I knew what he had done to live a healthy, full life with blindness, and I had seen how he climbed whatever mountain was in front of him. It was now Randy’s time to lean on me, and he did.
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There is a popular saying in running. “You get out of the marathon what you put in.”
I was reminded of this statement Sunday, May 4, 2014 at the Providence Marathon as I teamed with Randy, a runner friend with 100% blindness, to guide him in his quest to qualify for the Boston Marathon.
Randy and I met two months ago through Running Eyes, an organization connecting folks like me – a runner wanting to volunteer as Guide – with a visually impaired runner. At the time, I had several races ahead, so we promised to stay in touch until my schedule freed up. We did. We connected so well that, when my schedule opened, Randy asked if I would guide him at the Providence Marathon. We did a training run together, where I guided him 10 miles on the Nashua Rail Trail, and I decided to give it a go.
When it comes to marathons, if the shit ever hits the fan, there is only one way through to the finish, and that’s through will.
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After that short training run with Randy, I had a good idea of his pace and capabilities, but I was also made aware of how little training he really had. I know he knew this, that he was under-trained, so instead of harping on the negative (I’m a glass three-quarters full guy), I instead derived my energy from the fact that he was fully committed to this goal, he was driven, and he had a background hiking mountains – all 48 4000-footers in the Whites – in his pocket.
When it comes to marathons, if the shit ever hits the fan, there is only one way through to the finish, and that’s through will. So although I had my reservations on his fitness, I knew he had what it took to do this. I saw it in his character.
I would truly find this out when race day came, but I would also see a bit of myself in there, a confirmation that my pal and me were cut from the same cloth.
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Early Sunday morning of race day I met up with Randy, his guide dog Autumn, and his wife Tracy at the convention center in downtown Providence. As we neared the start line and the crowds of runners grew, Randy handed over Autumn to Tracy, and Randy and I, connected by a tether, made our way to the rear of the field near a guy holding a 4:15 pace flag. After the National Anthem and a silent prayer, the gun fired.
Due to the 1,000+ participants, it took us two full minutes to cross the start line. Once across the timing mats – “bump for timing mat”, I called out – it was crowded, but we always found space to run. In the first mile, I tried to stay on the outside so that I could guide Randy around all of the turns and zigzags.
Randy uses what is known as a hard tether. A hard tether is merely a sighting stick. I hold the grip end while Randy holds more loosely the other end. This allows for Randy to shift up on the stick when he needs to get tighter behind me (command “Tight behind”) and to allow for the normal arm-pumping movement with two people running together.
As Guide, I am constantly interrupting the flow of conversation to point things out, so although it could appear rude to those around us, everybody respected us and understood what was happening …
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Because we were passing people in these early miles, and because it was still crowded, we had to stay pretty tight and on heightened awareness, something that for me would not end until many hours later. Coming through the crowd from behind them, people were a bit surprised to hear me call out “on your left” or “coming through,” especially when there was enough room for one person. They showed a look of surprise until they saw that I was guiding a blind person; as soon as they saw this, they realized we needed a bit more space than just single file and then showed a different look of surprise. Once this happened, the energy and applause were unmistakable and much needed for my rock star friend.
We motored along comfortably, chatting with each other and those around us. As Guide, I am constantly interrupting the flow of conversation to point things out, so although it could appear rude to those around us, everybody respected us and understood what was happening, even when it was a friend of mine who came by our side to chat.
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Around Mile 8, as I guided Randy along a busy, bumpy and very uneven suburban street, I saw familiar faces up the road. It was Tracy and Autumn, Randy’s wife and dog. I told Randy immediately, as they were still out of earshot. As we neared, I saw the emotion in Randy and heard it as his voice cracked with love. What was so special was that we were not expecting to see them until Mile 18, but here they were, barely into the race, showing support. In hindsight, this was the beginning of Randy starting to falter, with the day getting hard. The display of raw emotion told me this. When the body gets fatigued, those feelings come out more readily. And Randy was just starting to get there.
Immediately after seeing Tracy and Autumn, we entered a neighborhood and squirreled through streets to an out and back section that featured a U-turn marking Mile 9. I warned Randy about the turn in advance. Into the turn I called, “slowing, turning in three… two… one”; I did this as I applied pressure forward and in the direction we need to go on the tether to guide him around the tight curve.
Out the other side of the U-turn, Randy suddenly stopped short. The 180 degree tight turn threw off his equilibrium. His eyes were rolling in circles, and he was wobbly. I came up beside him to help him find balance. This happens to him every once in a while. It’s par for the course for being 100% blind, even to light. Where some blind people see some light, Randy’s world is one of complete darkness. Light, as you could imagine, and especially shadows, help orientation, but Randy doesn’t have that luxury, so this is what happens. After a minute we were walking and then back to running, Randy now with a stable equilibrium.
◊♦◊
He was holding strong mentally even though his body was betraying him.
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The course was a combination of city streets, busy suburban streets on the way out of the city, neighborhoods, and a bike path. I learned very quickly that all of the changing surface types made this a very technical course to guide someone through. Because I was 100% in the moment being Guide, the day actually went very quickly. At least it felt that way for me. It didn’t appear that way for Randy. He was slowly sliding into the hurt box.
Mile 12 was when Randy took his first forced walking step. His training had taken him comfortably enough to 10 miles. After that, his breathing got erratic, and then he fought on for two more miles, where we were now. To that point we had been very efficient in our forward progress, and I knew we could walk plenty from here to the finish, and still get the Boston Qualifier of sub-5 hours. I didn’t panic even when Randy kept asking how much time was left; this just told me that it was on his mind, which told me he was hurting even more. Regardless, Randy didn’t complain. He was holding strong mentally even though his body was betraying him.
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By Mile 15, the going got very tough. Randy was quiet more often. He also started coaching himself out loud. “Come on, Randy,” I’d hear him say to himself. “Get with it. You can do this. Snap out of it.”
Sensing darkness, I used this as an opportunity to take even more control. I forced him to keep his mouth shut. “No talking back; let me talk at you. You need to conserve.”
“You mean I should shut up?” Randy asked in a joking, rhetorical way.
“Yes, Randy,” I said, “shut the fuck up.”
One of the reasons I think Randy and I teamed so well in this endeavor is because we have a keen mutual respect for each other.
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We both laughed, and Randy, ever the student, took the hint. From there we fell into a nice run-walk rhythm. I based our cadence on his breathing. I kept him focused on staying in the moment, and I kept reminding him of all of his supporters. This helped him motor on.
One of the reasons I think Randy and I teamed so well in this endeavor is because we have a keen mutual respect for each other. Randy leaned on me in the first place because of my experience in the marathon. For me, I knew what he had done to live a healthy, full life with blindness, and I had seen how he climbed whatever mountain was in front of him. It was now Randy’s time to lean on me, and he did.
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For me, I was out there doing something cool, giving back to the sport I have extracted so much from, meanwhile helping someone achieve a long-standing dream.
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During our time on the road, it wasn’t uncommon for runners to talk to Randy and send him along with inspiring and encouraging. But what also stood out was that many runners would actually thank me! I was a bit perplexed, and always kept deferring attention to Randy, as he was the brave one, the one doing the hard work.
For me, I was out there doing something cool, giving back to the sport I have extracted so much from, meanwhile helping someone achieve a long-standing dream. It was nothing more. It’s just what I do. I have a gift, and I am paying it forward. It was no big deal.
I thought that way until a female runner got my attention. She came straight up to me, ignoring even Randy, and said, “Thank you for giving your time to guide your friend.” She went on by saying, “He,” meaning Randy, “is an inspiration to everyone out here … and it’s because of you.” She ended with, “I’ve been behind you for the last few miles and see the work you’re doing and see how awesome you’ve been calling things out. This doesn’t happen without you. Thank you.” Those words, and the sincerity of them, sunk in. I got it. It took a while, but I got it.
I thought back to all of the other people and what they had said along our journey so far. That’s when I connected the dots to the realization that this, right here, was my reward for helping Randy get his Boston Qualifier. I smiled to myself — called out yet another pothole, “watch your footing” — and thought of Heather and my boy back home. For a while now I’ve felt I’m in the best part of my life. And this just further confirmed it. I don’t think I could love my life any more. And that includes my love for both of them. Perhaps this is why I am ultimately in the right place to give back in this manner. It feels so right that it is no big deal.
This boost of emotion came at a good time, because the day was getting hot. Randy was struggling even more, and my energy needed to stay high because not only was I playing normal guide duties, but I was now also playing drill commander. Because although I still felt confident on a Boston Qualifier, I knew that only happened – the ultimate goal achieved – if I kept us motoring forward, and that included running as much as Randy’s body would allow.
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With Mile 18 came another boost when we encountered Tracy and Autumn once again. Since I knew to expect them at that point, starting at Mile 16 I kept reminding Randy that we would soon meet them. This proved helpful because it got Randy to focus on a small milestone. If he wasn’t thinking about how much farther we had left in the race, he was in the right spot. This I knew. So I broke up focus to goals we could realize within a half hour, for at that point anything farther was, simply, too far for a beat up, tired body to process.
Tracy and Autumn did not disappoint. They came at a perfect time, just when Randy was slipping further into himself.
After that surge, we went back onto the bike path. The path was mostly straight, wide open from trees or brush, and running parallel to the ocean. This wasn’t ideal. As the wind swept off the water, it came blowing at a steady 25 mph or more directly into our left side. This proved challenging for Randy, because as the wind shifted him, it threw off his center. I learned very quickly that to help best guide I needed to always keep pressure forward on the stick, as if I were tugging him forward. But since I did not want him to use that as a cue to speed up and thus burn him out, I told him, “Follow the stick. I will keep pressure on it forward to keep you straight. But do not speed up. Just make sure you always feel the pressure. But do not speed up. Stay light on your feet. Short strides. I got you. You are good.”
My buddy was a fighter, and I knew he’d fight through this, even now when his legs were seizing on him. Randy stayed focused and worked through the hurt.
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Randy, in complete trust of my guiding, forged on. And on. And on. It wasn’t pretty — in fact it was downright ugly — but he followed every single one of my commands, both in guiding and in keeping him running and forcing him to start running again. I made sure we ran light and easy — and I forced the pace very slow so that we could last running even longer — until his breathing ran out of control. That’s when I would force him to run just a bit longer and then walk. I did this, all with his full support, around natural landmarks, such as hills, all of which we were now walking, to maximize his time running and his time walking, so that we would be most efficient in moving us toward that Boston Qualifier.
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Not once did I worry about getting in under the 5 hour wire. My buddy was a fighter, and I knew he’d fight through this, even now when his legs were seizing on him. Randy stayed focused and worked through the hurt.
At one point, near Mile 25, Randy came out of his battle armor to make an announcement. To this point I had him on a nice walk-run cadence, running when his breathing was back under control, and walking when his breathing got too deep. I said, “Randy, we’re going to run in 30 seconds.”
He said, “I’m sorry, I can’t.” As I assessed when to run next to give Randy the breathing he needed, he perked up with renewed energy and said, “I lied to you. I told you before the race that I’d follow all of your orders, and I just went against that. I lied. Let’s go. I’m ready.”
I laughed, told Randy that he didn’t “lie” to me, and said, “Okay, if you’re sure you can give me some run, we’ll go in 10 seconds.” In 20 seconds (I gave him a bit extra) we ran again. Randy dug deep within his soul to see what was there, and what he saw was that he would not quit. Even when he wanted, even when his body was shutting down and muscles seizing, Randy would not let himself quit. I smiled at his pain in a way of showing mutual respect. Randy was a true warrior. He was living to fight this day – not another day!
As we moved beyond Mile 25, Randy, hearing the sounds of the crowd growing thicker and louder, cheers reserved especially for him in his battle — both those on this day and that of a lifetime – Randy asked, “Where are we?”
“A half a mile, tops!” I told him.
He perked up, “I want to run the rest of the way.” I knew this was still a long way, but I knew he would give me his all, and I knew that all we had to do was to get a little farther and the crowd would suck him right into the finish line.
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Run we did. Meanwhile, the crowd, seeing Randy, was going mad; it was deafening. To command Randy, the only way he could hear me was for me to turn my head around toward him so that my mouth was pointing at him.
“Turn coming in three… two… one… feel the stick, I’m pulling you left around the turn… feel the stick… Randy, the crowd is three deep. They see you. Feel it, brother. They see you. Those are for you. Pothole. Another pothole. Dip. Rise. Uneven pavement. I now see the finish line. There it is, Randy. You did it. There’s a big finish arch spanning above the road. That’s the finish line. You did it. Another 50 yards. You did it. Pothole. More uneven pavement.” Randy, so excited, was pushing the pace. I could feel it on the stick. “Easy,” I said, “stay easy. 40 more yards. There it is, a big arch, people everywhere. They’re all looking at you, cheering for you. You did it!”
Just then Tracy, along with Autumn, jumped into the road. “Randy, it’s Tracy, I’m right beside you!” Tracy yelled out to Randy. “I have Autumn with me.” As this played out, I glanced back to see a joy on Randy’s face I will never, ever forget.
I processed the sight of Randy, hearing from me that I had my hand in the air, thrust his fist in the air and keep it there.
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Guide duties called, even down a finish line chute. “Dip,” I called out as I whipped my head back to Randy again to alert him to an indentation in the road.
“Dude, I have my hand in the air.”
As soon as I said that last line, I let out a holler and looked back again to give another command. Immediately after calling out a pothole, I processed the sight of Randy, hearing from me that I had my hand in the air, thrust his fist in the air and keep it there.
“We did it! We did it!”
Randy was aglow in victory. I was too. And so were Tracy and Autumn.
“10 yards, Randy.”
“Wide open street. Uneven pavement the rest of the way. You did it! Here it is. The finish. Coming in three… two… one!”
Randy still had his fist in the air, as did I, when we crossed the finish line. Time on the clock was 4:42. We did it. Randy qualified for the Boston Marathon.
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Immediately across the finish line, Randy and I embraced in a hug at the battle just won. After we let go, Tracy and Randy hugged. Tracy then took Randy over to the side, away from the crowds, to connect him back with Autumn, his guide dog. This moment struck me in a profound way for a lot of reasons.
Now that Randy and I were untethered, and that the goal was complete, I felt a strong sense of relief, even freedom, that I could let up on that heightened awareness I had held for the previous 5 hours.
Freedom was walking without looking for tripping hazards. And pride, for seeing Randy through to this goal and getting a glimpse into his soul. It didn’t escape me that he had this fight in him because he was the ultimate warrior to get to where he was today, a marathon finisher and an entrant in the 2015 Boston Marathon!