A year ago, I couldn’t run. A year ago at this time, I could barely walk. Running was something almost everyone could do as a kid. When I was in elementary school, I could technically run, but I was slower than everyone else. Because of my uneven gait, my attempt at running was more of a clop—but I really tried. Then in fourth grade, my chronic pain started, which made it even harder for me to run. The pain was so intense when running that the desire to run wasn’t enough for me anymore. Though I wanted to fit in, running wasn’t more important to me than minimizing my pain. In June of last year, I underwent major surgery, my femoral derotational osteotomy. After surgery, I completely relearned how to walk. The process was very difficult and took months. My gait was different and even more intensely painful at first. However, I eventually got the hang of walking again…and decided I wanted to relearn how to run.
For a long time, my PT put me on the treadmill. On the treadmill, my gait pattern was steady and I was safer. Slowly, we increased my speed until I was running. Running isn’t exactly easy for me, but it is much less painful than it used to be. My legs have a smoother flow. My running isn’t as choppy as it was when I was younger.
Now that I could run, I remembered a conversation I’d had with my aunt many years ago. My aunt enjoyed running and had invited me to run with her in a race. At the time, I hadn’t thought much about it because running hurt too much. But now, my surgery had given me back an opportunity.
I asked my aunt if she would still be interested in me running a race with her, and she said yes. We found a 100-meter kids’ race that benefited a local therapy center called Launch. Helping a therapy center was a cause close to my heart because I went to a similar center for occupational therapy when I was little. Launch helps kids with developmental disabilities—including autism, Down syndrome, and cerebral palsy—reach their goals through occupational, physical, and speech therapy. (If you would like to help the cause, you can donate here.) I hope to be an advocate for people with disabilities, and running for that cause is another way for me to advocate. I wanted to do a 100-meter race because I thought it was a good start. I didn’t have much running experience, and a small distance would help me build confidence.
My physical therapist and I started training to run the race. Soon, I ran over 100 meters in the therapy clinic, in the parking lot, and on the soccer field at my former middle school. I worried about falling down, so I wore knee pads. That might’ve looked a bit odd, but I didn’t care. Especially for my first race, I wanted to be safe.
My aunt was super encouraging and she was proud of me for trying something new. I was happy to spend time with her doing something that I knew she liked to do.
On the morning of the race, I was extremely nervous. I knew I was capable of running the distance, but I doubted myself. I imagined falling down or having to stop in the middle of the race. My goal was to cross the finish line, but honestly I wanted to run the entire distance.
My entire family was very supportive of me. Before the race, I knew they believed that I was a winner just because of all my hard work and all that I had overcome.
My aunt and my dad stood at the starting line, cheering me on. “You can do this,” my aunt assured me, and I tried to tell myself the same thing. The air horn sounded, and I ran. I wasn’t very fast. My run wasn’t elegant or any of that. But I ran the entire distance, and I wasn’t the last one to finish.
With my race—even though it wasn’t the longest distance or the fastest time—I achieved a goal that I once thought would be impossible. I learned not to doubt myself or my capabilities. Although I have limits due to my cerebral palsy, those limits do not have to stop me. I can sometimes push past them. I know this might sound corny, but with my family’s encouragement and support, and a lot of hard work—over a year’s worth, in my case—I can do anything I set my mind to. And I wanted to cross that finish line. The finish line was symbolic for me because it represented my achievement of my goal. I had finally done what I’d wanted to do, and had gone through the work to get there. In the end, it’s not the destination that matters, but the journey it takes to get there. My journey to run the race was a lot more meaningful than the finish line, and I learned a lot about myself in the process.
