Читать книгу The Road to Resilience - Adam Przytula - Страница 17

As a kid, I loved running. Standing on the track, feeling the air fill my lungs and the sun against my skin felt good. Taking off, feeling my muscles engage and my heart beat as my feet pounded the grass felt really good. Passing the finish line first, having everyone cheer me on and winning the race felt really, really, really good. From Years 1 to 3, I was ‘Champion Boy’ and the best runner in my class. I loved being picked to go last in the relay because everyone knows the fastest kid goes last.

Being sporty meant I was automatically popular at school. It also made me feel like I was valuable, liked and accepted.

Things were the opposite at home. Although I knew my parents loved me, the constant yelling and arguing between them was scary and stressful. My big brother Paul was four years older than me, and it felt like I hardly knew him. It doesn't seem like much now that we are older, but four years is a lot when you're a kid.

This photo of me with my brother Paul was taken when he was 10 and I was 6.

Don't get me wrong, there were brief periods when it felt like we were just a normal family (like on Sunday afternoons when we'd sit around together watching Disney movies and eating McDonald's). However, most of the time I felt pretty lonely at home. It didn't feel like I belonged and I didn't feel valuable. So I started looking outwards for a sense of self‐esteem.

At first, running provided me with the sense of value that I was desperately seeking. Then, in Year 4, I had to start taking steroids to treat eczema on my feet (yep, I was on the 'roids at the tender age of nine). Pretty rapidly I stacked on the KGs. The steroids made me supersized. I'd stand on the track at school, acutely aware of my belly beneath the tightly stretched fabric of my green faction t‐shirt (go green!). It felt like everyone was laughing at me. As I took off, I felt my belly jiggle and I'd see other kids overtake me. Passing the finish line, puffing, I'd feel ashamed. I lost the title of Champion Boy. I started finishing second … third … then fourth. By Year 7 I'd dropped to the B Division in sports. I wasn't any good at running anymore.

So, I just gave up.