Running blind

David Kuhn trains for the Chicago Marathon on Nelson Road southwest of DeKalb on Sept. 30. Although legally blind, Kuhn is able to make out the white line on the road as a guide. (Beck Diefenbach – bdiefenbach@daily-chronicle.com)

E-mail this story

Print this story

Share

Chicago Marathon
Where: Grant Park
When: 7:30 a.m. Sunday
Participants: 45,000
Web site: chicagomarathon.com

SYCAMORE – Ever wonder what it feels like to run in the dark?

Not a street lamp, sunlight or full moon to guide you. Just steps into the unknown.

That's been DeKalb resident David Kuhn's reality the past 28 years, as he lost his eyesight one rainbow, one sunset, one pothole at a time.

Then it hits him, out of nowhere.

He stumbles but doesn't fall.

A speed bump he didn't see, another obstacle from the unknown.

His foot grazes a bump as he heads out of Sycamore Park on a late September training run for the Chicago Marathon, causing him to let out a loud squeak and startling his running guide, Dennis Haile.

It's his first run with a group, his first time outside the 1-mile secluded stretch of Nelson Road in rural DeKalb where he runs alone through the cornfields.

A few more steps and the 57-year-old Kuhn – wearing a homemade neon green running shirt with the words "BLIND RUNNER" in big black block letters – regains his balance and forgets it ever happened.

For years, life has taken potshots like that at Kuhn.

And for years, he's been fighting back.

He fought back when his father left home at 15, leaving Kuhn without a male role model as he dropped out of school to work at a metal-plating factory.

He fought back when the first two factories he managed shut down before he turned 22.

And he continued to fight after a Datsun B210 darted into his life – powered by a drunk driver – in November of 1981. The car spun out in front of Kuhn's Mack Truck, sending him into a cement guardrail toward incoming traffic.

"I was dead," Kuhn recalled thinking.

The wreck left him with several broken ribs, a concussion and retinas that slowly tore apart "like a wet napkin" as his doctor described it. The other driver left without a scratch.

He slowly has lost his eyesight during the past three decades, going from a truck driver with 20/20 vision to a blind man whose vision is measured in shadows.

He passed out when the doctor gave him the news. But after hours of sitting and listening to the radio in his car outside Dr. Charles Vygantus' office that night, he came to one truth.

"Like in poker, this is the hand I've been dealt," Kuhn said. "It's what I do with it that counts."

Reason to run

Kuhn was a bodybuilder, not a runner, when the accident occurred. He was so strong and thick-headed that he went back to the gym too early and promptly snapped those same ribs again, this time hearing them crackle as he thrust a set of weights over his head.

For years he searched for focus.

His truck driving career and business no longer were an option. College wasn't much of one either, though he spent 12 years finding out, switching majors left and right until he graduated from Northern Illinois with a degree in Sociology in 2003.

It was a cross-country charity triathlon in 1999 that helped Kuhn find his muse.

His life goal, his purpose, his chance to feel free.

Running never was an option in his old macho-man world. But he never has second-guessed it since that first run.

It was ugly that first time, hands flying too high as he awkwardly trotted along. The next day he felt the soreness that would become so familiar. But the reward for running never could be matched.

He kept running through the triathlon and by the time the group had biked, run and swam its way to New York City, handing out awards to disabled children along the way, Kuhn was hooked.

When he got home, he couldn't be stopped. First came the Chicago Marathon, with ophthalmologist David Tickey as his guide. Back then that just meant running alongside him.

Five years later, a half marathon in South Bend, Ind., was a bit more of a challenge. But he found another runner on a similar pace to follow to the finish.

Twice in the past five years Kuhn signed up to run the Chicago Marathon again. And each time, a home improvement project came up that kept him away.

First his porch began sinking, then his two-stall free-standing garage began leaning on his neighbor's property. For a normal-sighted man, those would be big projects to fix.

"He's wanted to do it for years, but the house project has always taken precedence. I felt kind of guilty," said his wife, Christine. "You really have to be devoted to running and you really can't have a lot else going on."

For Kuhn, they were one more challenge life threw his way. But with a hand saw, a click rule, a level and plenty of help from Christine and the city inspectors – he figured that one out, too.

"If you are wondering what a porch and two-car garage that a blind guy rebuilt looks like, so do I," he said.

The line on the side of the road

How does a blind man run without any help? It's as simple as looking down.

Kuhn faintly can make out the white traffic line on the side of the road, seeing it for up to 40 feet in front of him.

