park run

Park Run is totally amazing.

INTRODUCTION

One of my favourite things at the moment is going to our local Junior Park Run with Pip. Dad and I hit upon this idea last year when we were scouting around for a physical activity to replace the swimming lessons which ended rather abruptly after an Incident. Something on that another time maybe.

RAMBLE ABOUT RUNNING

Pip can definitely run, we know this. He walks on the balls of his feet, always has done, no exceptions, and runs like that too. His favourite place to run is probably on the beach, which is handy as (provided he is wearing something distinctive) he is good to go for miles and miles whilst remaining visible and safe. (We don’t try and keep up with him because he becomes a child of the beach and in those moments we are like shadows and not necessary. We only become necessary if he walks over someone’s picnic or assimilates into someone else’s family, in which case we retrieve before a re-releasing.) I understand that this balls-of-the-feet thing is a more instinctive and efficient way for humans to go on foot, and that heel-strike walking and running is learned (copied) and less efficient. Whatever, that makes sense because for the first 8-odd years Pip didn’t copy a single thing. Not a nod, clap, point, “ga-ga”, nose-pick, tongue poke, spoon feed, book read, bum wipe or cuddle. Because copying, my friends, is a way of learning. And learning is something that Pip does differently to neurotips. He mainly rediscovers and works everything out for himself. This is not efficient. This is a LEARNING DISABILITY in the very sense of the term.

RETURN TO MAIN STORY

Back to Park Run. Trainers are on (me and Pip!) and we set off round the course. There is an initial bit of cajoling of the “lets run Pip!” type before we lapse into a leisurely walk with runners streaming either side. There is a lot of sheep poo and tussocks to navigate. Do we go over, around or through? Such an adventure. We soon end up with the lovely tail-walkers. I explain that we are going to be very slow indeed but they reassure us that they are happy to have a very slow walk, it’s what they were hoping for, and we all turn our faces into the sun and proceed. There’s a bit of the initial talk which covers all of the key bases. Age: 12. Name: Pip. Won’t answer. Not ignoring you, just doesn’t talk. Never has. Autism. On we go. We get a lovely guide to all of the subtle features and nuances of the beautiful course, which would be so easy to miss if you were going above 2mph. Pip does a couple of bursts of running but it clearly doesn’t feel right so we just walk. Every marshal we go past requests a high five from Pip and he leaves no-one hanging. High-fiving is one of Pip’s strengths so this is a very good fit for him. Towards the end he does a cossack squat every ten paces or so. I register this but don’t try to interpret. I’m feeling a bit chilled out. By the time we get to the finish funnel the full complement of volunteers, parents and kids is cheering Pip across the finish line. The atmosphere is lovely. (Fair to say I feel guilty that everyone is waiting for us a full twenty minutes after the previous runner crossed the finish. The guilt, the GUILT!)

We scan our barcode. We thank profusely. We pledge to return.

Now Pip is running. He’s running fast, and with direction.

To the toilet.

Except the toilet is locked and out of commission.

So our first lovely parkrun ends with Pip very conspicuously peeing into a nearby bush with signifiant help from me as he’s never done a stand-up wee before. I came to the view that this was less undignified for him then allowing him to wee himself but I’m pretty sure it attracted a lot of attention from the National Trust patrons who passed during that 30 seconds that felt like an eternity.

EPILOGUE

Pip has been back and done almost every Junior Park Run since then with Dad or me filling the tail-walking role (which is very efficient, I think, and fun because we get to wear orange hi viz and a tail). Sunday is the only day of the week that Pip spontaneously gets up and willingly dresses himself and goes to the loo ready to go out. By week 2 Pip has a developing fan club at our local run. He is getting welcomed by all of the volunteers and some of the regular participants. By week 3 he’s feeling very at home, supervising the warm-up (never taking part, mind). Week 4 and while waiting to start he wanders up to me and gives me his FIRST EVER SPONTANEOUS HUG with a big smile on his face. I told all the volunteers. Week 5 and all of a sudden Pip is appearing on the rota as tail-walker and being given the orange hi viz and tail to wear when we arrive, and quietly getting the volunteer credits. Week 12 and Pip gets his half marathon wristband, which he wears during that week’s walk. He insists on returning it at the end: It belongs with all of the others in the crate. The crate that he helps to sort out every week so that it’s in the Proper Order, and which he is allowed to do without question. Because he has been embraced into the Park Run family.

This is the magic of Park Run.