挑戰逆境

I can't complain， because I'm alive and walking， and that's more than was expected， honestly.

There's something strange about being a sixteen-year-old stroke2） survivor. I had the stroke when I was three weeks old， so people seem to think that it would have little bearing3） on my life now. And honestly， even the title \"stroke survivor\" feels weird to me. I don't remember being anything but the kid who had a stroke， so is there really a stroke-survivor title， or is that just a part of me？

At sixteen， I am partially-blind， and I had trouble walking even at eight. Being a kid it was almost impossible for me to actually understand； I didn't grasp the idea of not being able to run and play with other kids， and I didn't get why gravity seemed to constantly be pulling me to the ground and bruising4） my hands and tearing my clothes. Then I resigned myself to5） sitting on the steps while other kids played. Most of my time was spent reading a book or watching the sky.

The bright side to being somebody who spent every recess6） tearing through books and being as much of a philosopher as you can be even at six is that you learned things.

Both fortunately and unfortunately， the fact that I couldn't walk also meant physical therapy. The unfortunate part came from my parents' decision to put me in a full-body sport， in other words， dance. I can't even begin to explain how disastrous7） this decision was， but predictably a girl who can barely walk can't walk any more easily when her movements are choreographed8） and she is wearing a pair of steel-toed tap shoes.

The fortunate part came later. When I was nine， they opted out of9） dance for gymnastics， and that is when my life changed. Girls with streamlined figures pirouetted10） on their hands， flew and flipped and twirled with a blatant11） disregard for gravity， swung bar-to-bar like circus performers， and then took their beautiful flips and tumbles and twirls and put them on a four-foot-high， four-inch-wide beam. They ran at vaults12） with the intensity of creatures pursuing their prey， and then in an instant catapulted13） themselves into the air. They were superhuman.

Finally I felt determined. I felt determined just like I'd felt determined to run with the kids on the playground. But it was even more intense than that： I truly， genuinely， felt like I needed this. I needed to be superhuman. I worked harder than the other kids， and still got fewer results. You can't tumble14） until you can run， and you can't run until you can walk.

That's just the obvious progression of things. But somehow， I got through it. There were some advantages to my situation： I'd fallen so much that I was extremely pain-tolerant， and unlike the others I felt like I had something huge to gain. I got through conditioning workouts without complaining. I listened to every criticism. I shied away from15） sympathy. I learned to walk. Then to run. Then to tumble.

Last year I attained my peak. After all that time， I reached one of the highest levels of gymnastics. This meant that I'd earned the right to travel and compete， and even wore an expensive leotard16）， matching my teammates and looked up to by the young kids.

Although it wasn't my first year competing， it was the most intense. I knew it might be my last， too； my body had learned the sport， but my heart was growing tired of it. You can only be so committed before your heart gives way， and I'd given up too much of mine at the start. My goal was met and surpassed： I was walking. Screw that， I was flying！

The final and greatest opportunities were to compete in Hawaii， and to compete one last time in a State Championship. I took third all-around in Hawaii， and took first on beam at State. The girl who couldn't walk took first on beam. Pigs can fly and the blind can see and I can not only walk but also win beam.

After a summer of aggravation17）， I quit. I hardly felt like I'd won anything anymore. I was done flying. I was grateful and amazed， but I was ready to go.

I am sixteen years old. I am partially blind， and I had trouble walking when I was eight. I will never be like everyone else. My left side is weaker than my right， and I walk with a limp even after all of my training. I forget things constantly， and part of me wonders if this is from my stroke. I don't tell most of my friends I had a stroke； they might never look at me the same way again.

But here's the reality： I can't complain. I had a stroke， but I defied the odds. I proved every doctor wrong， and I did it with style.

我不能抱怨，因為我還活著，還能走路。說實話，這已經比預期的情況好多了。

作為一個16歲的中風幸存者，總會有一些古怪的地方。我是在出生三周時得的中風，所以人們似乎覺得這對我現在的生活應該已經沒什么影響了。老實說，連“中風幸存者”這個稱號都讓我覺得怪異。在我的記憶里，我根本就只是個患過中風的小孩，而不是別的什么。那“中風幸存者”這種叫法真的存在嗎？還是只是屬于我的一部分？

現在我16歲，眼睛半盲，甚至我在八歲時連走路都很困難。孩提時代的我幾乎不可能真正理解這些事情；我不知道自己不能奔跑，不能和其他小孩一起玩，我也不明白為什么地心引力似乎老是不停地把我拽倒在地，擦傷我的手，刮破我的衣服。后來我只好在其他小孩玩耍的時候坐在臺階上。大多數時候，我都在看書或是仰望天空。

