Early this morning, I laced up my running shoes and stepped out into a cool and earth-smelling morning for a little constitutional. A block down Emerson, I realized I'd forgotten to swap my "good" hearing aids for the latex-covered crappy set I wear for sweaty pursuits. Given the present state of my budget, I'm desperately trying to eke another year out of the current "good" set (I characterize them quotationally because they suck battery acid for breakfast and go AWOL in the slightest bit of background noise). So after another block spent smacking myself theoretically upside the head, I decided I couldn't risk sweating all over the "good" aids. Fortunately, I was wearing shorts with a secure pocket, so I pulled the aids off mid-stride, wrapped them in a handy-dandy kleenex, and pocketed them for the duration of my run.
As previously reported, I've been struggling with my vision in recent days, so I was a tad nervous about the prospect of running aid-less. While I hear pretty well with the aids, I'm almost totally deaf without them, and can hear only very loud noises such as the sound of an anvil hitting the pavement after being dropped from a 50-story building or the sound of a nuclear bomb exploding nearby.
But after a few uneasy minutes, I began to relax. Soon, I began to feel almost liberated, and to revel in the solitude of running in silence. Freed from the noise of passing cars, the wind whistling through my microphones, and even my own breathing, I felt almost disembodied, and began to experience my surroundings with unprecedented clarity. At one point, the smell of just-born cherry blossoms nearly knocked me over with its heady power, and I slowed to look around at the pink and white flowers that seem to have appeared overnight all over the neighborhood.
And by eliminating my hearing from the equation, I became far more aware than usual of seeing.
I can see. I can see houses and trees and streets and people and dogs and grass and flowers and cars and buildings and dirt and bugs and garbage and benches and signs and fences and gardens and colors and potholes and sidewalks.
I think it's time for me to stop whining now.
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