I slept fitfully the night before, having bad dreams and frequently waking up, worrying mainly about the tie. I wasn't contemplating wearing a tie, you understand, it was the tie between Summer and myself. I basically hadn't sorted anything out at all during the week, but I found a piece of material that I thought would do the trick, just before I went to bed, and which I had laid out but hadn't cut it to size (possibly hoping for some Elves and Shoemaker scenario). I woke up so many times that at 3a.m. I crept downstairs and cut a suitably sized strip off it, taking on the Elf role myself. At 7:30, the sound of rain on the window was the first thing to coax me into consciousness. I suggested, through the medium of Facebook, that the weather should "do one".
One of the things I'd found disturbing at Park Run had been the noise of people around me, and of course, at the start of a race, that can go on for some time, so I'd been a little worried about it. Especially that I'd collide into other runners, or worse that someone might try, impatiently, to barge between us. I mean, that was sort of the point of paying for bibs to be made up, but it's remarkable how seldom people notice what is going on right around them at times. However, my fears and my panic were both overstated, and knowing at the start that Chris was between me and the barriers (which had protruding stands) was reassuring. Almost immediately that we'd started, however, I heard Summer saying "we're just going over here", and turning me around, as she explained "the photographer from the ET just wants a picture" - which was great, as the journo had already suggested we do a follow-up piece. I mean, it wasn't like we were in a hurry. (Also, as far as I could tell, we hadn't got over the start line at that point).
And we were OFF! It felt exciting, not incredibly slow, and not too scary. I could hear a lot of people around me, but no one felt that close. I high-fived a blue dragon right at the start - I had emphasised to Summer that I was quite keen to high-five some kids, because it's a fun thing that I like to do on the course. She deemed the furry outstretched mitt a suitable target for us to practice on, and it was surprisingly difficult. Capturing snippets of conversations going on around us was oddly familiar to other races, it's something I quite like doing, but at the same time, entirely alien, because I couldn't see any of them. I could hear Chris shaking his bucket as a sort of constant, albeit changing in rhythm and distance away from me; and someone nearby us sounding a klaxon, which almost made me die. As it turned out, we ran for almost the entire race around a lively group who had two of these wretched horns, and they let them off with startling (and I mean, literally, startling) frequency.
Not long after that, we had our first mishap - my foot struck the sticking-out post of one of the barriers. Nothing serious, and we soon had ourselves back on track. Summer had been trying to think of the best place to get me to come down a cambered curb, and hadn't seen my proximity to the barrier. She was full of apology, but really it underlined to me that the reality of concentrating on someone else's movements over a prolonged period of time was going to be really difficult. Although what I was doing was definitely scary, she had the hardest job, with greatest responsibility, and I started worrying prematurely over what would happen towards the end of the race, as we both got more tired.
What happened next was that we started on a journey through some alternative scenary. Our very good friend Kitty had pointed out this possibility in her comment on our sponsorship page (to which there is a link at the top right of this page, where is says SPONSOR ME). She wrote " Tomorrow you can be running through jungles, volcanoes, rainbows and cloud forests as part of an army of fierce, beautiful warriors, conservationists wielding the cure for ash die-back....". This caught Summer's imagination, and by association (of the fact that I was tied to her) mine also.
Our trip through the Amazon jungle didn't last very long, which was a shame, as I miss it immensely, but after the first few mosquitoes started buzzing around us, and the humidity got up, it started petering out, and we were startled by a man in a striped shirt with a baguette under one arm, who rode past on a bicycle. It appeared we'd stumbled across the buzzing metropolis of Paris, where Parisiennes were sitting outside in cafes lining the street, but were too sophisticated to whoop and holler at us. I speculated that they were murmuring "Ils sont fous, les Anglaises!" - or possibly, "Elles sont folles", if they were just looking at Summer and me. We'd barely got past the Champs Elysee when we transitioned across to Nepal, close to arriving at the Everest base camp. Chris and Summer had a brief conversation about Yetis, which Summer thought they shouldn't let on about incase I got frightened, and Chris said he thought they were cute. "Even that one baring its teeth?" queried Summer. "It's smiling!" exclaimed Chris, triumphantly. "And that" said Summer, stoically, "outlines the difference between Chris and me".
Around this juncture, Summer interjected that there was a sign saying "Blind people". "Hooray" I shouted excitedly, then pausing momentarily added "Where?" This, it turns out, is because Summer and I had crossed wires, as I had understood there to be a person holding a sign, and I thought it was someone offering some support for (all the) blind runners out today; whereas in actual fact, it was an street sign, cautioning that blind people might be crossing. Our confusion, and especially my response of "where?" had both of us in stitches, as I couldn't have seen the answer anyway - but it wasn't just us. A nearby runner snorted and said "That'll keep me going for the rest of the race". I love it when a camaraderie develops between runners.
We later traversed the Great Wall of China, took in a sea-world aquarium that went under the Great Barrier Reef (Summer commenting that they had a MASSIVE budget for the course this year) and some pampas grass in Argentina. I believe there was also some African savanna, where we were passed by a herd of gazelles, who were disinterested in us because they were being chased by lions. So all in all, it was an eventful day, and quite the most interesting and diverse scenery I've ever witnessed on any race.
In between times, our jovial, klaxon-sounding troup seemed to flow backward and forward over us, in a way that completely confused me: it emerged that there were two klaxons, and we spent a fair amount of time betwixt them. One friendly chap greeted us by name (they were on our bibs) as he passed us, and said how well we were doing. After a moment or two, by which time I assume he was out of earshot, Summer explained that he was wearing a purple wig and very short tutu, and appeared to have no pants at all on underneath. A nearby teammate (we assume), female, assured us that he was, in fact, wearing some form of decency, but clearly in Summer's opinion, not enough. As he was apparently intent on keeping his team together, he paused a number of times, and we passed him, then he would pass us, and so on (contributing to my confusion), although it was reasonably easy to locate him, because it caused Summer to mutter, with increasing despair, "Bottom" on each occasion.
