Disclaimer: this is a longer one... but probably the last long one for a while. Lots to catch up on and process through.
Those who know me know that I've been into running since I was in High School. I went through periods when running was just something I did for exercise, and other times it provided genuine stress relief and ...ahem... mental stability. It was something that I took for granted until I went to Central America, when it was too dangerous for me to go out for a run, and I missed it tremendously. Upon returning, I gladly worked back into running shape and resumed taking it for granted. In fact, I not only took it for granted but came to rely on it. I needed and craved my runs. Life gets stressful and hard and painful, and those runs were something that fed my soul. They were also something I could control in a world that, at times, felt very chaotic.
Go figure, about 10 months ago, I broke my foot. I wish I could say that I broke it doing something valiant or exciting, but I was just walking out of my front door on a Sunday evening, carrying a bag of food and not paying attention, and I stumbled. My foot twisted in just the wrong way off of our doormat. I knew almost instantly that it was broken. And I was surprised at how my world as I knew it came crashing around me. I'm not even being dramatic; I hadn't realized how much I had come to rely on my running and physical independence. Ironic that I ended up in a classroom with people who have far less independence... kind of pathetic how spoiled I am in retrospect.
The doctor said running was out for a good 6 weeks and maybe 8. Nothing weight bearing at all for at least a month. No elliptical, no bike, no dance classes or weight lifting classes, and not even swimming. "You don't want to injure it further, because then you'll have to be off of it for longer," he told me after I begged and begged for SOMETHING I could do. That part was true. "You can weight lift with your arms," he offered.
That answer was not sufficient for me. So I talked to my mom's personal trainer, Michelle, who has dealt with tons and tons of injuries. And she very graciously walked me through a workout that I could easily do without hurting my foot. I missed my cardio, and while it's not even close to the same thing, it turns out that you can get cardio from weight lifting if you do it the right way.
I was only substitute teaching at the time, not even a long term job but just whenever a call came in that I wanted to accept. Not the best economy for getting jobs, particularly when you have a broken foot and hobble around very slowly. Daycare facilities typically want people who can actually pick the children up... who knew? So in addition to having a broken foot, I had a lot of time on my hands, which in a way was really good (although painful) because I was forced to slow way down. In so doing, I had to face the reality that running had become my comfort, my distraction, and my god in many ways. That needed to change. It was not easy or quick, but I worked on shifting my attention back to where it belonged. It is still a daily battle for me to forsake my independence and rely on the God who so deserves it.
Meanwhile, with the extra time on my hands, I spent a lot of it in the gym. I was determined that as soon as my stupid brace came off, I'd have strengthened all of the muscles in my body so that I'd be back on the trail in no time, and in so doing, I learned a completely new way to exercise that did not involve running or group exercise. I hopped around on one foot from one weight station to the next, while all of the trainers laughed at me and occasionally carried a medicine ball or kettle bell for me. I learned how to use all of the weights, machines, and little exercise tools laying around. I also realized that I had an untapped passion for exercise; not just cardio, but total body exercise and somehow, it made sense to me. It came naturally and just seemed to... fit. Simultaneously, I found a deep interest in nutrition and would spend hours researching different philosophies, practices, and healthy recipes. Healthy living became a passion and a creative outlet for me. Slowly, instead of feeling sorry for myself, I became grateful for what was working well and the physical independence I had that so many who are disabled lack. That gratefulness only intensified as I found myself in a classroom full of physically and mentally disabled children.
After a few of the personal trainers at my gym suggested that I look into getting certified, I finally talked to Reade about it. He was very supportive of the idea, so after much thought and time and reasoning back and forth, I signed up for a course with The National Academy of Sports Medicine, one of the most nationally respected and recognized organizations in the industry. It also has one of the hardest tests to pass at and took a significant chunk out of the checking account, so I knew I had my work cut out for me because a lot was riding on passing this test.
One of the reasons accepting this long term sub job worked well for me was that it allowed me some steady income while I studied. There was also little planning and no grading required, so I could spend extra time at the gym and/or studying. I also found that things I were studying directly applied to the students in my class. Things started coming full circle.
On December 16th, I passed my exam after hours and hours and hours of studying and about 50 attempts at the practice test. I am very excited to begin working at The Energy Club in Arlington and gaining the knowledge and experience I need to get started in this industry. I have dreams... so many dreams... of what I will do with this in the future. Hopefully it involves children and people who can't otherwise afford training. Hopefully it involves education on healthy living. For now, I am excited to put the time into learning what I need to know to equip me for what lies ahead.
