When you are neurodivergent, it takes extremes for something to really lock. Physical exercise works wonders to alleviate the persistent symptoms of ADHD. At the same time, pressure to exercise in a way that conforms to societal standards can trigger pathological demand avoidance — especially in kids — that can make even setting foot in a gym a “whole thing.”
I was a tried-and-true indoor kid who relished a rained-out recess at school, my only frame of reference for exercise came from cartoons, movies, and the semi-annual sporting events. I was 10 when the 1998 Nagano Winter Olympics graced my family’s television (the theme song still plays on a loop in my head), becoming enamored with the rest of the world through the games. My dopamine levels spiked with every ski jump and luge run, bringing with them an uncomfortable feeling that I could never be an Olympic athlete.
Stuck in a purgatorial loop of trying too hard and not trying hard enough (usually the latter) any effort to exercise left me sore, sad, and dejected. The “all-or-nothing” thinking that drives neurodivergent people can feel paralyzing; I’d never bring home a medal, so why bother putting in the effort?
Flash forward some 20-odd years, and my attitude remains the same. My scale, on the other hand, starts spitting out numbers suggesting the pizza, pasta, wings, and beer I’d been packing away might be the reason all my skinny jeans were turning into extra skinny jeans.
The “all-or-nothing” thinking that drives neurodivergent people can feel paralyzing; I’d never bring home a medal, so why bother putting in the effort?
I was starting to feel like a discount aisle version of myself when my wife suggested we go for a run. That familiar voice in my head was ready to dissect and denounce the idea, but the louder voice reminded me that my wife is always right. We dug out our sneakers and decided to run the Prospect Park loop. Despite the fact that we’d made the rookie mistake of choosing a sweltering summer day to embark on the 3.36-mile route, the run was — dare I say — fun. We had agreed upon beforehand, in that pseudo-telepathic way married couples communicate, that we would take the whole thing in stride. No pressure or pretenses – just two people traveling quickly together.
We finished the loop without a photo finish or cheering crowds. We were sweaty and sore, but practically floating on our shared sense of satisfaction. Nearly a decade later, I still run almost every day. Releasing myself from the “all or nothing” attitude of sports and setting expectations different from those who’ve been training on a high beam since the age of two redefined my relationship with exercise. I didn’t fully grasp the meaning of the whole “life is a marathon, not a sprint” metaphor until I started running. Finding my own pace helped me run (literally and figuratively) away from the expectations that can keep you on your couch.
Haruki Murakami puts the duality of exercise in perspective with the poignant quote from his memoir, What I Talk About When I Talk About Running: “Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional.”
