Screaming for Challenge

When I was a kid, one of my competitive swimming events was the 100 yard butterfly. I wanted desperately to drop below the 1:17.00 mark, but it didn’t seem that I could. “If only I can get 1:16.99, I will be thrilled,” I thought. Any swimmer knows that dropping even a tenth or a hundredth of a second is difficult.

At the next meet, I ran into some girls I liked on another team. I thought they were cool and looked so athletic. If only I could be like them — but they had times like 1:12 and 1:13 in my event.

“Let’s shoot for 1:17 flat. By next month, I think you’ll go under that,” my coach said.

On that day, I set out to stay relatively close to the other swimmers in my heat. As I approached the starting block, I took a deep breath and stood up straight. I heard someone say, “Wow! That girl is confident. I bet she’s really fast.”

I surprised my coach — and myself — when I broke my previous best time, skipping the 1:16, 1:15, and 1:14s all together.

“Where am I going with this story?” you may ask.

I scream. You scream. We all scream — for challenges!

Lately, Mark has been in a rut at his residential community, and I’ve been baffled. The dry behavior notes show one picture: a frustrated person who goes about things the wrong way. Some see regression and non-compliance. Others see obsessions and compulsions.

I think Mark is a busybody who may be bored. I don’t think people see what he can do. In our family home, he is cooperative and settled. He works hard.

How would he be on this day in an environment in which many people feel pressure, and especially those with intellectual and developmental disabilities?

When he stepped up to the dentist chair, he was mature, relaxed, conversational, and friendly.

“Wow! That guy looks ready,” I said.

I don’t know what he was telling himself or even if he is capable of self-talks.

This appointment would turn out to be his most challenging yet. He had never had a cavity until he was 22. He had never had long appointments before. On this day, it turns out, he had four cavities.

The dentist asked if he needed sedation as he got the fillings. Mark doesn’t know what sedation is, and I didn’t think he needed it.

As the procedures started, I heard the staff say, “Mark, you are managing this better than anyone I know.”

In this patient, loving utopia, people describe Mark as “intelligent” and “personable,” and Mark is curious and responsible there. He doesn’t make waves.

On that day, surrounded by people pushing him to do better, he did better. He way exceeded his previous time of half an hour with a personal best — three hours in the chair.

Mark’s next challenge will be to slow down and make sure he brushes his teeth thoroughly. I think he’ll master it. In swimming and in life, we need to step back sometimes and improve our technique.