Sticks & Stones… and Ducks

“You walk like a duck. Quack, quack!” I can still hear their taunting.
“Do you have webbed feet too?”

Few can be so cruel in this world as teenagers fighting for a pecking order. 

“And look how he runs! His legs fly out to the side like duck wings!”

Their laughter and jeers seemed to be heard by nearly everyone on the track except the gym teacher. I kept running, but with tears welling up in my eyes. My inner voice struggled to be louder than my peers. “Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me,” I spoke softly to myself.

My parents noticed early on that my feet turned outward when I walked and my legs flailed when I ran. The cause was quickly identified as unusually bowed tibias and fibulas. Despite numerous tests, including painful electrical pulses sent through my legs, doctors found no underlying diseases. My parents were relieved, but I was not. The deformity could not be corrected, and I would struggle to walk and run “normally” for the rest of my life. Doctors also warned that a break to my legs could result in permanent damage and even the inability to walk.

The previous paragraph proved too much for a pubescent teen to explain when taunted. So I kept repeating the phrase “sticks and stones…” and when that failed me, I lashed out with massive outbursts of anger. Words may not break bones, but they break hearts. Words can hurt worse than physical injury and can last for much longer. Even 25 years. 

Earlier this year, I began training to run a 10K race. As a novice, I trained mostly on a treadmill for a few months before moving to the asphalt. I knew outdoor training would be more difficult with its hills, winds and humidity. What I did not expect was fear and insecurity to resurface. During a local run, a car passed from behind, the driver blared the horn, and I heard laughter as the group sped off. Immediately, a label from my youth returned. 

Duck. 

I was running like a duck. They must have noticed. I slowed to a walk. Actually, I have no idea why they blew the horn. But it didn’t matter. The words of the past, words I thought I’d forgotten, still stung. I pressed on that day and continued working on my goal for another month. 

On May 4, at 40 years old, I lined up with more than 100 others to compete in my first 10K. Less than one mile into the race, the word returned. 

Duck. 

I began focusing on the runners behind me instead of the road ahead. My mind fixed on the ridiculous view they must have, watching my legs flail and founder. I imagined the other runners wondering how my form could even move my body forward. My pace slowed a bit. My mind wasn’t focused on my goal- on my future victory. Instead, my only thought was the decades-old label placed upon me.

We may be complex creations, but we seek simplicity amongst the chaos of emotion. So we place tidy little labels on the things we either don’t like, don’t relate to, or can’t explain. (See my previous post on labels.) All of us are wearing labels from our past and present. But my friends, when someone places a label on you, you have a choice. You can either accept the label as your reality, or you can choose to listen to your inner voice and push past the label, reducing its power to hurt and cripple you from becoming who you are meant to be.

Author’s note: This is usually the part of my writing where I offer some three to five step approach to overcoming the challenge identified in the preceding paragraphs. There is no such strategy in this work. Breaking free from the emotional connection to labels placed on us is an individual journey. But I can tell you this, the journey begins by recognizing you may be in bondage to the labels of your past. It could be playground taunting, the passive aggressive cutting humor of your immediate family, or a nickname an old boss used to call you. No matter the source of the labels you’ve embraced, you must first admit their existence before you can punch them in the face. Yes, I’m still referring to the labels…not your old boss…

DUCK plagued my mind on race day until mile two of six. I had already recognized the label existed during my training, but during the race, I was ready to face it head-on. I made my choice. I chose victor over victim. I pushed through the fear and judgment that accompanied the label and achieved all three of my personal race goals that day. More importantly, I recognized the words of the past had been holding me back, and I broke through the label for good.

Do I still run like a duck? Yes. And I’m okay with that. I’ve finally remembered what else ducks can do. They fly! 

Question: Are there any labels in your life keeping you from becoming who you were created to be? What steps will you take this week to break through the labels for good?


Sticks & Stones…and Ducks originally appeared on NathanClaycomb.com. Like what you’re reading? Subscribe today and join me regularly #fromwhereIsit.