The real part of the story, the "how hard was it, technically" is probably what you'd rather know about, than the infinite distractions. Although for me, I'd say, the distractions were an important part of not giving into my fears, and that's why I've highlighted them. There was one sense in which it was incredibly easy. That sounds stupid, because I've highlighted in previous posts the total disorientation (and even Summer turning me to the photographer was crazy); but when the course was straight, and when all was right in my head and around me, putting one step in front of the other was fine. It really was. Summer and I had the tie down perfectly (except for when it came undone) and moving freely on it was good - for both of us, I think, although I found it very nerve-racking, it felt almost like I was running alone; when she needed me to, she'd say "hold me" and I would put my hand out - I only completely missed her once so that she had to find my hand. Steering was generally successful, but now and again, I would really feel lost. I'd lose balance, and somehow not be able to regain it. Sometimes I panicked, especially if there were lots of noises, and Summer would let me know that it was all fine. I jostled into Summer often, although I tried not to, and she said each time that it was OK, and that she didn't mind. I hit Chris a staggering number of times as well, given that he wasn't tied to me, and sort of knew where I was (he had warned me that he bumped into things a lot). Running through dappled shade I think was the hardest thing, and constantly made me feel like something was going to hit me in the face. Where the route changed this way then that way, was also especially hard to regain my composure. In the second half of the race, I seemed to be veering to the left a lot more, which meant jostling Summer. Again and again, she'd take my arm or ask me to move further to the middle or over to the right. I wondered whether it was because I was getting tired, or because I could hear Chris' bucket to my right. I don't know. Pretty soon, both Chris and Summer were comparing my tendency to move left with my political leanings "Look at her - she won't stay in the middle ground. She's definitely only interested in the far left" they chuckled.We stopped for drinking stations, Summer always telling me what was going on around me. "Someone will put some water into your hand" she said - and there it was! - "and we're just going to move over here out of the way". She later told me that she was partly telling the three water-station people that that's what they should do, as much as me, as they were all standing with water offered, but of course, I couldn't see where they were. When we'd finished drinking at our third water station, and had all agreed to go on, Summer suddenly said "Where are you going?!!!" - I could feel water bottles around my feet as she said it... apparently I wasn't headed back to the course. "I don't know!" I laughed, "that way seemed a good bet". She said there was a spectator looking rather nervously at my lurching towards him. I said 'he was probably thinking "Can you control your... thing"' which made us both laugh.
The crowds were amazing, as they always are on this course, and cheered us on without fail. If I sensed people around, I'd try to give them a thumbs-up or a wave, or raise my hand in the air, which unfailingly got them to cheer and clap. There were a reasonable number of double-takes as people realised I was running blindfolded, the funniest being a crowd of girls who were in the middle of hollering words of encouragement when they realised I had a blindfold on, and redoubled their cries, after a brief "what the...." moment. Summer said the girl's face was a picture. There seemed to be a lot of respect, although we had a conversation early on with a fellow-runner about the fine line between bravery and stupidity - but she exhorted me to sit firmly on that line, in order to get the best fun out of life. Personally, I was of the opinion that, especially today, I was no where near that line.
As we got back into town, we saw more people who we knew, (I think) which was fun, and Chris had an increasing number of comments about how heavy his bucket must be (he had already stopped once to decant some of the weight into a back pack). I started to take umbridge at this and mentioned to one commentator (who I think was also a runner) "You know, I'm not one to make a fuss or anything, but THIS is QUITE HARD as well"; he quickly amended his compliments to say how well I was doing, only to be stopped by a loud "AHEM" from my other side! "You're ALL doing amazingly!" he said, and made good his escape.
At around this point, I thought I ought to outline the finishing strategy to Chris: "By the way, Chris, we're doing a sprint finish. I just thought you ought to know what the plan was. But feel free to chase any money with your bucket". Chris thought about this for a moment or two. "You might have to be careful about the Sprint Finish in case there are lots of people" he said wisely. Summer and I said simultaneously "Of course, when WE say 'Sprint Finish' we might not mean the same as when you think Sprint Finish..."
We finally made it round the last few streets, using up Summer's final remnants of energy, and could hear the crowds ahead of us. We managed to pick up our pace satisfactorily and did ourselves proud over the finish line, although it wasn't quite the same as our sailing over the finish line at Park Run, because the tarmac meant that we had more freedom. Here, there was uneven grass under foot, and that meant we couldn't pick up the same rhythm. Also, we were very tired.
But proud.
And it was so very good to be able to take off the blindfold; although the bright light was disorientating, and my eyes took a while to readjust. I was very grateful that I could do so.
I found the day to be full of overwhelming support; my immense gratitude to Summer for her absolute first class efforts in guiding me I find actually quite humbling. The more we practiced, the more I realised how much I'd asked of her. I knew from the outset that she was the only person I could have trusted so entirely, but it was a hard task for her. All the people who we interacted with on the way, and all our wonderful friends who sponsored us. And I do feel proud: I genuinely wanted to stop people all the way home and tell them "I've just run a half marathon blindfolded: no, really, I did!" (although I didn't actually accost anyone, as it sounds a bit odd even to me). It's a long time since I've felt I've achieved something, and I'm still not entirely sure what that achievement might be. But I hope that the efforts and generous contributions of many people will help people in this community who have to put up with their lack of vision on a more permanent basis.
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