Awesome Disabled

I walked a 5k with my kid this weekend. Actually, that’s not totally true. Let me rephrase: I was planning on walking a 5k with my kid this weekend.

We had been training, sort of. As much as I can train with an 11-year-old with executive dysfunction. We did do a full 5k practice walk around our community, and it went…. mediocrely. It took us about 80 minutes, and there was an endless litany of fusses– a stitch in her side, a hangnail, a pebble in her shoe. And a lot of general umbrage between us. So, with this being our only full 5k “run through,” my hopes were not very high when the morning of the 5k dawned.

I picked Cleo up early from my ex’s and drove her to the train station. Lis, my oldest, did not want to partake in the event, so she slept in at my ex’s.

The race event had taken over the downtown area of my city, so we took a train into town. She was somewhat amused and a bit unsure about the bibs we had to pin onto our shirts. These bibs had our names on them, too. “CLEO” it said, in 100-point font right under her number. She was chuffed that it said her name, and was proud to wear it.

We were both pretty nervous on the train to the race site. I’d already done one 5k this season, so I wasn’t really worried about the race itself. But I was nervous about actually finding the race site. I have the sense of direction of a toddler, and I was worried that we would spend the whole day wandering around downtown and miss the race. Cleo, of course, was worried about everything, because she’d never done a 5k before.

Turns out, neither of us had anything to worry about. There were a few dozen other people on the train who were also heading to the 5k, so we just followed the crowd. When we arrived, we saw thousands of people and a huge inflatable start line. Neither of us knew that there would be this much hoopla around the event. We both managed the sensory load okay, and Cleo was downright excited to be in the middle of the whole deal. Kid loves festivity for its own sake.

We started doing some stretches. We found our starting corral, and waited for our starting whistle. When it was time for our group to approach the starting line, Cleo stood proudly right at the front of the group.

“It’s starting, mom!” She whispered excitedly, squeezing my hand. “Thanks for bringing me.”

I smiled and squeezed back. “Thanks for coming with me.”

The whistle blew, and we were off to the races–literally. Cleo felt a burst of energy from all the people cheering on the sidelines and took off at a full sprint. This is what I mean by planning to walk a 5k with my kid. Cleo ended up running most of the race, and I kept pace with her. Every time she slowed down, we would approach a new group of people with noisemakers and signs. TAP HERE FOR A POWER BOOST! said one sign, with a star on it. Cleo ran up and tapped the star.

“Mama, I got a power boost!” She cheered, running even faster.

Whenever she bolted ahead, she would look back for me. Of course, I, being a big, old broad, wasn’t getting the eleven-year-old power boosts, but I was actually keeping up. I told her that she could go at her pace, and I would keep up with her.

We passed the halfway point U-turn, and kept going. Cleo and I were both feeling a bit tired, but we continued. Eventually, we saw the finish line.

“Hey, Cleo, let’s sprint to the finish line,” I said. We began to run at top speed.

There was someone on the speaker announcing runners as they ran through the archway.

“Go Amy! Go Cleo!” the announcer shouted.

We ran through, arms raised. “Mom, she called my name!” Cleo shouted as we received our finishers’ medals.

Although we didn’t plan on running, and we had never trained by running together, I kept up with my tall pipsqueak (5’2″ at 11 years old!). I was proud of all the training I’d been doing on my own to allow me to stay on track with all of Cleo’s power boosts. I would never have imagined that at 40+ I’d be able to run a 5k on pace with my kiddo.

I have been reflecting on my body’s strength and stamina after having my kids. Turns out, pregnancies are not tremendous for a connective tissue disorder, and I spent most of my post-partum time sitting and lying down, deeply fatigued and in tremendous pain. After both kids were born, I tried training to build strength and stamina, but unfortunately, my lack of sleep and my creaky joints presented a major challenge. The effort to even attempt to exercise began to exceed what I had, and my body got even weaker. I became a shell of the person I was.

But I still didn’t have language to express myself– I just felt like I was failing as a mom and as a person. About a year ago, I began to see my physiotherapist, and actually started to build strength and stamina for real. I used to be afraid of getting injured, but now I am more in touch with my body, and I can feel strong. Now I am training to shave time off my 5k personal best. I have tracked out a route near my house and I go out whenever I can.

Now I have a little running buddy, and we have tentatively set a goal to try for the 10k next year. We’ll see how that shakes out– we’ll hit up the Y throughout the winter and race on the track inside. It feels amazing to see my lil mini-me loving running as much as I did at that age. And maybe she will be less disempowered by life than I was.

I am super-proud of my courage in trying something new, and sucking at it. Now, I suck a lot less, and I will continue to improve. Let’s do this.