Workout Schedule: Week 17

clear eyes, full hearts, can't lose.

My eyesight is getting better. Did you know that can happen?

I didn’t.

On April 8th, my husband and I trekked to Indianapolis, Indiana to see the total solar eclipse in the path of totality. We drove over an hour to get NASA-certified eclipse glasses. And then four hours to our destination. It was a whole thing. (We filmed it.)

As soon as we decided to go see it, I got nervous. There are health risks involved, which makes me feel squeamish. (The phrase “permanent eye damage” hung over me like a static cling storm cloud.) But a total solar eclipse is a near once-in-a-lifetime thing, so I sucked it up. Played it cool even.

When the event commenced, I proceeded with trepidation. I pressed the blackout shades to my eyeglasses, but there was still a slit where light leaked in beyond my rims. Out of extreme caution, I squeezed my right eye shut to narrow the threat by half.

The sky fell black. Cheers abounded. I looked over my shoulder and confirmed that everyone in my vicinity was staring straight at the afternoon sky, buck naked (in terms of eyewear).

Slowly, I lifted my eyes and beheld the most strange, gut-wrenching, gorgeous sky phenomenon of my life. And I felt grateful.

It wasn’t long before someone cried, “there’s the diamond,” signaling that it was time to put our safety glasses back on. As I reached for mine, sunlight swallowed us.

Oh no.

No.

No. No. No.

While my fellow astro heads basked in delight, I begged them for assurance. “Do you think we put the glasses back on in time?” Nobody listened. Panic coursed through me.

In the car, back at the house, the days that followed, I asked. “Do your eyes feel kind of weird still?” “Relax,” was the worn out feedback I received.

I watched the footage of the event like a derranged detective, noting the time that I removed and reapplied my safety gear against the others around me. Even though I followed protocol, something didn’t seem right.

And then it happened.