I'm still a bit perplexed that I have to explain to people why I'm doing this. I sort of feel that saying "I'm running a half-marathon blindfolded" should be self-explanatory - and I don't mean that it's obvious what I'm doing. I mean, yes, that bit IS self-explanatory.
But then people say "Why?"
I mean, even if I hadn't been inspired to commit to this by meeting people who were tackling their adversity by meeting it head-on in a swimming pool, I think the idea of not being able to see is pretty scary. For one thing, people who are lucky enough to be able to see, or who have been able to see, know how very beautiful our planet is, and how many wondrous things there are to experience; and yes, you can get a lot out of other senses, but, but, but... and for another, and this is the sting, it's really, really scary not being able to see. Quite aside from being absolutely full of danger and hazards, it's disorientating, confusing, and frightening... not knowing what is coming next. Blind man's buff might be a fun game in a safe, known environment, but outside of that, it isn't. So these people get to miss out on the good stuff, and have a lot of danger thrown at them as well. And they learn to live with those things, and get on with their lives, and live, and laugh and love, and I think that's incredible. And yes, I could just do something that'd be hard, and ask people to chuck a load of money their way, but somehow it feels right to experience, for a short time, the sightlessness, myself. (Sort of like the ice-bucket challenge, and how that was supposed to feel a bit like what it's like to suffer from Amyotrophic Lateral Schlerosis. What, you didn't know that? Yeah, that was my ENTIRE problem with the ice bucket challenge, right there, but I understand that Macmillan AND WaterAid both did very well out of it, so good for them. WaterAid certainly did well out of me - I chose them as my charity for my next run, which ironically turned out to be the hottest that I'd ever run, and I had to sit in an ice bath afterwards. Oh well).
So, on Wednesday, I went to meet up with the Chairman of Peterborough Association for the Blind. I wanted to borrow a bucket from them, so that Moustachioed Chris would have something to shake, and she very kindly offered to meet me outside Boots in town during my lunch break. Now, when you're meeting someone, it's customary to give some sort of indication of what you might look like, and neither of us had bothered to do that, something which only occurred to me on my way there. But I reckoned that someone carrying a collecting bucket should be reasonably easy to spot. I was unusually early, and saw her arrive. She was definitely the only person carrying a bucket AND A WHITE STICK. I suppose I shouldn't have been overly surprised, I mean, you couldn't accuse their Chairman of not knowing what she was talking about. I came over and said "Is it Sylvie?" and she said "Yes dear, shall we sit down?" I thought we were going to get a coffee together, but I politely perched myself on the bench, and almost laughed when she said "I'm supposed to be meeting someone here actually - it's not you, by any chance is it?"
We went out for coffee (and by "coffee", I mean hot beverage - which was OK because Sylvie delegated that task to me, so she has no idea I was drinking tea). Sylvie was giving out clues that she was not, in fact, blind, but partially sighted, (she was by herself, and didn't have a guide dog, and she was wearing a pair of spectacles that could double as magnifying glasses), and I asked her how bad her vision was. She said that she could see there was someone sitting in front of her, but she couldn't describe my face. I was just over a foot away from her - I'd already noticed that she'd had trouble identifying a free table in the cafe. She said that her husband frequently accompanies her, but when she's out by herself, and meets people in town that she knows, they sometimes say "Oh, are you out by yourself, Sylvie?" and she replies with asperity, "I'm not a prisoner, you know! I can Manage". She chuckled ruefully and admitted "I expect I'm my own worst enemy: but I do like my independence". I know for a fact that I'd be exactly the same; my heart went out to her.
She told me that the blind swimming sessions have massively taken off in popularity from the three ladies I'd met; but problematically, now there are 7-8 who come, they swim at different speeds which is clearly frustrating (the mind boggles at how they might deal with this). The answer seemed pretty obvious to me: "surely you need another lane?" Yes, but this is not, apparently, forthcoming. So they are working on possibly coming on two different days.
She asked how I was doing with my training, and I outlined the problems I was having: how hard it was to find an easy place to run, because pavements were such a nightmare, with lumps and bumps all over the place, how hard it was to judge the curb edge. I told her about the dogs, and the lack of owner's attentiveness in calling them to heel. And low branches. These were clear, familiar issues to her, she was nodding and smiling. This is how it is, her face said: now you know. She came up with one that hasn't affected me. "All the new paving they're putting in the centre of town with flat pavement edges are a nightmare for us" she expanded, puzzling me - my initial thought was that this would be so much easier for a blind person. "Guide dogs are trained to stop at pavement edges. But they have to know where they are." So simple. "We could have helped in advance if we'd known".
We talked about me raising money for a local charity, and why it had seemed important to the ladies I'd met that I should chose these charities. She explained that the Peterborough Association for the Blind had two members of staff, and all the others were volunteers, as she had been herself for many years before she stood as Chair. "I'm good at talking, and I like people" she said, simply. Again, we chimed. I explained that the Guide Dogs had promised to keep the money I raised for the local branch, which pleased her. I realised that there was a certain happy symmetry about my doing the Peterborough Half Marathon and raising money for local causes: after all, when I first started running, I thought I hated running, and I thought I hated Peterborough: but it was running through my home-ground that first made me realise what a part of Peterborough I am. And how badly wrong on both counts I was.
And now I am able to give something directly back. I hope it helps.
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