Feel the Fear - The ADHD Runner
Running & Writing Retreat – Devon 2022.
Everyone was asked to produce a piece of writing about the Saturday run so it could be read out on the Sunday evening. This is my piece.
It was scary, I was nervous, I stumbled over the words, regressing back to harsh memories of being mocked when my words sometimes come out in a jumble, (I still cringe at the admiration I showed for a “dildo” rail rather than dado rail) but I did it; I read out an example of my writing to a group of strangers.
I knew I would survive the ordeal, but still there was a plan b; in fact, there’s always a plan b, c, d, e, f……. a ready excuse, a pre-thought-out strategy to make a quick exit if needed and trust me these have been needed in the past.
However, by Saturday morning, I’d put plan b safely away as I dressed in my “warrior” running kit; black, comfortable, familiar; the only expectation of me was to run, and I can do that. Running is my default setting, a time where I don’t have to curtail my wildness, my chaos, my impulsivity.
As we headed to Dartmoor for our morning adventure, this group of accepting strangers quickly forming an acceptable gang, all of us dressed in black, menacing silhouettes in the thick fog, forging forwards so easily as a group, gathering pace, momentum, and rhythm.
I run with childlike abandonment, chasing the front runners, jumping, bounding, skipping; the public diving out of the way as we fly past, laughing, shouting, stumbling, “who are you” they ask us as we pass by. I want to say, “we’re on a top-secret mission”, “if anyone asks you, you haven’t seen us” but we just smile and reply “just random runners”.
Being able to taste this freedom is intoxicating, running is the rare time that I feel comfortable in my own skin, no pressure to conform, to say the right thing or answer simple questions articulately, a time to just be me.
“I’ve thought about starting a new blog” I say to Henny. “About a personal journey I’ve been on” Henny seems interested, so I press on.
“I was diagnosed with ADHD in July of this year” I continue.
Wow, Henny seems really interested wanting even more details, asking questions, and enthusing about the idea of an ADHD running blog.
Where do I start trying to explain to Henny what 53 years of undiagnosed ADHD looks like? The familiar feeling of trying to get the words out in a succinct order that make sense takes over, but in-between gasps of air to get up another hill I think I succeed. Henny doesn’t say the usual thing I hear when I confess to my diagnosis “what you? But you don’t seem like someone with ADHD”. I’ve been very good at masking it…. always having a plan b.
My ADHD brain processes things differently, it’s like having 157 TVs on in my head all at the same time, but someone else oversees the remote. It has impacted all areas of my life, but until my diagnosis, I just thought I was someone who didn’t get the memo on how to do life in so many ways.
As our band of runners continue to leap down paths, bonds are formed even further by a swing over a river, a deep puddle to jump over and a finishing downhill of pure joy as I weave side to side, arms outstretched, playing airplanes; it’s ok, I don’t think anyone noticed.
Our run complete, refreshed, and glowing, a morning of escapism, of imagination, of hope and tiny bit of intrigue from passersby, I reflect on what’s going to happen next.
I am going to own my ADHD diagnosis and celebrate my brain’s diversity, so instead of continuing to run through the fog, I’m going to run with the new clarity and relief that I feel that I just got a different memo.