Marla Runyan is the American record holder for the indoor 5000m, was the 1999 Pan Am games champion, was 8th in the 1500m in the 2000 Olympics, was the 2000 US indoor 3000m champion, was the 2001 & 2002 US outdoor 5000m champion…and Marla Runyan is legally blind.
When she was nine she was diagnosed with Stargardt's disease (a degenerative disorder that is the most common cause of blindness in the U.S.) but she refused to allow it to rule her life. While legally blind, she can see a little. “I have some peripheral vision, and I can see the track right in front of me,” she said. However, she can’t see the finish line. “People just have to tell me whether I win or lose!”.
Runyan says running is its own reward, not the glory of winning. “You have to love the process. You're talking about hundreds of miles of work and then a race that takes four minutes. You can't base everything on that one race. You can't postpone self-approval or happiness, or you're going to be disappointed.”
In Runyan’s autobiography, “No Finish Line: My Life As I See It”, she says "I think even today I still majorly downplay my [impaired] vision, it made a lot of things possible in my life that would not have been possible if I had put limitations on myself." The real disabilities are not our external limitations, but the barriers we impose upon ourselves. Runyan says, “Some people have a negative attitude, and that's their disability." Other real disabilities include fear, anger, undue guilt, and self-pity. When faced with hardship Runyan could have limited herself to some predefined expectation of what a visually-impaired person should be able to do, but she somehow recognized at age nine that those limitations were illusory. Like many of the physically disabled she took her limitations as a challenge. She was not only a record-setting champion in the1996 Paralympics but she went on to become an international star in 2000 as the first-ever Paralympian to compete in the Olympic Games.
Many years ago I met an elderly couple living in a retirement facility in Flint Michigan. Ed and Thelma were members of our church and had recently moved into our area but we’d never seen them at church. I was a young husband and father and was very busy with my fledgeling career, but I had recently been called to be the leader of our church congregation of about 600. Our church doesn't have a paid clergy. Members are called to serve in ecclesiastical positions by volunteering their time for several years so, for a while, it's like having two full-time jobs.
Although the Fox's were part of my responsibility I was so busy that I had not yet stopped by to meet them. One evening as I was working in my office I received a call from Thelma. She asked why I hadn’t come over to visit yet. Chagrined, I went over that very evening and found that Ed was confined to his bed in the final stages of a painful cancer. Thelma had bad knees and a bad heart. But despite these health problems they were delightful people and it was beautiful to see how they loved each other.
I began to visit them regularly and as we became friends they began to confide in me. Ed was afraid. Afraid of further pain, of death, and of Thelma being left alone. I told Ed that I felt to that his test was nearly complete, that Thelma would be helped, and that he’d find relief and joy on the other side of the veil of death. He was comforted. Thelma was not. A couple of days later I got a call indicating that Ed had passed peacefully in the night. Thelma was distraught. As I sat by her side she confided that having lived with and for Ed for nearly 60 years she didn’t know how to live without him. We both wept together and then I felt to promise her that if she found a way to reach outside of her own pain, focus on finding someone else in need, and find ways to serve them she would have hope and peace and comfort. She looked doubtful but she said she would try.
The next time we talked she told me about Bertie. He lived in an apartment just down the hall. He was confined to his bed full-time but his insurance only covered a short daily visit from a nurse. His family seldom stopped by, so he was mostly alone and neglected. Thelma said she had decided that he was the one she should help. I expressed concern that with her bad heart and knees she may not be up to assisting with his needs, and she might want to pick someone that would be easier, but she had made up her mind. I watched with wonder as, from that moment, Thelma stepped in to fill the void in Bertie’s care. She cooked for him, she spent time visiting with him, she changed his sheets, and many times she somehow lifted him out of his bed and as he leaned heavily on her they shuffled him over to the bathroom.
The change was gradual, but Thelma's depression and anguish began to be replaced by a light in her eye and a sense of purpose and meaning. Bertie became less of a project and more of a friend. As she placed his comfort above her own I saw a miraculous change. Thelma rediscovered what Jesus had taught so long ago…as she gave her life away she found it again.
I want to be more like Thelma. She learned to live abundantly. What will you do with your valentines from Heaven?
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