Where and When I’ll Try to Break a World Record

June 28, 2023

In 2023, I’ll try to break the Guinness World Record for fastest blindfolded half marathon by a female. If you’re familiar with my story, you already know I’m doing this to honor my late sister, Taylor. But where and when will I make the attempt?

I’m excited to share that I’ll take on this crazy challenge at South Carolina’s Kiawah Island Half Marathon on December 9, 2023.

Here’s a quick look at why I chose Kiawah, what will make this such a tough test and, in case you need a reminder, the brave girl behind it all.

Why I Chose the Kiawah Island Half Marathon

The race organizers said yes.

As much as I respect Kathrine Switzer (who snuck into the Boston Marathon before women were allowed to enter the race) and the 100 teenagers who crashed the finish line area when I completed my first blindfolded half marathon in 2013, I have to play by the rules. That’s why I’m eternally grateful to the Kiawah Island Marathon’s race directors, who approved my world record attempt with a few caveats (more on that later).

The course is certified.

Guinness World Records stipulates that the record attempt must take place on a course that is certified and sanctioned by the USA Track & Field Organization (or equivalent, if outside of the United States).

The course is fast.

Kiawah is fast and flat. It’s a favorite of marathon runners gunning for a BQ (runner slang for Boston Qualifying time). The island’s December weather is ideal, with average highs in the low 60s and average lows around 50.

It’s close to home.

From my Charlotte suburb, Kiawah is an easy, quick drive down a couple of interstates.

We have a history together.

In December 2021, about five weeks before a scheduled surgery to rebuild my left ankle, I ran the Kiawah Island Half Marathon for the first and only time. It was the final competitive act of a joint that had carried me to the finish line of two other blindfolded half marathons and about 100 races, plus countless adventures on backcountry hiking trails.

Kiawah’s maritime forest provided the perfect stage for my left ankle’s last dying breath. It’s the perfect stage for my new ankle’s greatest test.

I did a shakeout run with Destination Marathons before the 2021 Kiawah Marathon.

Why I Could Fail

It will be hard. Really hard. 

I set my half marathon personal record on a cold day in 2019, on a much harder course. My PR is much faster than the world record I’m trying to break. But I have to consider the whole not being able to see thing. 

In my 2017 TED talk, Running Toward Rare, I spoke about what it’s like to run without sight. And yet, it’s difficult to understand unless you’ve tried it. 

If you’re physically able to run, I encourage you to find a safe (e.g., flat and open) space. Close your eyes and run for a few seconds. Now, imagine doing that at a fast clip without stopping for 13.1 miles or even 3.1 miles, which my sister did twice ...  as a fifth grader. 

It will be even harder than my previous blindfolded half marathons.

In 2013 and 2018, I ran connected to my friend and guide, Andrew Swistak, by a 30-inch bungee cord. If you’re familiar with my story, you may know that I ran portions of both races — and jumped over the timing mats at both finish lines — untethered. 

But pulling a stunt like that a couple of times over 13.1 miles is far different than doing it for the duration. And Guinness World Records prohibited the use of a tether for this attempt. Instead, I’ll have to rely on Andrew’s verbal direction and what my senses of sound and touch “see.” 

If that isn’t enough, I’m old, at least by running standards. A 2018 study found that between age 40 and 70, runners slowed by a linear rate of about 1 percent per year. Thankfully, I ditched my arthritic ankle for a new model at the tender age of 39. I’m also in the best shape of my life: With a newfound appreciation for cross-training (made easier by the vast library of on-demand classes on the Peloton platform), I’m a stronger, more well-rounded athlete than the younger runner and soccer player who could chase down any opponent or errant ball with raw speed. 

On top of all of the obvious hurdles, I’ve also accepted that I could simply have a bad day. In 2017, I followed a strict training program for months in advance of Montana’s Missoula Half Marathon, another famously flat race. Based on my performance during training, I should have clocked a sub-1:40 half marathon in Missoula. Instead, I grinded my way to a 1:50:58. I still don’t know why.

I can’t eliminate these factors or predict the future, but something tells me I’ll have all the intangibles in the world propelling me to a fast finish at the 2023 Kiawah Island Half Marathon. If you think that’s wishful thinking, consider that in 2018, I ran the Charlotte Half Marathon with a blindfold, six weeks after having a baby and without a single practice run with my guide, in 2:03.

Taylor never cared about speed, but she pushed her own limits, and she pushed them with courage. I always think about my sister when I’m tackling something tough. I’ve often felt her presence during a race, even after she died. 

I don’t know if I’ll break this record, but I believe I can break it. 

Taylor taught me how to believe.

Why I Run 

Instead of waxing eloquent about the angel who watches over us now, I’ll leave you with a real-life scene, captured forever in my heart and in the pages of my 2018 memoir, Run to the Light:

“The throng of mostly taller runners quickly swallowed my sister, but at first I tracked her and Mary-Kate by following the Fletcher team sign as it bobbed above the crowd. Soon, even that became impossible, so I drifted toward the finish area, and I waited. I tugged my toboggan down over my ears, and I tried to stay warm.

“Fifty-three minutes later, I was still shivering in the cold sunshine when Taylor crossed the finish line with her running buddy, her fingers curled around the bungee cord, her face turned toward heaven.

“I’d spent so much of the past two-plus years focusing on the ugliness of Batten disease. But when Taylor and Mary-Kate crossed the finish line together, there was nothing ugly about that moment. Whereas I’d often felt only anger toward Batten disease, my sister had beaten her demons by ignoring them—by focusing not on what she’d lost, but on what she could still do. 

“Before the trees bloomed in the spring, I’d started running for her.”

My blind sister, wearing a Santa hat and scarf, finishes her first 5K race in 2008.

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