The Effort
Like many parents who have busy
children, I generally do not have time to more than glance at a few headlines
in the Sunday paper. The other day, though, a photograph on the front page caught my
eye. The picture was linked with an
article about Unified Sports, a program that promotes inclusion between
students with and without special needs in various sporting events. It showed
two teenaged athletes competing in a track event. To the left was a tall,
handsome, athletic-looking individual who appeared to be jogging along at a
comfortable pace. He was looking over his shoulder, with an encouraging smile, toward
a young man at his side. His running partner had special needs and the pair
were running together, finishing up a race. The first thing that struck me
about the second young man with was the look on his face, which was in stark
contrast to that of his partner. While the first runner had a casual relaxed
expression, the other young man’s face was held tightly in a grimace. The whole
of his body language, at that single moment in time, communicated the true
effort that he was expending to propel himself toward the finish line. For the
typically developing young man the run looked as if it was a calm stroll on the beach. For the other young man, it seemed as if just completing the 100 meter
run took all the focus and determination he could muster. To him it was both a
struggle and a great accomplishment, yet both men crossed the finish line….and
at the same time.
I am sure the image first caught my
eye because I work with special needs children and I was moved by both young
men and what, I presume, they were accomplishing through the program. The first young man was developing compassion,
patience, and acceptance which are gifts that will touch many more lives as he
grows older. The second young man was accomplishing something that on the
surface seems much simpler. He was rising to a difficult physical challenge,
setting a goal, and reaching it. I hope that he, in turn, received something
much deeper than the picture could show. I hope that he experienced the pride and
satisfaction of having conquered the challenge successfully and that it drives
him to continue to set and attain new goals.
I have not been able to get the image out of
my mind since I first saw the paper. After thinking about it for a while, I
realized it was because, in it, I saw a clear connection to own my life. The
dynamic between the two young men is one I have experienced often during my
struggle with Lyme. That picture clearly and wordlessly depicts the distinction
between daily life with and without Lyme disease or other chronic illnesses. In most circumstances, I will
not complain about the symptoms or the countless obstacles that treatment
throws at me, but I DO drag them around with me every day. They DO weigh me
down during every waking moment and they certainly make getting through each
day more challenging than anyone….except those who have been here…..can ever
know.
As I think about the look of sheer exertion on
the face of one of the young runners and the look of casual comfort on the face of his partner, I
consider the fact that they had both gone the distance and reached the finish
line together. I am in awe of the parallels I see between that race and my own
grueling trek through each day. I get up, I work, I parent, I get my children
where they need to be, I feed them, do household chores, go to their games and
practices, wind down, and maybe watch a little T.V. I am sure most of my
friends do the exact same things. We are running the very same distance in the
very same race. At the end of the day, our heads probably hit the pillow at
around the same time. We all manage to cross the finish line of each busy day
and accomplish what we set out to do or what was placed in our path that needed
to be done. On the surface, all is equal. If I can get through all of this in
the midst of my battle with Lyme disease, then what is the big deal, right? Below
the surface, the “big deal” is the colossal difference in the energy expended to
accomplish the very same goals. The distinction is simply the effort.
I am fully aware of the fact that everyone has
bad days. I do too in non-Lyme-related ways. I know that everyone has to put
out effort to do all that needs to be accomplished on a daily basis. When you
have Lyme, but also when you are going through the cruelty of treatment, the effort is exponentially larger. Through my
Lyme-tinted eyes, it seems that those in the rat race all around me jog somewhat
comfortably to the finish line of each day, just as I did before I became sick.
Many even have energy left over to add a few more miles. But, I, much like the
second young athlete in the picture, move with painful determination towards
the end of each day grimacing in exhaustion. Anything extra, anything beyond
the clear finish line is just too challenging at this point in my life. I see myself
so clearly in that young man’s face.
In contrast, I also see my pre-Lyme
self in the image of the cool, self-assured runner. It’s the “me” that I
pretend, somewhat successfully to still be, and the “me” that most people in my
life still perceive. Right now, these are two distinct parts of myself: the
outside and the inside: the fallacy and the reality. The outside looks
comfortable and settled as it rises to the challenges of life. The outside
glances confidently and encouragingly at the inside. It pushes the inside along
with good natured enthusiasm, prodding it to keep up. That is the fallacy. The
inside tries with all its might to move along at the same pace. It uses all its
energy to be what the outside expects it to be. It persistently tries to please
the outside and the world around it with its efforts. That is the reality. Sometimes it succeeds,
sometimes it fails, but it always puts everything it has into the race.
In this case, I guess a picture
really is worth a thousand words.
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