Dyspraxia and sport: why being dyspraxic doesn’t necessarily mean being bad at sport

Sport can be tremendously challenging for children and adults with dyspraxia. From PE lessons as youngsters to the pressures we feel in middle age to keep fit and healthy, the expectation to participate can weigh heavily on anyone to whom sport doesn’t come naturally.

And it certainly doesn’t come naturally to many people with DCD. Struggles with sport can be a source of great embarrassment and avoidance for dyspraxic children – one of the signs of dyspraxia to look out for at school.

But there’s an important nuance: dyspraxia doesn't necessarily make someone bad at sport. It can make particular movements, environments or situations within a sport difficult.

My lived experience is a good example.

The sporting challenges for dyspraxics

Developmental coordination disorder affects fine motor skills, gross motor skills, general visual-spatial awareness, balance, coordination and sequencing. Difficulties in these areas are among the common symptoms of dyspraxia that can have implications for sport.

The implications are varied. They can include difficulties with:

• Holding equipment – such as a bat or racket – without dropping it

• Coordinating your movements with your opponents’ and teammates’ movements

• Visually processing the space (such as a rugby pitch or basketball court)

• Keeping balanced

• Kicking, hitting or throwing a ball

• Learning skills by mirroring a coach’s/teacher’s examples

• There’s even the easily overlooked issue of taking longer to get ready in the changing room – both before and after

But the difficulty isn't necessarily with all of these things, or with all sports – as my experience demonstrates.

My love of sport

I grew up with a great love of sport – and my level of participation was perhaps surprisingly high for someone whose life has been so heavily impacted by dyspraxia.

The theme tunes of the BBC’s cricket and tennis coverage send nostalgic shivers down my spine, taking me back to the summers of the 1980s and ‘90s. Richie Benaud’s and Barry Davies’ voices are as evocative as the records I listened to as a kid.

Football was another big part of my childhood. I also enjoyed long-distance running, and would always watch the big athletics events on the TV. 

Yet, running aside, none of these came naturally when it came to participating. I had to practice a lot.

Cricket: one sport, several different challenges

Cricket is one of the loves of my life. It’s up there with music, the natural world, and literature.

Yet I was never able to participate beyond informal games at the park or on the street. (Yes, I’m so old that we played cricket and football on the streets as kids.)

Unexpectedly, I can bowl. Not well, but I can follow the motion. For those who aren't familiar with cricket, watch a bowling clip on YouTube and you'll appreciate how mechanically challenging it is.

Similarly, I could bat – to a very limited extent.

My insurmountable hurdle came with fielding.

Try as I might, I simply cannot throw a ball overarm without looking ridiculous. At the age of 46, I have to accept that it's beyond my capability.

I’m resigned to the reality that cricket is a spectator sport for me. (Though sitting in the summer sun with cold beer and a picnic is hardly an ordeal, right?)

Football: when the size of the pitch matters

Football was different.

I can play two-footed. I can execute many of the skills: curling the ball with the outside and inside of the boot, chipping, passing, ball-juggling, and so on.

I wasn’t great, but I got selected for the school team when I was at junior school. I'd go as far as to say that if you watched me have a kickaround at the park, you wouldn't have any inkling that I was dyspraxic.

But there was one factor that I struggled with: full-size pitches as my peers and I progressed into adolescence.

The feature of dyspraxia that affects me most profoundly is impaired visual-spatial awareness.

If I have an informal kick-around, I'm dependent on my basic skills. If I play on a five-a-side pitch, there are fewer players and far less space to negotiate. I’m fine.

Put me on a full-size, 11-a-side pitch and I begin to struggle with spatial processing.

There's too much going on. Too many players' movements to process. Too much space to mentally manage.

The individual football skills haven't suddenly disappeared. It's the visual-spatial processing demands of the environment that become overwhelming. 

Tennis: mostly okay, apart from one rather important bit

Tennis is another sport that I'm surprisingly ‘okay’ at.

My friends and I used to play lots of tennis as kids and teenagers. Nowadays, my partner and I get the rackets out each summer.

But, as with football, my general competence has a glaring exception:

Serving. 

After 36 years of attempts, I can say with confidence that I am terrible at serving. The anti-Ivanišević. 

I guess that, as with fielding in cricket, it's the overarm motion that's the problem. (Incidentally, I’ve read other accounts from people with DCD that they particularly struggle with overarm throwing/movement.)

My experience isn’t every dyspraxic’s

My relatively broad sporting ability isn't necessarily typical of everyone with dyspraxia.

From what I've read and heard from other dyspraxics, some find most sports extremely challenging. Some avoid them altogether. Others find particular sports or activities that they’ve practiced a lot much more manageable.

And I think there's an important lesson here.

Dyspraxia isn't necessarily a barrier to sport. It may be a barrier to particular aspects of particular sports.

Someone might struggle to throw a ball but be a good runner.

Someone else might find team sports overwhelming but enjoy swimming.

Another person might struggle with the visual-spatial demands of cycling on the road but happily ride off-road. (Me!)

The sporting experience of one dyspraxic person shouldn't be assumed to be the sporting experience of another – even if there is some broad read-across.

Why some solo sports may suit dyspraxic people

Some people with DCD experience significant difficulties with balance, coordination or direction – and may therefore find physical activity particularly challenging.

Others may find that solo sports work well for them because they can focus on their own movement without having to coordinate it with others’ movements.

Running is a good example for me.

I go for a 10km run three or four times a week and really enjoy it. I have a personal best of 42 mins for 10km and 69 mins for 10 miles. Not bad.

There are no teammates to coordinate with, no ball to throw, and no opponent whose movements I need to anticipate. I can simply put one foot in front of the other, enjoy listening to New Order, and let my body do what it knows how to do.

I also enjoy riding my bike – at least off road, where I don't have the visual-spatial processing of lanes, roundabouts and traffic.

Swimming is another activity that some dyspraxic people find works well for them – although I've heard some say that the process of mastering the different strokes was more difficult than for their peers.

I can swim, but weakly when compared with my dad, my sister, and my peers. 

The health inequality

There is a broader issue here, too.

Physical activity is enormously important for both physical and mental health. Cardiovascular fitness, musculoskeletal strength, natural release of feel-good chemicals in the brain… the list goes on. 

If dyspraxia makes sport and exercise harder, it is easy to see how some people with DCD could end up participating in fewer sports and enjoying less overall exercise than they'd like to.

That can create a vicious circle: something that could help improve physical and mental wellbeing becomes something that feels inaccessible or embarrassing.

And I think that's where a more person-centred approach could help.

What could better support look like?

As awareness of neurodivergence continues to grow, I'd love to see greater recognition of the different ways that neurodivergent people experience exercise.

I would particularly like to see physiotherapists and occupational therapists working together to help dyspraxic people understand their individual strengths and weaknesses and identify which forms of sport and exercise are likely to work best for them.

The emphasis shouldn't simply be:

“I know you’re dyspraxic; I guess you generally find sports more challenging than most.”

It should also be:

“What can you do – and how can we help you enjoy it?”

Because my experience has taught me that being dyspraxic doesn't necessarily mean being bad at sport.

Sometimes it means finding the sport – or the particular version of it – that works for your brain and body.

As I've discovered with cricket, it means accepting that you really, really aren't going to be able to throw the ball from deep square leg to the wicket keeper. And that’s okay. (I’ll sit just beyond the boundary with a pint instead.)

The value of exercise for physical and mental health is enormous. Neurodivergent people shouldn't have to overcome unnecessary barriers to experience its many, varied benefits.