Sunday, January 3, 2010
Friday, January 1, 2010
A Few Others
N was the child who initially grabbed my heartstrings and made me consider taking a job working with special needs kids. He was not in my class, but I had been a substitute in his classroom in the beginning of the year and was absolutely intrigued by and devastated over his condition. He has something called Lesch-Nyhan Syndrome which creates a neurological dysfunction producing a desire to harm himself. There are a bunch of other physical and mental dysfunctions that accompany it, but most striking is the fact that if given the opportunity, he would eat himself alive. Yes, you read that correctly. His arms are restrained in braces so that he cannot eat his fingers, his teeth are shaved down so that he cannot eat his tongue, he is fed through a feeding tube, and he is in almost constant pain or discomfort. He cries in pain several times a day, and every single time I want to cry right along with him. Children with this disease most often die in their first decade. He is such a beautiful child, too... it is just the saddest, most heart wrenching thing. What a life to live.
S brought me more joy than any of the other kids because her quirkiness is incredibly endearing and she just lavishes love freely. We connected right away. She loves to be close to people, so if you are sitting in a chair, she will bring her chair literally as close to you as humanly possible. If she could get away with it, she would just crawl right on your lap. When Reade came to meet the kids, she threw her arms around his neck right away just like a monkey and wouldn't let go, even when he stood up. She is losing her vision, so she wears these thick glasses and looks at people in a really funny way. She might be one of the quirkiest people I've ever met, but her quirks are endearing and often have me laughing. For instance, the girl loves carrots. The way she eats them you'd think she would have perfect vision. And in the middle of class time, out of nowhere, she will announce loudly, "I love carrots!" She is verbal, but only selectively; for instance, she will not answer "yes" and she refuses to say her own name. Every now and then she'll call out my name or one of the assistant's name for no apparent reason. Sometimes, she'll follow it up with, "I love you". How could you not adore this child?
K has Cerebral Palsy. She has a twin who is perfectly normal, a father who won't even speak to or look at her, and a mother who gets mad at her if she comes home with marker on her hands. We have reason to suspect that she might be abused, as well. She only has one functioning hand and has a very pronounced limp. Movement is very difficult for her. A 3rd grader by age, she has to wear a bib all of the time because she drools a lot. She can eat regular food if it is pureed, but most of her nutrition comes through a feeding tube (which was incredibly intimidating for me to learn how to operate -- you literally pour milk directly into her stomach). She cannot speak but somehow understands fully both English and Spanish while only recognizing some letters and numbers in print. I look at her young life and think that if I were her, I would have very little to smile about, but she might be the happiest person I have ever met. Genuinely. She smiles all the time, and her face lights up when she sees people she knows. She loves everyone, mothers all of the younger students, and accepts without condition.
A was not one of my kids but was in the class that we shared a room with. She has a seizure disorder called Rett Syndrome. It is a degenerative disease, meaning that she gets worse and worse as she ages. She is in 5th grade now, and some days has up to 4 seizures in a day. Her parents rarely bathe her or change her clothes and made a comment to one of the assistants that, "she'll die soon anyway". They refuse to take her to the doctor, so they just arbitrarily raise or lower her medication which makes her act like a zombie. She lives her life in a wheelchair and has use of only one hand. It is nearly impossible to make her smile unless you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" which almost always immediately evokes laughter. Really, the only other noise she makes is a very sad moaning when she is uncomfortable. Unfortunately, we heard that noise every day; sometimes all day long. She breaks my heart.
G is severely autistic. It took me a long time to find what I called our happy place. She was not actually in my class, but in the same classroom and so I was around her all day long. I genuinely did not understand her or why she hit her chin or squeezed her head between her two hands while making awful noises. It seemed that the only thing that made her happy was to play patty cake and how many stinking times can you play that in a day before you want to pull your hair out? One day, though, I was given the opportunity to feed her lunch and spent the time speaking Spanish to her (she is another one who is nonverbal yet understands two languages -- amazing if you ask me). After that, I began to see the sweet side of her come out and started studying her too. I won't list all of the little things I figured out about her, but I fell in love with this incredibly quirky and particular child, and making her smile would always bring me tangible joy.
E has Down's Syndrome. She was perhaps my most difficult student because she was stubborn and could be quite obstinate. She warms very slowly to strangers. She can speak but prefers to sign. (I always meant to take sign language classes but never got around to it... would have been helpful here. Bummer.) Most often the things she would verbalize were telling the other children "no" or to go to time out. She did not discriminate, though; she put herself in time out all the time too. Cracked me up. She was also the one who would come in and greet each child by name, looking them in the eyes, and often with a hug. She was the only person who was able to get our autistic girl to socialize and play with other children. She was also the most flexible child I have ever met. Sometimes I would look over and see her sitting with her legs up around her head and her tongue reaching up around her nose. She had me laughing all of the time.