每次課間我都在翻書，哪怕只有六歲，我也盡可能像一個哲學家那樣去思考，這樣做的好處就是我學到了東西。

既幸運又不幸的是，我不能走路就意味著我需要進行物理治療。之所以說不幸，是因為我父母決定讓我參與一種全身運動，換個說法，就是跳舞。我甚至不知如何開口解釋這個決定有多么要命，但可以預見的是，一個幾乎不能走路的女孩要穿上一雙鞋底釘有鐵片的踢踏舞鞋，還得做出編排好的舞蹈動作時，她不可能會走得更輕松。

幸運的那一面來得稍晚一些。我九歲時，我的父母決定不再讓我學舞蹈，轉而讓我學體操。就在那時，我的生活發生了改變。有著優美身體曲線的女孩們手翻、空翻、轉體，完全無視重力的影響，像馬戲團演員一樣在單雙杠間蕩來蕩去，然后隨著優美的彈跳、翻轉和旋轉，落在一根距地四英尺、寬四英寸的平衡木上。她們如動物捕獵一般猛地沖向跳馬器械，然后在瞬間將自己彈射到空中。她們就是超人。

最后我下定了決心，就像當初決意要和小孩子們一起在操場上奔跑一樣意志堅定，甚至決心比那還要強：我真真正正地覺得自己需要這個。我需要成為那樣的超人。我付出了比其他孩子們更多的努力，卻仍然沒什么成效。不會走路，你就無法奔跑，而不會奔跑，你就無法翻筋斗。

這只是一個顯而易見的事物發展進程。但不知怎的，我挺了過來。就我的個人情況而言，我有些優勢：我以前摔倒過太多次了，所以我忍受痛苦的能力極強，而且與其他人不同，我覺得我可以從中收獲很多。我毫無怨言地完成體能訓練。我認真聽取每一次批評。我避開別人的同情。我學會了走路，然后學會了奔跑，再然后是翻筋斗。

去年，我達到了自己的巔峰。在經過這么長時間之后，我終于躋身水平最高的體操運動員之列。這意味著我獲得了出去比賽的資格，還可以身穿昂貴的體操緊身服，和我的隊友們一樣漂亮，并受到孩子們的崇拜。

雖然那不是我第一年參加比賽，但卻是競爭最激烈的一年。我也知道這可能是我最后一年參賽，因為我的身體雖然學會了這項運動，但是我的心卻逐漸對它產生了厭倦。你只有在內心屈服之前才能夠如此拼命，而我在一開始時就付出了太多心力。我實現了自己的目標，并遠遠超出了目標：我能夠走路了。去他的，我是在飛！

我最后也是最大的兩次機會是去夏威夷參加的比賽以及僅參加了一次的州錦標賽。我在夏威夷的比賽中拿到了全能第三名，在州錦標賽中奪得了平衡木項目的冠軍。那個不能走路的女孩在平衡木比賽中拿到了冠軍。豬能飛上天，盲人能看見，而我不僅可以走路，而且還在平衡木比賽中獲勝了。

在經歷病情加重的一個夏天以后，我退出了。我覺得自己不會再贏得什么了。我已飛翔過。我心懷感激，驚嘆不已，但我做好了離開的準備。

我現在16歲。我的眼睛半盲。在我八歲時，我連走路都很困難。我將永遠不可能跟其他人一樣。我的左半邊身體比右半邊虛弱，即使在進行了這么多訓練之后，我走路仍會一瘸一拐。我經常忘記事情，我的內心有一部分懷疑這是否是中風的后遺癥。我和我的大多數朋友都沒說過我中過風，不然他們可能就再也不會用現在的眼光來看我。

但這就是現實：我不能抱怨。我得過中風，但是我挑戰了這種逆境。我向所有醫生證明他們都錯了，我戰勝了這種逆境，而且做得很好。

1.defy [d??fa?] vt. 挑戰；反抗

2.stroke [str??k] n. 中風

3.bearing [?be?r??] n. 關聯，影響

4.bruise [bru?z] vt. 碰傷

5.resign oneself to： 聽任……順從……

6.recess [r??ses] n. <美> （學校的）假期，課間休息

7.disastrous [d??zɑ?str?s] adj. 災難性的

8.choreograph [?k?ri?ɡrɑ?f] vt. 設計舞蹈動作

9.opt out of： 決定退出；決定不參加。opt [?pt] vi. 選擇；做出抉擇

10.pirouette [?p?ru?et] vi. 作快速旋轉

11.blatant [?ble?tnt] adj. 極明顯的

12.vault [v??lt] n. 跳馬器械

13.catapult [?k?t?p?lt] vt. 用彈射器發射

14.tumble [?t?mbl] vi. 翻筋斗

15.shy away from： 躲開，避開

16.leotard [?li??tɑ?d] n. （雜技或舞蹈演員穿的）緊身連衣褲

17.aggravation [??ɡr??ve??n] n. （病情等）加重