That's what he follows, hour after hour.

This summer and early fall, that 1-mile stretch on Nelson Road has become Kuhn's escape.

It's the picture of serenity, corn stalks rustling in the light breeze as the road goes up and down over light hills.

In the distance to the east is a clear view of the high rise dorms and water tower at NIU. To the west, wind turbines slowly churn.

But Kuhn sees none of these. Instead, he relies on what he hears.

When a car approaches, he slows down, hoping they'll move to the other side. Getting hit by something he can't see remains one of his main concerns.

He's on a mission, to finish the 26.2-mile Chicago Marathon in less than five hours, hoping to qualifying to run in Boston next spring.

So he stares bullets at the white line for hours. He runs so intently, he once ran into the vehicle of a friend who had parked on the white line that Kuhn didn't see until it was too late.

The same happened with two different construction workers this summer. They didn't think as Kuhn approached during a training run and he ran directly into them, too.

Kuhn stares at the line as he runs south to Fairview Road, near a farm house lined with trees that signals it's time to turn around.

Then he follows it again the other way, back to Malta Road, where his black Radio Shack crank radio is blaring. After much trial and error – times when he kept running past the stop sign at Malta Road – Kuhn found out that hearing the radio's noise could signal him that it was time to turn around.

Once he hears the radio, he counts down from 50 and then knows it's time to turn again.

Someone to guide him

Kuhn was set to run the marathon, his training had gone well. But two weeks before the race, he got a call from his guide – DeKalb High grad Matthew DeBall – that sent him into panic.

DeBall had injured his knee and had to drop out, the second guide Kuhn had lost to injury.

At that point, Kuhn would have given up.

But he decided his charity work was more important than that. He's attempting to raise $700 to pay for scrub tops for homemakers with DeKalb's Family Service Agency's Senior Service Center, where he works teaching everything from computer skills to chess to the elderly.

So he called the New York-based Achilles Track Club and sent an e-mail to Dick Pond's sports in Geneva. In less than a week, Kuhn had 100 responses and was set up through Achilles to run with 25-year-old Chicagoan Brian Landau.

Landau ran the New York City Marathon last year – finishing in less than four hours – and saw several disabled runners with guides making the trek, as well. Landau decided being a guide was more important than any time goal.

"I feel fortunate that I can train for a cause now and ultimately there is a reason," Landau said. "That reason is helping David along the way."

The pair will be connected by an 18-inch piece of rope, attached to a finger on each of their hands. Landau will be Kuhn's eyes for a day – keeping him away from danger as he runs a course filled with obstacles, like water stops filled with cups, spilled water and banana peels.

Kuhn's eyesight was much better when he first ran the Chicago Marathon 10 years ago. But he still encountered difficulties, some even funny.

His guide, Dr. Tickey, told Kuhn that if he got tired he could run to the side and get a jolt from high-fiving fans. Kuhn tried that and promptly knocked over a table filled with water.

The volunteer near the table just smiled and handed Kuhn another full cup.

Finishing strong

Now, it's just a matter of finishing.

There are plenty of questions and hesitations that could enter his mind.

How will he deal with the crowd at the start?

What will he do on the grated bridges?

How will he react to all the fans yelling and screaming, the other noisemakers and radios, when his navigational tool is sound?

And what will he do when he hits the wall between 20 and 22 miles?

"I usually don't think things through," Kuhn said. "I just decide I want to do it and then I go out and do it. Later, I reflect back and that's when I break into cold sweats."

Chicago and scrub tops are just the start.

Kuhn has run between nine- and 10-minute miles in training and knows five hours is a reasonable goal.

What lies ahead after mile marker 20, however, is anyone's guess.

At that point, finishing is all about will. It's the toughest point of any marathon as Kuhn will head back north from Chicago's Southside toward Grant Park.

If Kuhn does finish in less than five hours and qualifies to run in the Boston Marathon, he plans to increase his charity work to raise money for cystic fibrosis research, which his granddaughter has, the Shriner's Hospital for children, or local charity Caps 4 Sam, which raises money for Chicago's Children's Memorial Hospital.

Either way, it will be back to training immediately.

Of those 100 e-mailed offers he got regarding his Chicago training, he got offers to run the Marine Corps Marathon in Virginia or a 50K/50-mile race on Oct. 25 in Chicago, as well.

At this point, he seriously is considering choosing one.

Sunday could be just the start.