The Running Dream: Part V

It’s like I’m a little kid again, wobbling along on my bicycle.
I’m exhilarated.
Terrified.
Gaining speed.

At first I switch legs in the car, but it’s cramped and cumbersome, and I finally get the guts to walk out to the infield on my “flex foot” leg and then, in front of God and athletes and middle-aged joggers, switch to my running leg.

We come upon Aggery Bridge and I begin the long sprint across it. My legs and lungs burn, but I welcome this pain. It forges me with strength.

I coax myself forward with milestones: Just to the end of the block.

“So what are you saying?” I ask meekly.

There’s no nod for this part, just a knit brow and a dubious frown.

I smile at her. “I do. To answer yours first...my dad retrofitted my wheelchair so I could run with it.”

Then Fiona and Mario decide they want to join us, and as my entourage grows, so do the cheers.

“Rosa Brazzi was born with cerebral palsy, a condition caused by damage to the motor control centers of a developing brain. Similar to a stroke, cerebral palsy can occur during pregnancy, childbirth, or up to the age of about three, and although there is a broad range in how CP can affect a person, in Rosa’s case her motor functions have been hindered but her brain is as sharp as they come.”

“But for a young woman with a handicap of her own, pushing one hundred pounds along ten miles is not something that can be done on a whim.”

Then she asks, “So what, in a nutshell, is the cause Jessica and Rosa are running for? Quite simply, it’s to have people see them, not their condition.”

Then, after I’ve composed myself a little, she smiles again and says, “Your father has been very helpful.”

According to Kyro’s workout schedule, I’m supposed to be “tapering”—doing easier, shorter runs—but I’m starting to panic.

The cadence of it is pleasant to me now, and this spin around the track feels easy.

Finally he says, “Well, don’t forget your form. Bad habits are easy to find and hard to break.”
I scoff.
“You laugh? Okay, well, give me a real one this time.”

My peripheral vision vanishes.

Gavin hugs me and laughs. “You’re like a filly at the starting gate!”

I whinny, which makes him laugh again.

“I’m a palindrome!” Rosa says about her 393 race number.

But despite all the indications that she’s a machine, her shirt isn’t made of that fancy sweat-wicking technical fabric that would be on par with the rest of her gear.

And after another minute of waiting, we’re getting really antsy.

At first it’s very picturesque.

The course has leveled out, the trees are lovely, and the river looks serene.

People are out on their balconies getting an aerial view.

Eight months ago it was a herculean effort to walk myself and my IV stand to the bathroom.