There were days when I felt like between the cacophony of noises, the unpredictability of behaviors, and the ridiculously odd quirks that some of these kids emanate, that I would need to head straight to the loony bin by the end of the day. There were other days where I felt like all I could do was laugh. All day long. Still other days, I was gripped by the sadness of some of these situations and struggled to distance myself enough to function as their caretaker. One thing remained constant, though. Every single day I left that school, I was in awe of how lucky I am. How blessed I am. To have a working body, a working mind, people who accept and love me for who I am. What a privilege to work with children who inspire you to be grateful.
S brought me more joy than any of the other kids because her quirkiness is incredibly endearing and she just lavishes love freely. We connected right away. She loves to be close to people, so if you are sitting in a chair, she will bring her chair literally as close to you as humanly possible. If she could get away with it, she would just crawl right on your lap. When Reade came to meet the kids, she threw her arms around his neck right away just like a monkey and wouldn't let go, even when he stood up. She is losing her vision, so she wears these thick glasses and looks at people in a really funny way. She might be one of the quirkiest people I've ever met, but her quirks are endearing and often have me laughing. For instance, the girl loves carrots. The way she eats them you'd think she would have perfect vision. And in the middle of class time, out of nowhere, she will announce loudly, "I love carrots!" She is verbal, but only selectively; for instance, she will not answer "yes" and she refuses to say her own name. Every now and then she'll call out my name or one of the assistant's name for no apparent reason. Sometimes, she'll follow it up with, "I love you". How could you not adore this child?
K has Cerebral Palsy. She has a twin who is perfectly normal, a father who won't even speak to or look at her, and a mother who gets mad at her if she comes home with marker on her hands. We have reason to suspect that she might be abused, as well. She only has one functioning hand and has a very pronounced limp. Movement is very difficult for her. A 3rd grader by age, she has to wear a bib all of the time because she drools a lot. She can eat regular food if it is pureed, but most of her nutrition comes through a feeding tube (which was incredibly intimidating for me to learn how to operate -- you literally pour milk directly into her stomach). She cannot speak but somehow understands fully both English and Spanish while only recognizing some letters and numbers in print. I look at her young life and think that if I were her, I would have very little to smile about, but she might be the happiest person I have ever met. Genuinely. She smiles all the time, and her face lights up when she sees people she knows. She loves everyone, mothers all of the younger students, and accepts without condition.
A was not one of my kids but was in the class that we shared a room with. She has a seizure disorder called Rett Syndrome. It is a degenerative disease, meaning that she gets worse and worse as she ages. She is in 5th grade now, and some days has up to 4 seizures in a day. Her parents rarely bathe her or change her clothes and made a comment to one of the assistants that, "she'll die soon anyway". They refuse to take her to the doctor, so they just arbitrarily raise or lower her medication which makes her act like a zombie. She lives her life in a wheelchair and has use of only one hand. It is nearly impossible to make her smile unless you sing "The Wheels on the Bus" which almost always immediately evokes laughter. Really, the only other noise she makes is a very sad moaning when she is uncomfortable. Unfortunately, we heard that noise every day; sometimes all day long. She breaks my heart.
G is severely autistic. It took me a long time to find what I called our happy place. She was not actually in my class, but in the same classroom and so I was around her all day long. I genuinely did not understand her or why she hit her chin or squeezed her head between her two hands while making awful noises. It seemed that the only thing that made her happy was to play patty cake and how many stinking times can you play that in a day before you want to pull your hair out? One day, though, I was given the opportunity to feed her lunch and spent the time speaking Spanish to her (she is another one who is nonverbal yet understands two languages -- amazing if you ask me). After that, I began to see the sweet side of her come out and started studying her too. I won't list all of the little things I figured out about her, but I fell in love with this incredibly quirky and particular child, and making her smile would always bring me tangible joy.
E has Down's Syndrome. She was perhaps my most difficult student because she was stubborn and could be quite obstinate. She warms very slowly to strangers. She can speak but prefers to sign. (I always meant to take sign language classes but never got around to it... would have been helpful here. Bummer.) Most often the things she would verbalize were telling the other children "no" or to go to time out. She did not discriminate, though; she put herself in time out all the time too. Cracked me up. She was also the one who would come in and greet each child by name, looking them in the eyes, and often with a hug. She was the only person who was able to get our autistic girl to socialize and play with other children. She was also the most flexible child I have ever met. Sometimes I would look over and see her sitting with her legs up around her head and her tongue reaching up around her nose. She had me laughing all of the time.
There were days when I felt like between the cacophony of noises, the unpredictability of behaviors, and the ridiculously odd quirks that some of these kids emanate, that I would need to head straight to the loony bin by the end of the day. There were other days where I felt like all I could do was laugh. All day long. Still other days, I was gripped by the sadness of some of these situations and struggled to distance myself enough to function as their caretaker. One thing remained constant, though. Every single day I left that school, I was in awe of how lucky I am. How blessed I am. To have a working body, a working mind, people who accept and love me for who I am. What a privilege to work with children who inspire you to be grateful.
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