Why it’s more than just running
Right now, I feel like I’ve gotten a little unnecessarily poetic about running. Almost borderline obnoxious. People ask what it’s like running with J or how it’s helping him and I feel like those questions open the floodgates. I get passionate. I get emotional. I talk about it like it’s some religion or diet everyone should try. What’s gotten into me? I’m an English major. I’m a writer. I’m passionate about literature, music, art, and drama. I’m a staunch advocate for the arts and get irate when funding for those programs gets cut while organized sports often remains untouched. Why am I falling in love with organized sports? Why do I feel so passionate about running? It’s just running.
This is why it’s more than just running:
The time it rained
A few weeks ago, I picked up J after school and he looked me right in the eye and told me, “It’s raining. There’s no track today right?” J only runs on sunny days. J has sensory issues with being in wet clothes. He gets anxiety over bad weather days. But that day (and after some reasoning with him) his need for routine trumped his other anxieties and we went to practice. We ran with his teammates in a steady drizzle all the way to the NDSU track for a speed workout. All of the kids were wet. None of them complained about it. I could see J watching them, looking for cues to see if they would melt down too, but they didn’t. They just ran their laps and J ran with them. During breaks, J would run his hands through his hair and say to me a little anxiously, “My hair’s wet. My shirt’s wet.” But he didn’t meltdown. He stuck through the workout. He learned that it’s okay to run on rainy days.
4, 5, 6
When we started running a year ago, J couldn’t make it around the block in our neighbourhood without crying or stopping. He didn’t run more than 3 miles during fall XC season. But in these short weeks of track J started out with 3, then 4, then 5 miles and was able to run those distances consistently. Near the end of season J finally made the 6 mile distance. He was able to fight that battle with his brain and keep his body moving as far as he was asked to go.
Small talk about mosquitoes
For most of his life, J’s friends have been girls. Girls seem to understand J a little better. They’re more patient and more understanding. They’re more willing to think outside the box when interacting with him.
I got emotional many times this season watching the little group of long distance middle school boys interact with J this spring. Every practice they seemed to understand, accept, and look out for J a little more. They got so excited for him when he ran the 6 mile practice for the first time. They got excited for him at meets. But one of the best moments for me was when the boys were waiting at a light chatting. Because they were all sweaty and sticky, they instantly became mosquito magnets and the boys started whacking the mosquitoes around them. They started talking about all the things they hated about mosquitoes, and J, for the first time ever, felt comfortable enough with the group to—unprompted and unscripted—chime in and say, “I really hate mosquitoes too.” He was listening, watching, and waiting for the right opportunity to participate appropriately with his peers.
Ice cream
J was able to celebrate the end of the season twice with ice cream—once with the long distance team and once with the entire middle school track team. For the first time ever, J has been able to be with his school friends, to sort of “hang out” on a consistent, structured basis outside of school. Running with his peers allows for small moments (which is all J can handle right now) for interaction and camaraderie.
All you can count on is running
The biggest obstacle was the unpredictability of the season. 3 out of J’s 6 meets were cancelled because of weather. There always seemed to be last minute changes to plans and practices. For someone whose mental sanity relies on a strict schedule, this had the potential to be a complete disaster.
Every day, J would ask what we would be doing after school for track. The safest answer—the only answer–I could give him is, “I don’t know, but what I do know is that you will be running somewhere today.”
Even without predictable structure, J could find the one consistency: You can always count on running.
Last week, J had his very last track meet of the season. J only had 3 meets, but each meet he PR’d. (His first meet he ran an 8:40 mile, the second an 8:25 mile, and the third an 8:17 mile) Each meet he was able to be a better version of himself than the previous time. This last meet was the first race ever where he didn’t finish last.
I look at this season and I’m proud of J’s numbers—we’ll keep working on them for XC in the fall. But I’m more proud of the social emotional gains J has made this season. He’s practicing social and emotional skills in ways his other therapies don’t allow for. Through running he’s building life skills. He’s learning about PRs (or “personal bests”) and that the most important thing you can do for your team is to be the best version of yourself, to keep improving yourself. Because that’s all that really matters in the long run. In the end, you’re really just competing against yourself.
