Do You Have These in a Sporty Plastic Appliqué Design? A Review of the Best Daily Wear Contacts for Near Blind Runners
By stephaniechivis on May 12, 2014
I can’t see to run without my corrective vision eyewear or lenses. But, because I’m both extremely narcissistic and irredeemably hopeful about a supernatural healing of the near-blind, I attempt to see the world in bits and pieces every day without prescriptive assistance. However, not wearing my contacts or glasses when I should be (which is most of every single day) often lends to misinterpretation. For instance, as I ventured out to stock up on the exciting new brand of active sports tampons I’d seen in a women's running magazine ad, I was disheartened when a helpful Walgreens associate explained that as far as she knew, there was no such thing as a feminine hygiene product with a sporty plastic 'appliqué' design. Or even a tampon that was 'cross-stitched' in a fancy fashion.
Upon additional research and with my glasses on my eyes this time, I found the word 'appliqué' does decidedly contain some letters in common with 'applicator'.
via Target.com & NewfoundApplique in Torbay, Canada on etsy.com
Regardless of the current unavailability of this embroidered menstrual merchandise, I maintain the belief that applying the appliqué process to products not customarily subject to cross-stitching embellishments would add much needed enthusiasm to a stuffy group of manufacturers whose last big innovation was to add wings to something that will never fly. I'm so sure 'Always with Wings' wearers feel safely protected each month knowing there’s a little grounded F-35 with adhesive strips cradled in their underpants. But I digress.
So after the Walgreens incident, I realized I'm blind as a bat and all that and really should wear my geeked out cat-eye frames for reading, shopping and seeing and stuff. I most certainly need the specs or lenses when running in or around Florida traffic. By indulging my vanity going spectacles-free beneath my running visor, I have dangerously swerved the run stroller to miss one too many a phantom snake in a sidewalk crack or black bear in a red track suit and Arby's hat.
In addition to the nuisance of having to balance specs on my slippery and sweaty nose while running, the taking them off part is not so pretty a sight either. Something peculiar occurs that causes me to go all crazy-eyed the exact instant I remove my corrective, yet trendy, eye wear. I may be peering right at you from behind the spectacles, but the moment I slip them back in their case, my pupils start rolling around in their eye sockets like spinning plates. I look like I've been head boxed by my two year old when he's after my iPad so hard my eyeballs were tapped loose. (Raising a toddler is much like having a mean drunken midget friend.)
Anyway, while running in the neighborhood without glasses, things began to change. I couldn't see the faces of passersby who say hi, so most of the time I would just ignore them while pretending to listen intently to the iPod and looking down towards the ground because I couldn't see what I was stepping on during the run. When glancing upward and around, I mistook road signs, license plates and mail boxes for unicorns that were being very, very still.
Dogs biting mailmen are so last year. Now it's all about unicorns stabbing them with their heads.
Contact lenses seemed like a quick fix to this issue but they weren't originally my first choice because the first ones I purchased felt dry and I was always approached by stoners when squinting at the microscopic print on the back of eye drops in the eye care section of Walgreens.
I buy 'em for my contact lenses. I swear.
So some days I've run without corrective vision just because it's less of a nuisance to do so despite being as blind as a bat in need of a guide dog. I know what you’re thinking. Why not get me some of that fanciful eye surgery that fixes all eyesight wrongs, right? Well according to my eye care professional at Walmart, I am not a candidate for the laser. And I'll trust her word on this and forego a second opinion because I hate placing my chin on a germ-infested chin holder and pressing my nose into the very same nose hole that people in the waiting room blowing their noses into their shirt sleeves had their noses in mere seconds before me. This requires me to squirt the contents of my ever present bottle of Bath & Body Works hand sanitizer over the entire surface of the eye-tumor detecting machine from outer space.