Josh Kennison skips across the imaginary line in the muddy grass and explodes toward the pit.
The world, its noise and its constraints evaporate, and for five frenzied seconds Kennison is like every other high jumper from the ancient Olympic games in Greece to a soggy, spring day at Oxford Hills Comprehensive High School.
Arms swing in intuitive motion. Legs push and propel the jumper to the edge of control. Head tucked to his chest, lower back arched inward as far as rippling muscles will allow, he avoids brushing against the bar by the width of his gold-and-green jersey as the blue padding beneath breaks his fall with a bear hug.
It’s a spectacular sequence rendered ordinary by the sheer sameness of it. Until you watch Kennison’s rendition of the timeless technique, that is, and realize that the arms he might use to find balance or break his fall end at his elbow. Or that the lower legs pushing him heavenward are prosthetic.
“I’m pretty much,” Kennison said, eyes drifting as the word search proved fruitless, “I don’t know what you’d call it.”
Well, let’s start with “miracle” and work backward from there, shall we? But don’t you dare call Kennison handicapped.
That word works nicely to describe a kid who’s juggling a heavy diet of Twinkies and chocolate milk and forges weekly notes from Mom in order to be excused from phys ed class. Or maybe a would-be all-star with delusions of grandeur and a low tolerance for practice.
Challenged? Nah, the only thing challenged is the structural integrity of everyone else’s time-worn excuses.
Track isn’t even Kennison’s favorite or best sport. That’s soccer, which the freshman dreams of playing professionally. He scored a goal and an assist in his first high school season.
That competitive fire translates nicely to track, where Kennison never met an event he didn’t like, or at least wouldn’t try. On Thursday, when the interminable spring rain scrubbed a meet at Maranacook, Kennison stayed after school and hit the stationary bike.
“We don’t make a big deal about Josh because he doesn’t want us to,” said Oxford Hills head coach Craig Jipson. “But it kills me to hear other kids whine and complain about hard work or little aches and pains.”
Running his own race
Having topped out at 4 feet, 10 inches in the high jump, Kennison’s tunnel vision is locked on a height of 5-1 before school’s out for summer.
Lately, he’s started working out with the distance runners, too.
“For varsity soccer, there’s a requirement that you have to run two miles in under 13 minutes,” Kennison said. “Last time I ran the mile, I did it in 7:20, so I want to get faster.”
Kennison’s jumping coach, Rick Benoit, says that’s another area in which his pupil has an advantage.
Few high school track and field competitors take their act to the collegiate level or higher. Rather than competing against the pack, most would be better served by eyeing the clock or measuring tape and pursuing personal bests.
That’s a harsh reality the typical teenage attention span and bravado can’t entertain.
“Josh has high expectations of himself, but he sets very realistic goals, and that’s refreshing,” Benoit said. “In the high jump, for instance, he might set a goal to improve his jump by two inches. That’s a good, realistic goal for him, where another kid might come out and say, I want to break the school record.’ Everything is in perspective.”
Oh, Kennison has the usual adolescent dreams. He would love to take the field in a World Cup game.
His backup plan is to be a teacher and coach or an athletic trainer.
Kennison took up track and field in seventh grade, he said, to try something new and stay in shape. As evidenced by his sweaty, after-school bike ride, he seeks no sympathy or shortcuts.
“It’s funny. We just treat him so much like any other kid that I couldn’t tell you what his (physical handicaps) are,” Jipson said. “He has prosthetics on his legs and has some arm and facial birth defects, but I couldn’t tell you exactly. I just know that he shows up for every practice and works really hard. He jokes around. He doesn’t feel sorry for himself.”
He won’t say can’t’
Most of the physical accommodations come into play at practice. Benoit modifies Kennison’s stretching exercises and give him an alternative to medicine ball workouts.
Although he’s fond of the mile, Kennison is more likely to see action in the 200-meter sprint. He doesn’t use starting blocks.
“I just go with it,” he said.
Much like everything else in life.
“My mom (Louanne) always encouraged me to just go out there and do it,” Kennison added. “I don’t worry about the hard parts of life. I have a lot of potential.”
Kennison could score points in the high jump at some of Oxford Hills’ regular-season meets in the Kennebec Valley Athletic Conference, according to the coaches.
Benoit didn’t officially do the math but said that Kennison told him he “thought he got fourth or fifth” at a non-scoring meet at Edward Little during school vacation week.
“He’s not just here to watch,” Jipson said. “He wants to contribute and be a part of things, and we’ve really honored that.”
Try as he might, though, Kennison isn’t likely to succeed in convincing the world that he’s just like any other kid. He’s tougher. More stubborn.
“When I was a baby,” Kennison said, standing nearly six feet tall on his prosthetic legs and needing no support, “I didn’t have arms or legs and I didn’t have a tongue, either. The doctor told my mother I’d never be able to walk or talk.”
All of which makes clearing a five-foot-high bar or running a seven-minute mile look grossly unintimidating.
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