The End of a Race, but not the End of a Journey
December 18, 2023
This year, in my early 40s, with the joints of a soccer player whose vocabulary didn’t include the word “rest,” I set my sights on a world record for fastest blindfolded half marathon by a female — without a tether.
Why? Because I knew it would be hard. So hard that it inspired a movie called “Blind Momentum.” So hard that I went into training knowing I could fail.
As race day at the Kiawah Island Half Marathon approached, however, I felt confident that with my longtime guide, Andrew Swistak, I could become a world record holder by beating the 1:55:00 beginning standard. We had our verbal communication and special vocabulary down to a science. I was hitting my goal pace in solo intervals. Avoiding injury. Firing on all cylinders.
But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared when the moment arrived. I’d used the word “anxious” in a short speech at the Destination Marathons pasta dinner the previous night, but I was closer to terrified when Andrew and I stepped up to the starting line.
I was right to be worried. Yes, the Kiawah Island Half Marathon is a flat course, but its narrow golf cart paths and twisty, two-lane roads dipping in and out of Lowcountry salt marshes and resort property presented a problem we couldn’t replicate during training. In fact, after scouting the course on Friday afternoon, Andrew told my husband he didn’t see how we could achieve record pace — and made him promise not to tell me.
Despite my sudden brush with realism, when I took a deep breath and pulled the blindfold down over my eyes, I believed we would set a world record. I harbored this deep-seated sense of confidence even though, the prior year, I’d had a massive ankle reconstruction surgery followed by more than nine months of intensive physical therapy. Even though, at 41, I’m not exactly of the ideal age to be setting non-age-related records. Even though running blindfolded and untethered, on a live course with thousands of other runners, is not just difficult but extremely dangerous.
The Reason
The moment I blocked out the light and the world around me, I stopped thinking of these things. Instead, I thought of my sister, who lost not only her vision but also her ability to walk, talk and swallow food. Taylor, who lost her life to Batten disease not long after her 20th birthday.
As I stood at the starting line, alone with my guide in front of the entire race field, I thought about the day Taylor insisted she could run a 5K race even when our own mother doubted her. How, when she tripped and fell during that race, she pulled herself up and kept going. How, when she ran another 5K five months later, she improved her time by 12 minutes.
How, in an inpatient hospice unit in 2018, she repeatedly fought back from the brink until she was good and ready to say goodbye.
The Race
A five-minute head start afforded Andrew and me a chance to avoid the worst of the crowds, and for awhile, all seemed possible. In fact, for the first six miles, we maintained a much faster pace than the 8:46/mile we needed.
Then, things began to unravel: Clumps of runners caught up to us, making navigation more difficult. The unseasonably warm day and humidity levels hovering around 90% led to cramping. Worst of all, the gnarliest sections of the course forced Andrew and me to walk more than 15 times, often for long stretches. My guide has always refused to put my safety at risk any more than necessary, but this was the first time we needed speed, and all that walking made speed impossible.
By mile 10, Andrew was pleading with me to ignore my screaming legs. “Your body’s lying to you,” he said. I was fit enough to break the record, and we both knew it. But running blind and untethered in tough conditions was mentally and emotionally taxing.
All through the race, I’d worked hard to block out the sounds of the day — the rhythmic pounding of running shoes on pavement and the cheering spectators and the many fellow runners who encouraged us as they passed — so I could focus on Andrew’s instructions. Then, at one point in the final few miles, when I was really starting to struggle, he recited verses from the Bible.
At that moment, I couldn’t hear anything but my guide’s words, even if I’d wanted to. It was as if I’d slipped on noise-canceling headphones.
“I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” —Philippians 4:13
“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles, they shall run and not be weary, and they shall walk and not faint.” —Isaiah 40:31
Make no mistake: These words didn’t suddenly transform me into a world-class runner. But they gave me the head of steam and the heart I needed to push through the pain rocking my muscles and the disappointment building in my bones. They gave me the burst I needed to make up some of the time we’d lost by walking … though not quite enough.
I think I knew, well before I lurched across the finish line and felt my little boy slipping a medal over my head and removed my blindfold, that I’d narrowly missed setting a world record.
That didn’t stop me from giving it everything I had. I mean, I’d already willed my body to do something crazy dangerous. I’d crawled, walked and finally run the long road back from a difficult surgery to get there. Years earlier, I’d watched my sister overcome challenges that made my struggles seem small.
Two minutes and nine seconds. That’s all that separated our time from the standard we had to beat for the record.
The Extra Mile
As much as it hurts, I’m proud of what Andrew and I achieved. Grateful for the opportunity. Mindful that today, more than five years after her death, Taylor still drives me to do things that, under normal circumstances, shouldn’t even be possible.
When the Kiawah race director asked if I wanted someone special to hang the finisher’s medal around my neck, I didn’t have to think twice about it. Five years earlier, I’d held my newborn son in my arms at the finish line of the Charlotte Half Marathon, the promise of his birth and life standing in stark contrast to my sister’s death just five weeks earlier. I fiercely believed we needed to share this penultimate moment of what was arguably a far more difficult test because I could not use a tether.
Image credit: Imagination’s Eye Photography
Independent of record attempts and the like, I often think about what I want my son to see in me. What will make him proud. And if his mom held a world record, that’d be one hell of a talking point.
But more than that, I wanted to be the mom who showed her son what it means to have courage. The mom who decided to go after something so difficult that no one had ever tried it. The mom who put in the work to have a chance when the time came, whether or not I broke the record. The mom who doesn’t settle for close calls.
The mom who wants to try again.
As I write these words, I don’t hold the world record for fastest blindfolded half marathon by a female. But as far as I know, I’ve come closer than anyone else on the planet. And my “why” makes even a failed attempt one hell of a story.
Taylor never backed down from a challenge. She taught her big sister to be fearless.
Believe me when I say: This big sister’s not done.
Stay tuned for updates on this journey and the film documenting it here on my website and at https://blindmomentum.com/. You can also follow us on Instagram @laurakingedwards and @blindmomentum.
Want to support the production of the film or just drop a note? Contact me.
I’m proud of my performance on race day, but I didn’t do it alone. Special thanks to the following:
Andrew Swistak, a born guide and an even better friend. Andrew’s wife, Ashley, and their two boys for sharing Andrew with me in our joint quest to honor Taylor’s memory. My husband, John, and our son, Jack, for always loving me. My family and especially my parents, Sharon and Jim, for raising me to go after my dreams with courage and fearlessness. The medical teams and biotechnology innovators who enabled my comeback from ankle reconstruction surgery. Laura Tice and the Tice Studios team dedicated to capturing this incredible journey on film. The “Blind Momentum” sponsors and donors whose generosity will help bring the story to the screen. And Taylor, who first showed me how to turn the impossible into possible.
