One of the reasons I enjoy being outdoors is that I feel more connected to the environment and my surroundings. I like the way it feels to step out the front door into whatever is happening outside. I like hearing birds sing, seeing plants grow, feeling the air on my skin. If I were deprived of these sensations, I would cope, but it would make me sad.
This past winter, while cross-country skiing in Cotton Brook with my dogs, I caught up to a snowshoer from behind. I didn’t want to startle her, so I called out to let her know I was approaching. She didn’t respond. I called again. Nothing. I wondered why she was ignoring me. Then it occurred to me she might be deaf. I whistled the dogs to my side so they wouldn’t startle her. I admired her bravery for venturing out for some winter exercise in the woods, alone, despite her presumed deafness.
I gave her wide berth as I skied by, and turned to smile at her. And that’s when I saw it. The iPod. She wasn’t deaf, at all. She was so tuned into her tunes and tuned out of her surroundings she didn’t even know I was coming. I could have been a moose. Or a deranged human. Or an avalanche, or any number of life-threatening occurrences that gives you advanced warning of its presence because you can hear it coming.
I skied by and she barely acknowledged me. Obviously she had something more important going on inside her head, like maybe she was learning Chinese or quantum theory or how to prevent birth defects. But most likely she was just listening to music.
Lately, I am seeing more and more of the tuned-in-tuned-out trend in sports. I see hikers and runners wearing iPods all the time. Even cyclists, riding down busy Route 100, are plugged into their iPods and unplugged from their surroundings. Having logged thousands of miles on road and mountain bikes, I can tell you my hearing is something I relied on more than anything for safety, even more than vision, because I could hear things coming that I couldn’t see. I’m mostly talking about motor vehicles, but I could also hear the presence of barking dogs, guns, bears, trains, partridges, pedestrians, and other cyclists, well before I could see them. Once I even heard a tree fall in the woods!
I know that after a while, a long bike ride can get pretty boring, so I understand that cyclists often like the distraction that stimulating music provides. But I’d rather see them tune into their surroundings and find entertainment there, rather than from a devise that blocks out a primary defense mechanism.
The other thing that truly baffles me is runners who run a race while listening to an iPod. When I photographed the Vermont City Marathon this year, I noticed a lot of runners wearing fancy strapped-on mini music boxes only they could hear. It seems to me that for most people, a huge component of a running race is the social aspect. You are running the same course with a bunch of other people—in this case, with hundreds of other people. Why would you choose to disconnect from those people by blocking out their voices?
I would feel very strange running a race alongside a person who was seemingly oblivious to my presence, who really didn’t care if I were there. It would be like sitting next to a stranger on the subway. A race, especially one that is the length of a marathon, is a test of mental and physical endurance. You are testing yourself along with others who have similar objectives in mind, who understand your highs and lows, who can offer support and encouragement, who can relate to your failures as well as your victories. An iPod might help you focus and find a rhythm, but it’s a one-way street. You’ll never get back from an iPod what you can get from another runner, who is right there at your side.
—Kate Carter
- Login or register to post comments
- 840 reads
- send to friend
