The first time, I met Summer at the rowing lake. We'd both been thinking of what sort of things she needed to tell me about. The rises and bumps in the path, rough ground, any actual obstacles, what was happening around. I wasn't prepared for how disorientating I would find it. Within 20 paces, I said "I don't think I can do this". I was serious. I was running (barely running) along the edge of the rowing lake, with Summer on the lake-side. It is dead straight for about 1000m. I felt as if I were arcing drunkenly in circles. There was no semblance of going in a straight line. Things were possibly flying at me, and I wanted to put my arms in front of my face to protect myself. Summer remained calm. "You're doing fine. Just keep going" she said. I tried to explain why that wasn't possible. "You're going straight" she told me, and my brain processed this information. It certainly didn't seem true, but on the other hand, there was definitely tarmac under my feet, and that did indicate some veracity in what she'd told me. There were people, she informed me, and they all seemed content to move out of our way. I gathered confidence, and by the time we went down the other side of the lake, I felt like we had picked up some pace, and perhaps the walkers would stop overtaking us. I heard my name being called out, and found out that it was Justin out with Henry (and possibly some small people). I was a bit embarrassed by the number of people, especially when we went up past the Boat House pub, but grateful that they all seemed friendly and helpful. We went twice around the lake, and called it a successful day.
Trip 2 was around Granville Street. I'd given it some thought, and felt certain that we could conquer curbs, if only we planned for it. We went up, and circled Central Park. We crossed roads, and practiced stepping on and off curbs on a count of three. Sometimes we got them spot on. Other times, we didn't, and I had to be careful how I landed my feet, so as not to twist an ankle. Neither of us wanted that, but me especially. The pavements were incredibly cumbersome, with driveways going up and down, and tree roots cracking through them. Sometimes when Summer said "Stop", I'd stop after a step or two, and other times, more directly. On one occasion, admittedly, she did repeat the instruction twice in quick succession, I stopped sharpish, and put my hand out to find a lamp post was about 2 cm away from my nose. Summer seemed oddly relieved.Trip 3 was out to Park Run. This was pretty important to me - it was the only time we'd have the feel for lots of other runners around us. It had the advantage that I'm very familiar with the course. Our tabards hadn't arrived, but with some foresight into this, I printed off some A4 paper ones, and we put them into plastic folders and pinned them to our tops. The Park Run race director announced our presence, along with an actual blind runner, who was running with a guide. We went to speak to them, and discovered it was her first Park Run, so we were able to wish her well. Her guide offered the useful advice of not letting me fall into the lake. Hmmm.
The number of footsteps at the beginning was completely terrifying. I have never run into another runner, personally, but I couldn't rule it out as being a strong possibility today, although I could barely convince my feet to move forward so in all honesty, it didn't seem very likely. I was, however, convinced that people were going to run into me. Again, it's very possible to avoid people, especially if you can see, and I don't know why this conviction took hold of me so strongly. Summer was amazingly reassuring, and told me exactly what was going on around me. On our final lap, some runners gave us a huge cheer, and I could hear them for some time, singing our praises, how well we were doing. We finished on a sprint finish, which was the joy-ride, Alton-Towers pleasure run of blind running - I gave myself to it, knowing that Summer wouldn't have suggested it unless it was safe. We flew along with reckless abandon, and it felt like magic. I have no idea how fast it might have been... probably nearly 11 minute miles! We spoke to the ecstatic supporters later, and they were full of admiration, both for our challenge, for me experiencing what it would actually be like, for myself, and for the trust we had in each other. Finally, someone seemed to get it.
Trip 4 was our longest planned run, we aimed to go out for an hour. We ran around Ferry Meadows and down to the rowing lake, and it ended up being well over an hour, and nearly 7 miles. I met Summer out, so she already had a few miles under her belt, but for the first time her early concerns seemed more realistic: what if I did run faster than her? She was at pains to point out that she hasn't been training for speed. By her 8th mile, she was getting tired. One thing I love about Summer is her huffing and puffing when she's near the end of a race. This, it turns out, is lucky, because I may get to experience a lot of it! I pointed out that we can always take a breather. She said that she can huff and puff and still keep going for a fair old way, as long as I didn't mind. I didn't. What I did mind was the number of dogs we passed where we had to slow right down and hear "it's OK, he's very friendly"... yes, but I can't see!! People seemed incapable of actually controlling their own dogs. It's something I've already obvserved, but never so frustratingly. We practised counting and jumping puddles, which was what I can best describe as a "hit and miss" exercise, and resulted in some quite wet feet, and a jovial admonishment from a passer-by to Summer that she'd have to guide better than that! After that, another less than idea situation, when I hit or was hit by a cyclist. Now again, this strikes me as odd, as a cyclist myself. I didn't see the girl in question (obviously) and I don't know what she was doing, but where she hit me was on a fairly long, straight path, and we were right at the head of it, so she had a fair amount of lead-in time. We may have lost concentration while landing in a puddle, but nonetheless: if you don't think you can pass someone, you slow down. Don't you? It wasn't a bad hit, I just caught my knuckle on her handle bar. She was contrite enough to stop and check I was OK. Summer was much more contrite and full of apology that our hilarity over actually landing me in the middle of a puddle had caused her to not draw me in away from the oncoming hazard, and how terrifying it must be to hit something when you can't see it. Funnily enough, it genuinely wasn't. I had an image that i had hit a sign or something; and then a moment after the incident where I realised it hurt more than I thought it had on first impression. It was just one of those smarts that you have to hold between your legs and let it subside, which I did. I surreptitiously wiggled my fingers to check they weren't broken while I did so. They seemed OK, and we went on. I was able to reassure Summer, quite honestly, that I've fallen over at least twice by myself running, and both times had hurt more than that. The rest of the run was incident free, although we did manage to develop a loud-explanation of my surroundings which acted as an early warning to help people get out of the way.
Our fifth and final trip was for me to test out something that the blind girl on park run was doing, and what I'd seen people attempting charity runs do, which was tying yourselves together, rather than just linking my hand over Summer's arm, as we'd done thus far. My main reason for wanting to try it was that after Park Run, I'd gotten quite a stiff shoulder, and I was afraid that it was from keeping my arm in one position all the way around. Although it didn't get worse after the long run, I felt we should give it a go. It was initially like going right back to the beginning, in terror-terms. I felt like I was practically flying solo, and it was very scary. Summer seemed to quite relish it, and was able to guide me back to her by a gentle pressure on the chord. And once we'd gone up and back round the rowing lake, which seemed a good circuit, I felt sure it was the right thing to do.
Summer also had a little go herself of running blindfolded, which she thought would help her get an idea of what I needed to know. She screamed slightly going over the sleeping policeman, and rapidly yanked the blindfold off and said she'd got the idea, and now she had no idea how I managed it, and she wished I might have a little less faith in her than I seemed to.
It seems like we're ready...
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