My name is Grace Bulstrode, and I’m 22 years old. I’m 5 foot 9, and have an athletic build. I’m hoping to represent Great Britain in the 5000 and / or 10000 metres races at the Olympic Games in 2032. Many would say that I’ve reached this level in spite of the fact that I wear glasses. I would argue that I have got to where I am today because I wear glasses. Judge for yourself. This is my story. I was born in late 2009, the younger child of Oliver and Maisie Bulstrode. I always argued that my parents didn’t have any more children after me because they were never going to beat perfection. My brother, Matthew, disagreed. He said they couldn’t cope with the thought of having any more children like me. We had our arguments as children, like all siblings do, but we got on quite well in general. Oh, and to each other, and to our friends, we’re Gracie and Matt; only our parents still call us Grace and Matthew. Matt is three years older than me. