My wife's weekend blind partner in crime—and namesake (another Barbara)—recently survived breast cancer, which she discovered she had after she fell and broke her ankle. She credits her cancer survival to being blind, because if she was able to see, she would have never gone to the doctor with a broken ankle nor asked for a mammogram while she was in the x-ray room.
But that's just one of the amazing stories of the weekend.
Another memory I can't shake is that of the blind athlete who had not been in a pool since she was a young girl. After she lost her sight it had not occurred to her to go swimming. And let's face it, even if she had wanted to go swimming, it would be a bit difficult without a guide.
I watched her tentatively take her first swim strokes in the pool. Unbelievably, it didn't take long for her to start pushing her guide to faster and faster speeds.
And that's the second lesson I took away from the camp. I always struggle with the motivation to go and exercise—there is always some reason not to go. But these athletes had the best reason not to go, and yet they fought tooth and nail for the simple opportunity to go for that swim, bike or run.
Where
Where is probably the toughest "W" of all to define. Why? Because it cuts me to the bone. I think to myself, "Where am I in my own personal life's journey?"
The sport of triathlon tends to be a jealous mistress in that it easily eats up all of the time and energy I can throw at it. But at the end of the day, what does that really accomplish?
How much faster do I swim after spending countless hours in the pool? How much quicker is my bike split after my third or fourth century ride of the summer? How many seconds, or perhaps minutes, faster is my next 10K after all those early morning track workouts?
And most importantly, do all of those saved seconds really matter for anything real and important? I can't help but wonder if it would have been so much better to spend a few of those countless hours helping a local blind triathlete go for their swim, bike, or run. Because unlike them, I have the privilege to chose when and how much I want to work out without having to ask for somebody for a helping hand.
When
The last day of the camp was a chance for the women to put their newfound skills to the test. Let me break it down in proper triathlon order:
The Swim
To be able to guide a blind triathlete, the guide and athlete have to learn to swim while tethered by a bungee cord. This springy cord is tied around both the guide's and triathlete's waist—which in theory keeps both athletes swimming in the same direction.
Unfortunately since our arms tend to be longer than our waistline the cord also means that on one side of the swim stroke, both the guide and the athlete have to substantially shorten their swim stroke. This is a skill, like any other, that has to be practiced and learned.
Transitions
This was the most amazing part of the race to watch because, honestly, I just don't know how the blind athletes actually managed this tricky part so gracefully. I can barely towel myself down and get on the bike with my helmet and sunglasses on my head. How the blind athletes did this, mounted a tandem bike, and set off down the road is really a testament to their courage and skills.
The author's wife, Barb Mica (front), rides with Barbara Oswald.
The Bike
How much would somebody have to pay you to jump on a tandem bike with a stranger and go roaring down a small path next to I-70 at breakneck speeds? How much courage does this really take? Because that is exactly what all seven athletes and guides did. And to my sheer amazement they did it with huge smiles on their faces.
OK, so maybe my wife didn't smile until after she got to the run, but the other Barbara on the bike had a massive smile on her face the entire way up and down the bike course. It was just too bad that my Barb couldn't see it.
The Run
So I was talking to Barbara (my wife's partner) after the race, and she casually mentioned that she walks three miles to work and three miles back home every day. This in itself is pretty extraordinary, as I personally don't know anyone, with or without their sight, who walks even a half-mile to work.
However, she went on to say that the most difficult thing about walking is that while she sweeps her cane back and forth as she walks, she can often miss the potholes and ruts. The cane will warn her of curbs, but not the ruts and cracks of a typical sidewalk.
Now image having no cane and running; which was probably the most amazing part of the camp for my wife. On day one of the camp, all the athletes and guides went to the track to learn to run together.
When it was Barbara's turn she asked my wife how to run. My wife was stunned. Barbara had never run in her life. So my Barb showed her how to move her feet, swing her arms, and basically explained the correct way to run.
Barbara immediately shot down the track like a rocket at a full sprint. My wife chased after her and mentioned to her in between heavy breaths that she needed to run slower—more of a jog and less of a sprint. To Barbara this was all new, and to me this was all just plain wonderful.
Why
This is the easiest "W" of the five. Why do the blind athletes want to try a triathlon? I suspect for the exact same reason as you and I race:
- To feel the wind in our hair
- To feel our muscles and body strain and work
- To hear our heart pounding in our ears
- To push past the point of pain and fear
- To conquer not one, but three sports in one huge leap
- To brag to our friends and families about our race day adventures
- To conquer that which is unconquerable
- To simply feel healthy, vibrant, and alive
At the end of the day's mini sprint tri both the athletes and the guides had a chance to sit in the early-morning sun, have a well-earned snack, and line up for their finisher's medals. To the casual passerby it was no different from your typical post-triathlon celebration.
Except that it was hugely different...at least for me. I knew that these athletes and guides had done much more than just finish a sprint triathlon.
They had:
- Shared each others fears, hopes, and goals
- Ran a mile in each other's Nike's
- Learned to trust each other
- Smiled and cried together
- Returned home with new found friends and new found strength.
Incredibly, the camp was put on by Nancy Stevens, a blind triathlete. She's always on the lookout for new guides. This year she had to turn away three blind athletes because of a lack of guides. If you are looking for a terrific way to give back to the sport and give yourself a precious gift in the process, you may want to contact Nancy.
And don't forget to say hi to Coco her swimming eye dog.