The Athlete-Guide Relationship
One of the most fascinating aspects of Paralympic sport is how the visually impaired athletes compete: what technology is used, how the rules are adjusted, and how a relationship is built between athlete and guide. The logistics are not just important for the success of the athlete, but are essential to ensure as much safety as is possible. In winter sport, after all, falls and spills and dangerous speeds are par of the course for fully-sighted and able-bodied athletes.
The immense courage (or recklessness, depending on your point of view) to ski let alone race without the ability to see the course is part of the appeal of watching this sport category. Spectators can’t quite believe what they are seeing. When races are delayed due to low visibility, this is done for the sake of the guides.
Now it should be pointed out that the guides are also, by necessity, elite athletes themselves. Most have skied competitively at a national if not international level, and have been recruited as guides either if they’ve fallen just short of qualifying times, if they have recently retired, or if personal reasons lead them in this direction. For instance, Robin McKeever decided to dedicate his skiing career to guiding his brother Brian—and they are among the most decorated Paralympic athletes in history. Brian qualified for the Olympics this year, and so Robin must also maintain Olympic shape to stay in front of his brother.
It’s very heartening to see how many family members, at least in the initial stages of a career, take on the role of guide. I met Dustin Walsh, two-time, 800-metre, visually-impaired Paralympian, and his parents at a CAN Fund event the other evening, and it was Dustin’s father who first trained daily with his son, holding his shirt, laying a hand on his back, even holding his hand as they ran the track for hours each day, until Dustin’s talents took him farther than his father was able to go (he would have had to quit his job to train properly with his son, and the twenty-year age difference wasn’t helping either). Now Dustin and his guide, who use a short tether between them as they run—I’m told the hardest part is synchronizing stride, as to be most efficient they should look like one person running—have been working together for the last six years, and are hoping to qualify for London. It won’t be easy. I’ve been told the Canadian standard for Paralympians is ridiculously high. Dustin must meet a 52-second standard for London. Only three athletes ran this time in Beijing.
The guides are involved in the competition as much as the athletes themselves—although, again, try to put yourself in the visually-impaired athlete’s shoes or skis and imagine what it must be like to rely nearly exclusively on the vocal commands of your guide to instruct your body to get through a challenging or dangerous course in the quickest time possible.
Here is how it works: guides can ski in front or behind (I have yet to witness a pairing where the guide skis behind the athlete, but Courtney Knight’s guide, Andrea Bundon, tells me that because Courtney is heavier than she is, Courtney frequently passes her and then Andrea guides from the behind position). Guides can be either gender, and I’ve seen women guide male skiers and men guide female skiers. The guides communicate with their athletes by radio microphone. In cross-country races, you can actually see and hear the guide talking, calling to, and encouraging the athlete. In biathlon, laser rifles are used and a tone indicates when the athlete is aiming at a target. Guides are also continually glancing behind to ensure their athlete is not too close or too far—again, a real challenge in downhill where the speeds are blistering and where spills can be life-threatening. If the athlete is too close, a collision can occur. I saw one race where the guide fell, and the athlete could not go on without the guide, although technically, if the athlete is able to ski to the finish without the guide, that’s fine—the guide need not finish the race, only the athlete.
In fact, it’s downhill where the guide-athlete relationship, from a spectator point of view, is at its most intense. Yesterday, nearly every single visually impaired female athlete wiped out after crossing the finish line (if she made it to the finish line). These athletes skied the same downhill course that caused chaos for the Olympic athletes, where acceleration increases at a mind-blowing rate at the bottom of the hill. On top of this, although the audience is instructed to be as quiet as possible for the visually impaired races, so they can hear their guides, applause is difficult to deaden, especially once the athlete has crossed the finish line. The course caused havoc for the men skiers too. And athletes in all categories. Over the course of the day, one athlete was lifted out by helicopter. A Canadian skier was taken off the bottom of the hill in a stretcher.
The first person to congratulate or console the competing athlete is their guide. And in winter Paralympics, medals are awarded to both athletes and guides. For some reason, which no one has been able to explain to me yet, guides do not receive medals for the summer Paralympics. The acknowledgement of training, dedication, and accomplishment that a medal offers is a motivating factor for guides. Summer Paralympics guide medals would encourage more elite athletes to perform this crucial role in a visually impaired athlete’s life. It would also help to continue to build a lot of important relationships inside and outside of sport.
