Running blind

Running blind

My experience at the Bupa Great North Run, by Garry Wells.

All the training in the world could not prepare me for the challenge ahead, I thought I had done enough preparation for the blindfolded race but it proved to be tougher than expected.

The day had come, the start was minutes away and I was looking around at the other 40,000 runners eagerly waiting for the start. The horn went and that was it, blindfold on, lights out, and I was in the hands of my guide, Karl.

I didn’t even see the start line under my feet, people were brushing past my shoulder, bumping me as they strived for the best start. Karl kept me on a tight lead for the first mile as we started to settle into our pace.

The next three miles went to plan as I had run up to this distance blindfolded before during training, but the sounds of feet striking the road and the crowd cheering seemed enhanced as my sight was blocked. Five miles went by and we were on target with our 8 minute miling, but then I caught the heels of someone in front of me which knocked me off my stride. I could hear my heart thumping in a little panic as I reached out waiting to run into someone but there was nothing there. Karl eased the nerves by guiding me back to pace, but I was reminded that this was not going to be an easy task.

Approaching mid point in the course the sun was shining and I felt hot, a little dizzy and a little sickly. Karl says a drink station is ahead and I ask him to grab a water a bottle. As I felt Karl reach for a bottle I collided with a runner who stopped dead in front of me, only this time the panic increased as I felt my ankle twist. Karl tugged the lead hard to pull me towards him as I stumbled for the second time.

With the panic over and a little water on board we started to climb yet another hill, “nearly there” said Karl, “keep going”. All I could do was keep pounding upwards; the sense of not being able to see made the hill hard work as I had no goal to aim for. But the feeling of the road levelling off at the top of the climb was a very welcome feeling.

Mile 10 passes, the crowd still shout for us, the odd runner flies by shouting “well done lads, keep it up, only 3 miles to go.” I ran silent, as I knew the last hill was going to be tough, and tried to prepare myself for another bout of climbing.

“A bit of a climb now” says Karl, as I feel the road start to incline and my legs tighten as we start to climb. Other runners sense I was tiring and pat me on the back as they struggle past which gives me the urge to soldier on. Now even my left arm was aching as I had been clinging on to the lead, my lifeline, for over 1½ hours now.

We were at the top, a welcome relief and Karl urged me to run fast down the last hill which I did to my surprise. With 800 yards to go my left leg was now numb and kept failing me, I could feel the lead tighten as Karl was urging me on. Nearly there I thought! I could feel the anxiety of the crowd as I somehow knew they were watching open mouthed willing me on.

My leg gives again, and then I hear a voice saying “do you want a lift to the line?” as another Guide Dog runner grabs my arm to ensure I cross the line. It was over, I had done it! A euphoric feeling took over, my eyes began to focus, aches began to subside and I stood up straight and walked over to collect my medal

Thanking God that I was lucky enough have my sight and to be able to see my medal.

My good friend, Blind Dave, congratulates me on having tried to put myself in his shoes, but after ‘running blind’ he is the one who deserves the credit. He is the one who will never see the start, the crowd, the road, the scenery, the famous land marks, the finish, his medal, his finishers T-shirt. But nevertheless, his disability does not stop him from doing what he loves to do...anything he wants to!