Why should I make accommodations for one person?

Only a handful of people show up to win a marathon. The rest show up just to cross the finish line. Why glorify doing it alone, when the finish line has room for everyone?

My friend Tonya has finished two marathons. She has a green belt in karate and is the top of her class in grad school.

We met on a Facebook running group in 2019.  “I’ve done all the training for my first marathon,” she posted. “I was supposed to run it with my friend, but she just bailed. She’s the second one who’s flaked on me, and I can’t run it if I don’t find a buddy to run with.”

She didn’t mention that she was blind until the second paragraph. 

The comments made me furious. 

“You can do it!” 

“You’ll make friends along the course!”

No she f—ing can't. She’s blind, you nincompoops. She needs a guide to run with her.

The comments made me furious. How could so many people be so obtuse?

I'm the one on the left. This is the photo from our second marathon together.

At the time, I maintained the fitness to be able to run a (slow) marathon without notice. You never know when someone’s going to suggest an irresistible challenge.

So I DMed her. “If you don’t find someone by next Friday let me know.” 

A few weeks later, I was on a plane to Detroit.

We had a great weekend. Apple picking, sightseeing, a marathon. 

We ran together, but no one could run the race for her. She had to cover the distance on her own two feet. Hundreds of other people ran the same route as we did. She just needed one of those people to do it with her. And I got to be that runner.

It wasn’t charity. I had an epic weekend and got to relive the thrill of the first marathon finish line. And in the hours we were literally tied together, we bonded. By the time we finished, we’d both made a lifelong friend.

A woman we’d been leap-frogging with for several miles came up to us at the finish line. “I overheard you talking back there. Did you know each other before this?”

“No. We just met the day before yesterday,” Tonya said. 

It turned out that this woman was also losing her sight. “I’m afraid of what will happen to me when I can’t do things without help. But now...”

Accessibility doesn’t take anything away from anyone. It’s additive. It opens more than one path for people to reach a goal. Once you open the door, more people will walk through it. More good things will happen as a result. 

Being inclusive brought two extra bodies across that finish line instead of none, and it made a third person feel a little more hope.

Disability awareness isn’t just about being aware of people who move through the world differently. It’s an opportunity to use what those differences can teach us to make a better experience for everyone.

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