The media is currently abuzz with updates, photos and video
footage of the Paralympic Games. It is the stuff of journalistic dreams since
behind every competitor – not just the medal-winners – is an inspirational
story about their road to Rio and the daunting challenges these determined
athletes have already conquered to live out their dreams on the worldwide
stage. Every one of them is a champion, whether they finish on the podium or
not, and the spirit of camaraderie that is so evident among the competitors warms
one’s heart and somehow makes one feel proud (for once) to be a member of the
human race. Which is not to detract in
any way from the breath-taking brilliance of the able-bodied athletes’
performances at the recent Summer Games in those same stadia, but there is
something about the courage and resilience of these Paralympians that
captivates us, fanning that fragile flame of hope that ordinary as we are, perhaps
we, too, could be extraordinary.
The thing is, we don’t need to wait to qualify for the worldwide
stage to be extraordinary. We can be extraordinary exactly where we are, every
day. All it takes is the courage to enter the race and the resilience to keep
going until you cross the finish line – and when that takes our all, we are extraordinary.
This morning heralded the long-awaited, much-anticipated
Sports Day at Sammy’s school. He has been training for this event for a long
time – indeed, the whole extended family has been in training. There is a track
of flattened grass around our front garden where we have run (seemingly)
endless circuits every afternoon. We have contorted our bodies in strange stretches
(like this, Nana!) and slumped, panting, on the front steps, gulping ‘red
juice, very juicy’ as our reward for running until our cheeks radiated a rosy glow. We have discussed at length on the way to school in the mornings how it
is not all about winning – without observable success since Sammy’s favourite fantasy
has continued to feature him crossing that finish line ahead of the fastest boy
in the Blue Group. And while his desire and determination have led to a
remarkable improvement in his running prowess (when I lift my legs and move my
arms you won’t BELIEVE how fast I can run, Nana!) that would indeed be
extraordinary, since Sammy has sensory processing challenges that affect his
co-ordination.
So it was a small boy practically vibrating with nervous
excitement who walked into the Development Unit this morning and lined up to
march out onto the Big Field, where the spectators were waiting and the music
was playing – too loud. Sammy also struggles to cope with the noise and crowds
that inevitably accompany any sporting event. He and his classmates took their
allotted places and waited for their turn on the track with a patience and confidence
that spoke volumes about their teachers’ calm and caring influence. Before long,
Sammy was crouching at the start, eagerly awaiting the instruction to ‘Go!’
Now, doubtless in the interests of levelling the playing fields,
the Blue Group events were not flat races but kicked off with a short obstacle
course before ending in a sprint to the finish line. One of the early obstacles
required skipping with a hula hoop – a skill that proved challenging for Sammy
to perform at speed. He doggedly swung and
hopped, swung and hopped, and then picked up momentum through the rest of the
race to finish respectably. But the stress was beginning to take its toll and
by the time he lined up for his second event, he was rubbing his eyes behind
his glasses and his little face was twisted with anxiety. When Grandpa John and
I gave him an encouraging thumbs-up, he responded with a thumbs-down. He was
taking strain. I am sure we have all, at some stage, felt the fumble-finger of stress
and this is even more debilitating for those with proprioceptive problems. This time, Sammy found that hula-hoop even
more difficult to manage and he was still swinging and stepping when the rest
of the field had romped home. His distress and confusion were evident but he fought
on…supported by his wonderful teachers who walked alongside him and coached him
through the rest of the course until he was finally free to run to the finish
line and into the outstretched arms of his head-teacher.
Sammy didn’t feel like a winner today. He felt overwhelmed and
possibly humiliated by his struggles in front of all those people but he didn’t
abandon the course. Slowly, though not always surely, he finished the race – and
that makes him a winner in my book. It is unlikely that Sammy will ever be a
Paralympian – there is no category for autism – but today, when it took all his
courage just to cross the finish line, he was extraordinary.
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