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.