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My Blindfolded Marathon

On April 20, 2009, I ran the Boston Marathon. Blindfolded. My motivation for taking on this challenge was deeply personal. Our son Sawyer, who is almost 5 years old, was born without vision. From the very beginning of Sawyer’s life, we recognized the importance of setting high expectations for him, and instilling in him a belief that he can accomplish anything he desires. As we teach Sawyer about the world, we focus on what he can do rather than on his limitations, and we celebrate every one of his accomplishments. I took on the challenge of running 26.2 miles blindfolded in hopes that I could be an example to Sawyer of setting seemingly unattainable goals and reaching them. I also hoped to celebrate and promote the belief that is most important to us as we raise Sawyer -- people who are blind and visually impaired can achieve whatever they aspire to.

I ran as a member of the charity team for Perkins School for the Blind, where Sawyer attends preschool. My run enabled me to raise over $32,000 which will certainly benefit the wonderful teachers and students of Perkins.

Race Day

The day of the marathon was perfect running weather – it was in the high 40s/low 50s and cloudy. Because my first guide, Angie, was not officially registered in the race, we started in the back of the pack, behind the 27,000+ official runners. In other words, we had a huge crowd ahead of us.

We crossed the starting line 15-20 minutes after the gun went off. As we expected, the first few miles were really tight, and navigating through the crowd was pretty tough. I stayed close to Angie and didn’t really use the tether between us, but rather held on to her right elbow. When she had to move me to the sharp left or right, I held on tight and we’d run as one, with her shifting weight guiding my direction. This practice was exhausting. Each time, it disrupted my running rhythm and changed my breathing. Running with the tether was much easier, as it allowed me to maintain my normal gait and fall into a pace.

We both assumed that the crowds would thin out after about three miles, allowing us to use the tether the majority of the time. Our assumption was wrong. Throughout the first 13 miles, we continued to weave through the crowds, alternating between the tether and Angie’s elbow as my guide. Just when I would get settled, I would be knocked out of my rhythm in order to avoid collision. It was mentally and physically exhausting for both of us. Although I was running at a slower-than-normal pace, I still hoped I was leaving myself enough energy to finish the full 26.2 miles.

The water stations required a lot of coordination on the part of my guides. Early on, Angie figured out that it was best to grab the drink at the very beginning of the station, hand it off to me, and quickly get us back to the middle of the road to avoid other runners stopping for drinks. For the next ¼ mile, I had to be careful not to slip on water cups discarded on the road. Handing me the drink wasn’t as easy as you’d think – one time, I unknowingly tried to grab a drink out of another runner’s hand! While the water stations were incredibly important for my fueling and hydration, they took a lot of energy out of me and my guide.

For most of the run, the crowds were incredibly uplifting. Spectators shouted my name loudly, and runners coming up behind me repeatedly offered words of encouragement. One runner told me his son had attended Perkins School for the Blind. At one point, a spectator yelled out her name, and I realized it was an old friend from camp! As we approached mile 12, we could hear the infamous shrieks from the girls of Wellesley College, and I got very nervous. Normally, running past a crowd like that would be invigorating. This time, it was extremely disconcerting. I couldn’t hear Angie, and the constant screaming from all sides made it impossible to figure out where I was.

Shortly after the halfway mark, my second guide, Courtney, jumped in with Angie and me. As Angie handed me off and I took some fuel, she quickly told Courtney what she had learned over the first 13 miles, i.e., to be aggressive navigating me around other runners. At first, I was really nervous to start over with a new guide, but Courtney and I quickly fell into a pattern similar to that of the first half.

The need to weave around other runners persisted through miles 13-20, although it wasn’t as tight as the first half of the run. Courtney’s job became more challenging as more runners started walking and stopping short in front of me. She also had to get me through the toughest terrain, with a steep downhill after mile 15 and the biggest up hills starting around mile 16.

Looking back, I think the blindfold really made the up hills and down hills a lot more difficult. Throughout the entire run, I had a surprisingly tough time discerning whether I was running up or down a hill and often asked my guide if we were on flat road. Normally, when I run uphill, I fix my eyes on the crest of the hill to motivate me to the top. Although Courtney talked me through my position on each big hill, I couldn’t rely on my vision for motivation. And the down hills required so much concentration that I didn’t get the mental break I usually get when running downhill.

As we climbed each hill, the anticipation of reaching my husband, Dayton, and my family at mile 20 kept me going. The crowds of spectators also pushed me forward. Around mile 18, we passed the Perkins cheering team. At one point, Courtney told me that a visually impaired runner was trying to get my attention. Evidently, his sighted guide had told him what I was doing. His encouragement was so powerful, and my interaction with him remains one of the most memorable parts of the run.

Somewhere during the second half of my seven miles with Courtney, I began to slow down. However, I didn’t even realize it. During the entire run, I was so incredibly focused on figuring out where I was and what was around me that the physical aspects of my running became secondary. My intense focus on the sounds around me were evident when, after the race, Courtney remarked that I had noticed the beeping time mats (that record each runner’s splits) long before she did.

After conquering three or four big hills, Courtney told me we were approaching mile 20. Suddenly, I felt an incredible pain in one of my toes. For a minute or two, I really doubted whether I could keep running and got a bit frantic. Courtney wanted to help, but there wasn’t anything she could do. Just as the pain started to subside, I heard Dayton’s voice beside me. The transition seemed really quick and, before I knew it, Courtney was gone.

Having Dayton beside me, I felt a huge sense of relief, mainly because of the natural comfort that he gives me and because I knew that he was there to run me home. As I passed by my family and many friends several yards later, I got a huge rush. I knew they had been there for hours, tracking my progress, waiting for me to pass. I also got a little choked up as I thought of Sawyer and Riley there on the sidelines.

After reaching the top of Heartbreak Hill, Dayton continued to navigate me through the field of runners, some of whom were stopping. I still didn’t notice my slower pace and felt good about my ability to finish the last five miles. However, things did get more challenging – we encountered a series of sharp turns and trolley tracks, and louder crowds made it more difficult to hear Dayton’s verbal prompts. The alternation between tether and elbow became more exhausting, and I got impatient with it. At times, I told Dayton that I just didn’t have the energy to take his elbow anymore, and that he’d have to give it to me. When he would tell me I was drifting to the right, I was simply too tired to correct myself. Overall, my mental and physical fatigue caused me to get more nervous and, at times, panicked when unexpected things occurred. I often asked Dayton, at times frantically, for more information than I normally needed – how far until the next mile mark, how much longer before the road inclines or declines. While Dayton didn’t have to guide me through the thickest crowds or the biggest hills, he had to deal with my decreasing inability to deal. He was the perfect calming force, as he often is.

Somewhere after mile 24, I hit the wall. I wanted the crowd to be quiet and I wanted to take the blindfold off. I was tired of the tether-elbow dosey-do and tired of it all. It was then that my thoughts turned to Sawyer and all that we have been through with him. At that moment, my knowledge that I would do anything for him allowed me to keep going. When Dayton told me we had one mile to go, I knew I was home free.

Crossing the finish line with Dayton by my side was the most exhilarating experience ever. Of course, I promptly broke into tears. I felt a huge sense of accomplishment, pride, and relief. I DID IT!!

And now, I can only hope that my experience will help to teach both Sawyer and Riley to let go of their fears, face their challenges, and do the best they can in everything they do.

A very special thanks to my guides – Angie, Courtney, and Dayton – and to the invaluable expertise, guidance, and support of Joe McConkey and Carol Rodriguez of the Boston Running Center. I couldn’t have accomplished this incredible goal without them.

Leslie Nordin


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