Guts to Glory

Confessions of a Las Vegas Marathon Walker

By Mary Kauffold

During the Vietnam War, I started having increasing difficulty reading a radar screen in my job as a navigator. Seeing fine detail became a task I used to perform with ease. Finally, after a flight physical my flight surgeon diagnosed “scarring” on my retinas on both eyes. Although no one had a name for it then, I manifested the first signs of a form of macular degeneration now known as Stargardt’s disease. It’s a condition that starts from the loss in the central field of vision and progresses until only a small amount of peripheral vision exists or none at all. I was originally told my vision would not worsen. It did, however, and over the next 25 years I gradually went blind.

Flyers cannot spend their careers DNIF (Duty Not to Include Flying) so after the initial diagnosis, I took a leave of absence. I earned my Master’s in nursing and re-enlisted. For several years I was okay as a trauma unit and surgical nurse.

In 1990 Air Force ophthalmologists confirmed that I had Stargardt’s and that it would get worse. I was determined to make a living and finished a Master’s in nutrition and began a short career in sports nutrition consulting. I had always been athletic and regularly ran marathons with some success. As the macular degeneration progressed, my world grew smaller. It’s hard teaching someone to manage their diabetes or achieve their goals when you can’t even read the numbers on an Accuchek machine. By 2000 reading a newspaper had become a huge task. By 2001 I was declared “legally blind” and had to turn in my driver’s license. Every blind person can tell you when they lost their right to drive. It’s like you remember where you were when Kennedy was shot or when 9/11 happened.

I’m not a shy shrinking violet. When I was 47 I lied about my age and tried out for a modern dance company sponsored by the National Endowment for the Arts. Hubris combined with lying and chutzpa made it! (I told them I was 27!)

As part of my new beginning, I moved to Las Vegas. I worked as an entertainment editor and in advertising, wrote up everything from topless reviews to Miss Las Vegas contests. I reviewed movies by sitting in the first row, books by magnifying glass. I still ran but less and less as it became dangerous. Las Vegas has the worst record for vehicle-pedestrian deaths and, true to form, I was hit by cars three times. When my Stargardt’s finally went “wet” (when blood actually leaks into the eye) I could not work, couldn’t drive, couldn’t read, and couldn’t live. Depression was hanging like a shroud over me.

In 2005, the VA (US Department of Veterans Affairs) finally succeeded, after 15 years of haranguing, in getting me to attend the Blind Rehabilitation School in Tucson, AZ. Just getting on an airplane to go there was a terrifying reminder of how small my armament of abilities had become. In spite of my reticence to admit I needed help, I learned to cross busy streets safely, to cook without burning myself, and best of all, was provided an electronic array of computers and closed circuit readers that re-opened the world of printed material. Now computers read to me and print is magnified large enough to read. The first book I read with my CCTV was Marla Runyon’s autobiography; she was diagnosed with Stargardt’s Disease as a child, and went on to earn a spot on the 2000 US Olympic Team as a runner.

I walked around the large medical center grounds with a cane and relearned the joy of independence. Upon my return to Las Vegas, I walked everywhere. I started walking without a cane for longer and longer distances. It had been nine years since I had completed a marathon. I had a personal best of 2:48 and had competed at Boston. Those days were gone but I retrieved the joy of long distance by walking all over town. My weight started to come down. My depression started to abate. Then, I did a wild and crazy thing. I signed up for the Las Vegas Marathon.

A local TV station called me for an interview. I agreed only because this would ensure that I wouldn’t change my mind and chicken out in December. The interviews were aired 11 times. When I toed the mark for the marathon in December I was terrified. I was surprised by the number of people who gave me encouragement. I admit I was in agony from mile 16 on but felt I wanted to finish this one trial-by-fire to reenter the human race.

Even with a personal worst of 7:02 , I heard the race director yelling at me: “Mary, we are so proud of you!” I had tears in my eyes as my husband handed me a beer and I got my picture taken with a showgirl at the finish line. A race volunteer asked if she could assist me and I said “No, I’ll manage just fine, thanks.” It was one of life’s good feelings.

Mary, 58, lives in Las Vegas with her husband, Mike. She has worked as a military navigator and nurse, and has experience in nutrition sports consulting.