The Pace of Presence
In October last year, when my Achilles tendon had finally made its opinion known, I found myself in a park in Cologne. I wasn’t running. I was jogging, slowly, with my eyes covered and one hand lightly resting on the arm of someone guiding me. We were part of a workshop for sighted running guides—learning how to help blind and visually impaired runners move safely, confidently, freely. It was humbling. I was there to learn how to guide. But at that moment, I needed guidance myself.
