Sometimes we need help: A story
The following story was written by a program participant.
As a teenager, my grandmother called me resilient. I remember it struck me as odd because I didn’t feel as though life had thrown all that much at me, but I liked the way it sounded. Or maybe I liked how it made me feel — as though I’d be able to pick up whatever life threw down. No problem.
But then, there was a problem.
A young adult girl holding her hands to her face (Stock imagery)
Life had been coming at me hard in what seemed like a sustained campaign to prove my grandmother wrong, and although I was okay for a while, one day I simply wasn’t. And the next day, and the next.
I wanted to avoid naming it at first. I had witnessed, up close, the way it sat on somebody’s chest, squeezing the goodness out of them. And now it sat on mine. Depression was getting comfortable in my squidgy bits. Which is why, when a friend told me about Up and Running, I, ever so nervously, put up my hand to join.
“I had witnessed, up close, the way it sat on somebody’s chest, squeezing the goodness out of them. And now it sat on mine.”
I was terrified at first. I wanted to avoid speaking a single word of what brought me to this moment. I barely wanted to speak my name. And the running? What had I gotten myself into?
But there, on a trail tucked in by the river, surrounded by trees in their early September golds and greens and by women wearing similar expressions to my own, I felt safe. For the first time in a long while, I felt safe.
Women walking along a trail during a fall Up and Running Guelph program
We didn’t ask for each other's story, but we knew we each carried one. Somedays I would overhear words of encouragement, or maybe of commiseration, and other days it would be peals of laughter. Many days we ran in silence, save for our huffing and puffing. Always, however, we ran as a team — no, more as a pack — nurturing, united and brave, out there on our trail tucked in by the river.
“We didn’t ask for each other’s story, but we knew we each carried one.”
One day, as fall was beginning to bend towards winter, I found myself lost in thought, running alone at the front of the pack. When suddenly, overcome with emotion, I started to cry. I struggled to gain composure as one hot tear befell another, and the sound of running shoes on grounded leaves reminded me that I was exposed and vulnerable. ‘Oh my god, I’m in public!’
But then, as if by conjury, our fearless mentor appeared, running lockstep beside me. Not once did she try to catch my gaze, nor did she say a word, she simply looked ahead and kept running.
I think of that moment, a few years ago now, as being one of the most gracious acts of kindness I have ever received. Because, at that moment, I realized that I have always been resilient. But occasionally, I need help. And it was there, on our magical trail tucked in by the river, that I understood that help was never very far away.
A silhouette of women running on a fall day (Stock imagery)