“Interested in guiding me in Boston?” So read the subject line of an email I got last fall from Tim, a Facebook friend. Tim is legally blind. He has something called retinitis pigmentosa (RP), which he describes as “extreme tunnel vision.” In practical terms, this means that if Tim is chatting with you and focused on, say, your right eye, he sees your right eye. Nothing else.
Runners like Tim need at least one sighted guide to navigate a race—someone to nudge them left and right; call out things like turns, aid stations, and potholes; and just generally keep them safe. I have friends who have run as guides—mostly through the outfit that Tim runs with, Team With a Vision—but I’d never done it myself.
It took me about three seconds to say yes.
I knew guiding Tim at Boston would be challenging—we’d never even met in person, much less run together. I knew it would be rewarding. What I didn’t know was how much I’d learn. For example:
1. Sometimes, empathy starts small.
My first lesson came early, as I tried to usher Tim out of our hotel lobby. As we walked side by side, I headed toward the large revolving door—until Tim politely suggested we use another exit. I realized my mistake immediately—of course a blind man would want to avoid revolving doors—and felt pretty dumb. It stuck with me, though. When you’re blind, I thought, you’re negotiating a world full of things, big and small, designed for someone who can see. I tried hard, after that, to notice these things with Tim in mind.
2. A little planning ahead goes a long way.
That might sound obvious, but how often do we wait until the last minute to confront a problem, or even to recognize it as such? And how much needless stress do we endure as a result? Nothing demonstrates this principle quite like running 26.2 miles through a crowd with a blind runner.
3. People are even more oblivious than you think.
Tim and I are both tall guys. During the race we wore special bibs—front and back—that identified us as “BLIND RUNNER” and “BLIND RUNNER GUIDE.” We ran close, each holding one end of a tether. And still I watched as other runners darted in front of us, brushed past Tim, or drifted into our path to grab a cup of water. One time, honest to God, a runner leaped through the narrow gap separating Tim and a fellow guide. The world would be a better place if we all paid a little more attention to those around us—and not just in marathons.
4. To be heard, you’ve got to speak up.
Like many writers, I’m an introvert who’s comfortable being vocal on the page (or the screen), not so much when it comes to real life. Running Boston with Tim taught me that, in real life, sometimes you can, and should, be unapologetically loud. For instance, when you’re trying to pass a slower runner and he’s not responding to a simple “can we get by?” or “on your left, please.” (See #3, above.)
5. Sometimes the biggest obstacle is your own ego.
When Tim sent me that email last fall, I had 26 marathons under my belt—including seven Bostons. My “personal record” days were well behind me, and I was fine with that. Absent any sort of carrot to chase, then, I’d told myself that my marathoning career was more or less over. Guiding Tim shattered that notion.
This year’s Boston was rough. Temperatures reached the mid-70s and an old injury of Tim’s roared back to life, making much of his race agonizing. Walk breaks (and lots of bad jokes) made things more manageable, but by the time we crossed the finish line our original goal time of 4:20 had stretched to 5:20. It was my slowest marathon ever—and I wouldn’t trade it for anything.
Who knew that helping a friend reach his goal could be every bit as gratifying as reaching your own? Well, guide runners, for starters. I feel privileged to count myself among that group now.
It’s funny. All this time, in a way, I’d been running with my own sort of tunnel vision. And it took running with a blind man to open my eyes.
Want to learn more about guiding blind or vision-impaired runners? Visit UnitedInStride.com.
Mark Remy is a columnist for Runner’s World and founder of the humor website DumbRunner.com.
Source: Read Full Article