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DOCUMENT 1 My first experiences of disability sport were pretty confusing, not to mention painful and slightly humiliating. I lost my sight very suddenly aged 13 in 1984 and, before I could blink, or think, I was whisked away to a “special” boarding school for blind children in Worcester—200 miles
DOCUMENT 1 My first experiences of disability sport were pretty confusing, not to mention painful and slightly humiliating. I lost my sight very suddenly aged 13 in 1984 and, before I could blink, or think, I was whisked away to a “special” boarding school for blind children in Worcester—200 miles away from my 5 home. Braille books were put in front of me, a white cane was stuffed in my hand, and the hard rehabilitation work began. After weeks of not being able to feel the difference between an S and a T in this annoying dotty feelable alphabet, I was pretty relieved, and intrigued, when it came to having my first PE 10 lesson. So, how does sports work with one teacher and 10 blind kids in a class? I’m still not quite sure actually but we all trooped out onto the running track, with everyone cracking jokes and pushing each other, all seeing it as an entirely normal lesson – except me. We were going to do a 100m sprint, I learned. But how do you run if you can’t see? A fairly 15 basic question which, seemingly, I was a bit too embarrassed to ask at that tender age. So I didn’t. We all lined up at the top of the track, and, as new boy, I was chosen to go first. The teacher stood at the other end with a very loud megaphone. “OK Damon. On your marks, get set, go...” 20 I ran as hard and as fast as I could but something weird was happening. The teacher started shouting “five,five,five!” I didn’t get it. Was he adding maths into our leisure curriculum? “Five, five, five, six, six, six, seven!” I must have been going impressively fast because I could no longer feel the track under my 25 trainers. “Eight, eight, eight, nine!” It was all happening at a dizzying pace and, was it my imagination or was I going slightly downhill? “Nine, nine, nine, 10, 11, ditch, long grass, brambles...Whittington Road”. Everyone laughed loudly and, as the teacher unravelled me from the bushes, he explained his 30 number shouting system. “Did you not know? Five means you’re running straight towards me, four means you’ve gone a little to the left, six means you’re erring right.” I’d gone off the scale. Damon Rose, Paralympics : The perils of being a blind athlete, BBC News, 7