A few years ago, I had the privilege of joining the volunteer base for STRIDE Adaptive Sports, an organization based out of North Greenbush, New York which "educates and empowers individuals with special needs in life-changing sport and recreation programs to sustain healthy, active and fun lifestyles." My first volunteer experience with STRIDE was through a bike camp the organization hosts every year at Union College in Schenectady, New York. Coordinated in conjunction with the iCan Shine Foundation, the camp runs for a week in late June. Each year, myself and about 50 other volunteers sign up to chase children with various disabilities on bikes. Exhausting? Yes, very much so. But also one of the most rewarding experiences of my life.
Upon questioning, any Bike Camp volunteer will tell you that the best part of the experience is the kids. These campers, anywhere from eight to 33, are some of the happiest people you'll ever meet. Of course, there are behavioral difficulties to overcome, but by the end of the week, campers smile ear to ear while zipping around on two wheels.
Riding a bike might not sound like that much of an accomplishment, but as iCan Shine representative Kenan Brod told this year's volunteers, "It's more than just a bike. Some of these parents, they've been trying to teach this skill for years. This week, we're going to change some lives."
To embody this quote, I'd like to share two stories from this past year's camp, during which I served as the volunteer director in addition to working with the kids. I've changed the camper's names to protect their privacy, but the message is still the same.
1. Sarah
Sarah was a repeat camper this June, and her volunteer group knew from experience that they were in for a challenge. The previous year, Sarah had been terrified of the 'big bike', and sobbed the entire time she was balanced upon it. At one point during a session this year, Sarah had removed her feet from the pedals of her roller bike (the trainer bikes we use, which replace the back wheel of the bike with a roller of various diameter, depending on the rider's current skill) and was refusing to move. Sarah's mother had taken to the rink's entrance, a look of disappointment shadowing her face. The volunteers and I tried every motivation tactic in our handbook, from stickers to puppets. When nothing seemed to work, we asked Sarah, almost desperately, what we could do to get her to pedal. "Frozen!" was her simple reply, and with that, we made a deal. I promised Sarah a Frozen dance party as long as she pedaled out another lap. Suddenly, Sarah let out an enthusiastic, "Yay!" and with a big grin, she put her feet on the pedals and rode not one, but three more laps. As we danced to "Let It Go" during her break, Sarah's mom approached with tears in her eyes. Hugging her daughter, she thanked me for not giving up on Sarah. Her praise was rewarding, I'll admit, but even more so was Sarah's eagerness to get back on her bike and ride, as long as I danced along next to her.
2. Robbie
From the start, I knew that Robbie was going to be difficult; his mother had to carry him, kicking and screaming, through the door to the registration table. For the first half of his session, Robbie chose to lock himself in the men's room, where the behavior specialist (also female) and I couldn't get to him. After much coaxing, Robbie finally decided to join us outside the bathroom for a discussion on "Minecraft," his favorite video game.
Continuing the conversation, we even managed to get Robbie to follow us onto the rink floor. However, as soon as we headed for the bikes, he lost his confidence and started running. Catching him in a basket hold, we both ended up on the ground until he tired and I was able to stand. With the help of four other volunteers, I held Robbie on the roller bike and pushed him around one lap of the rink. I would be lying if I said he enjoyed the experience.
The next few days were not without obstacles, however, Robbie became progressively more confident and able on his roller bike. By Friday, Robbie and I had formed a friendship, despite our rough beginnings. When he finally traded his roller for a second wheel, I couldn't have been prouder. As I presented him with his certificate of achievement and medal, he said to me, "Thanks for teaching me how to ride a bike even though I screamed and bit you on the first day. I'm glad we're friends now." It was that moment which made every effort with Robbie totally worth it.
For Sarah and Robbie, Bike Camp had been about more than just learning to ride a bike. Sarah's mom had struggled teaching her daughter this skill for over three years, and Robbie's parents had watched as their son and I wrestled that first day of camp. For these campers, getting on two wheels was a huge accomplishment. Riding a bike may seem a small feat, but for children with disabilities, it's a skill that brings confidence, independence and inclusion. Sarah was excited to ride with her friends on the weekends, and Robbie boasted about riding his two wheel bike out to the car all by himself.
As participants leave Bike Camp on Friday, they are sent out into the world with not only a new skill, but also a newly formed vision of themselves. In a world where being the slightest bit different brings plethora of scorn, this confidence is key. Once you have confidence in yourself and your abilities, negativity from others can have no effect on you. This is the important skill that is taught at Bike Camp, and the real reason that I continue to volunteer with STRIDE. Through something as seemingly simple as sport, these children learn one of the biggest life lessons there is, and I am proud and honored to be a part of that learning process.
