It was early Sunday morning and the city streets, content in their slumber, greeted us with a soft spoken kiss of welcome. “Race day” it seemed to say breathing its caress of wind in my ears; filling my lungs with anticipation and determination. The sky, still dark; the stars singing their last refrain of lullaby before the sun spikes the circadian rhythm of the general inhabitants. We were not the only ones embracing the early morning’s cloudless sky. Others were stirring, preparing for their own races – answering their own challenges. If the moment wasn’t perfect in itself, it became so as I looked from the front porch back into the house. My toddler, Izaack (18 months) was blowing kisses and waving goodbye from the window. In the process he was smearing his snot all over the pane in helpless innocent excitement.
The bus took us from downtown Peterborough, to downtown Toronto. The 10th annual Achilles St. Patrick’s Day 5K run/walk was our destination. With numerous athletes in our midst, each with their own varying abilities and skill, we took to the highway with friends, guides and snacks in tow. Joyous hushed banter sang through the bus. Some of us chose more sleep to fight butterflies, others discussed upcoming race goals. I was very excited to hear that one of my guides is aiming towards a marathon in the fall.
Once we arrived in the big city, our temporary haven; we hesitantly left the warmth of the bus to pick up race kits. After discovering a new t-shirt and socks to glorify my wardrobe, and a box of Lucky Charms, I found myself pinning both my bibs to my coat. There was one with my number to wear on the front and one with my Achilles athlete status to wear on the back. There is nothing like wearing the truth on your back. “Blind Runner” coming through! It was an interesting relief to not feel the need to explain myself.
I inherited (or recruited) a new guide for this run, a friend from school. This, I found, added determination to my pace. Having never run a race alone, I can’t logically compare – but I have to say that having a personal circle of inspiration in my side view mirrors was wonderful. Both guides preformed immaculate skill and technique, right down to knowing when I would need that tender kick in the rear to incite me on.
My memory is filled with the day, and my heart with the courtesy that runners have for each other. The sounds of the busy streets, the families watching and cheering and of course all those feet… so many feet. Feet thudding, feet pounding, some feet prancing, some tapping and patting – faster and faster like the build up of a rainstorm. The minutes before we were released to race were like the calm before the storm. That moment where, you know it is coming, you try and time your breathing and stay calm and enjoy the ride. What do you do when you are standing in the middle of the rain storm? Why you get wet of course!
In the middle of that rain storm, I found of new piece of myself. This experience of running is like a constant jig saw that came without a box. I’m not sure what I’ll look like when the pieces are all put together, but that adds to the excitement. During the race, I managed to spill my water on the kind soul that handed it to me, and with my guides help we outran an oncoming fire engine (sirens and all) and swerved to avoid the scattered piles of horse droppings on the sides of the street. We ran. I was focused and contemplative or at least I was until my guides mentioned in passing that it was nice to see some fire fighters and military personnel running with us. I allowed a momentary distraction and then returned to my run, my race. One of the best aspects of being visually impaired is my impeccable imagination.
Near the end, my seasoned guide seemed to know just what to say to encourage my sprint. This is something I’m told not everyone does. I know some people are of the opinion that if you have the energy to run faster at the end of a race, then you could have run faster throughout. My thoughts are, in that moment, why wait? I’m close, so close, so why wait? My heart was pounding its protest, my lungs were exploding and my mind wondered ‘where is the usual reserve of energy?’ It seemed to ask me from within why I was making it do this? I answered my screamed body; every mother knows how to save an extra two or three seconds. I told myself I had to hurry; the snot needed wiping off the window at home. My guide loudly asked, “We are really close, can you see it?” I knew what she meant, can I see it in my mind. But the spectators on the sides of the road found it funny that a runner clearly labeled ‘guide’, would ask a runner clearly labeled ‘blind runner’, such a preposterous question.
Post race was a whole new romance. My olfactory senses were overwhelmed, and my body (which was suffering endless stress moments before) relaxed and enjoyed the atmosphere. I was lucky enough to meet Lucky (Charm), and then enjoyed being attacked by a tree (guides apparently off duty) and of course the post race green beer. Well if it was green I couldn’t tell!
The bus ride home was just as wonderful as before but now we had a sense of shared experience. This is something I’ll never forget. I smiled and watched the CN tower fade into the horizon. I rejoiced at the shared snacks, and then pondered how we managed to shave a full three minutes off my last 5K.
I think in those last moments on the road home, I slipped in and out of reality. I wonder what kind of new actuality I have made for my future by embracing this new passion. The best part is; I get to find out…. One step at a time.
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