When I was born, I was born all sorts of bad. Several genetic issues, heart beating backwards, not breathing--plus a ton of other fun stuff.
And while some of the things I was born with were resolved with learned workarounds or a lot of effort and drugs (I wore leg braces for a long time but still have a leg that's like, 1.5 inches longer than the other, and my heart still gives me issue but it beats the right way, obviously, as I'm not dead), the one thing with the biggest impact, perhaps, is the cerebral palsy (CP, I'll be calling it from here on out, as typing that word a bunch seems like a bore to me).
Most of my life I've been fairly active. Wrestling and lacrosse and boxing, but I needed to consider how good I'd do at any physical activity. And before you go and make a mental image of what I look like due to CP, let me be open and honest with you: it's exceptionally mild. I do have remarkable control of my body most of the time, and don't find the need for a wheelchair.
Instead, I sometimes drool when speaking, or my legs/arms will decide to go on their own adventurous movements without telling me first--or they don't want to move at all. It's not all the time, but it's a few times a day or an entire evening or, you know, whenever.
And to be honest, CP didn't decide to join my axe throwing for a long, long while. There were little blips of it, of course (hands locking up/legs dragging, etc.), but nothing so brash as to completely throw off my game.
But during the last league, in fact the tournament for that league, CP decided to make itself loud and proud the entire night, and friend--it wasn't a very nice coming out party.
I was doing everything I normally do--same stance, same arm movement, same step. But my fiddly little hand was not releasing when I told it to. Imagine, if you will, having a hand build and controlled by a headstrong inventor who didn't believe in testing anything. I was sure-as-shit sending the signal, but my fingies were simply ignoring the request.
The first feeling was one of surprise, then frustration, then, I'll admit, despair.
I think our sport does a fair job of making allowances for throwers who have more to consider when throwing. This undoubtedly has to do with the people who are in the sport (point in fact: Mattimus, and axe coach at Meduseld Meadery, had a blind person come in pretty regularly who he helped get to a point of better-than-good accuracy). We as a player body just want people to have fun, and that goes a long way in making the sport open and approachable.
But for many folks in my condition, or obviously in a more challenging position, it doesn't matter how friendly and accommodating other throwers are willing to be. They themselves have to balance expectation with reality, and I suppose that's what I want to talk about now.
RECOGNIZE THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN SKILL AND ABILITY
When CP knocked me out early from the last axe throwing tourney, it took me until I was eliminated to get over being frustrated, which in retrospect was a mistake. I'm not an amazing thrower by any means, but I do pretty well in leagues, and I am happy with the progress I've made so far. I let that expectation get in the way of reality.
The mistake I was making (and it's an easy one to make) is mixing up skill with ability. I am a skillful axe thrower. I know what I'm doing, how I need to adjust, and how to, typically, get the axe to go where I want. However I am also a thrower who's ability is sometimes challenged by a congenital disorder (or several congenital disorders if we want to be clear about things). My ability has nothing to do with my skill. Throwing axes with cerebral palsy makes the two (skill and ability) very separate.
While the two are, I think, typically linked up for most people, they are less tied together for throwers who have physical differences. Keeping in mind that they are separate in my case has helped me throughout my life, and I just needed to apply that same logic to this goofy sport. I may be developing the skill of axe throwing for the rest of my life--and getting more and more skillful (hopefully) as I go on, but my ability to axe throw isn't constant, and may very well get worse as CP presents itself more often due to aging, muscle loss, and whatever else it decides to capitalize on.
RECOGNIZE YOU'RE DOING MORE
Having physically-altering differences used to be a lot more, I dunno, pronounced when I was in grade school. We had special classes (hell, special schools. I'm a proud graduate of a cerebral palsy school in central PA), and were seen as being less than. We could do less than other students, we were expected to do understand less, to achieve less and to participate less, especially in sports.
But all of that is bullshit. The thing I realized far too late in my life is that I'm doing more. To wit, when I'm throwing axes, I'm not just throwing axes. I'm also taking into account that my body doesn't always do what I ask it to. I'm also balancing something physical with a meat suit that doesn't necessarily want to be doing any sort of physical activity.
Why is this important? Well, because, quite frankly, it makes it easier to accept when things go poorly. When I mess up a throw because of CP, I remind myself that accomplishing any throw is pretty great, all considering. I mean, hot damn, every bull or clutch I hit is a big eff you to a disorder that tries, every day, to control my life. And that helps out a lot when it gets its little victories. Because, honestly, I get more victories than CP does in my life.
DON'T COMPARE WHY. COMPARE HOW.
People who have bodies that make things tricky figure out pretty early on that they need to come up with new ways to do typical things. Unique solutions, I mean, to accomplish what other folks can do without a second thought. Comparing why means I look at another thrower and ask "why can they hit so many clutches and I cannot?" Comparing how means I look at another player and ask "How do they hit so many clutches, and how can I do the same?"
The answer can simply be that they have practiced more, or they have a natural talent. But it also reframes the question to be less about surrendering to my own difficulties and, rather, understanding that I should try to figure out my way of doing it. Sometimes it doesn't lead to much, but it removes a lot of the self-deprecating thought that can happen when I'm really feeling the strain of trying to operate in this world with this particular flesh prison.
I DON'T REALLY KNOW WHAT I'M TRYING TO SAY, HERE
I might be writing all of this for myself, and the metrics I get from this post will tell me if that's a correct assumption, but I felt like it was worth diving into a bit. I guess what I'm trying to get at is this: I know there are axe throwers in our ranks who have bodies that betray them. And I likewise know that those challenges are sometimes visible, and sometimes not so visible. But I want all of us to find enjoyment in this sport.
I want to bring up some of the things that have helped me along the way, and that have allowed me to have patience and forgiveness with myself when my dumpster fire of a body decided to crap out on me. I love throwing axes. I love the people and the challenge. And while I don't love the CP or how it can easily take away my ability to throw well, I've come to accept it as part of the game. With that acceptance comes a form of strength, I think, in accepting what's possible while striving to do more.
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