My First Runs

To set the scene, I think I was both ADHD and Aspergers (I only got a proper and affirmative diagnosis for the latter a few years ago — after numerous life events leading me to a clinical psychologist). Both was quite explicitly manifested since I was in kindergarten. Yet being also high functioning, the social and physical challenges were overcome in my own ways, often time quite absurdly.

I ran a lot when I was in kindergarten. Usually like a mad cow. I went with my grandma for early morning exercise at the hill side park nearby. There was a concrete paved small soccer pitch and I would blindly run along the lines on the pitch until exhausted.

Once I thought I should give myself more challenges, I sped up. Then I couldn’t stop. I ended up landing on the hard ground face down. A quarter-sized skin below my left knee peeled off. There was so much pain. It took a month to recover — my dad put on different colored medical fluid on it every day, which yielded scars of different thickness and colors.

From that moment, I told myself I should never run again.

I was too young to keep my pledge to myself. So I still ran, but I minimized the number of steps to a dozen and I would stop at the twelfth step.

It was until grade three I decided to further limit my running, after a teacher on duty during recess told me my occasional 12-step splint would pose danger to innocent schoolmates wandering on the yard.

I agreed and I also realized there was not much purpose other than causing tiresome and got myself sweaty and stinky.

Basically I didn’t run anymore since then. During physical education classes thereafter, I would pose as if I was running when teachers were watching. Since I was never the naughtiest one in class, I managed to muddle through and passed the class.

I was lucky enough to be in a liberal enough college not requiring me to take any sport classes as mandatory requirement, even though the importance of sports was strongly emphasized since it brought a significant portion of income to the college to maintain its standing nation-wide.

So my first run during my adult life was when I moved to a shoebox flat with a sea view, decorated with three world-class bridges.

There was a newly renovated and expanded highway nearby. For the sake of exploring the scenery, I tried running again — nah, it was just jogging.

At that time my BMI was over 30 and I don’t have any sportswear.

The result was apparent. I only managed to jog 10 minutes and I felt my heart exploding so I need to limp back. The whole trip was 2.5km.

Then I got pain on both my feet and legs in the next week.

This was how it started. Not a pleasant experience at all.