the group!” he said with a huge grin on his face. And that lasted for about 3 minutes until we both realized that teenage boys are fast. REALLY FAST. Like 5, 6 minute miles fast. J struggled to keep up. I couldn’t keep up if I ran my fastest. We were running in the afternoon–90 degree weather. He fatigued fast. We came in dead last and that was just the warm up run. After consulting with the coach, we both decided that it was probably enough for J. We headed home. I thought for sure that was first and last practice. But the next day J wanted to go back, and we did it again. In 90 degree heat, and it was miserable. At one point he started walking and I said to him, “I’m going to have to leave you behind,” and he responded angrily and in a perfectly scripted, Toy Story response, “No one gets left behind!” I couldn’t help but crack up. Even when he told me that he hated running and hated me. We stayed a little longer at practice. We came back the next day. And the next. The boys started warming up to him, introducing themselves to him. They cheered him on when he came staggering in after a run. The boys let him lead the Spartan cheer after practice. Everyone has been so amazing and supportive. Today he did a whole mile and a half without breaks. He even ran ahead of me. But what I’m most excited about is that he’s building mental endurance. He’s learning what it’s like to be part of a team. He’s motivated to keep up with the big kids. I’m not sure how the rest of this season will work out. But that’s okay. I don’t have to have this all figured out. We’ll just take it day by day, and see how it goes. Please follow and like us: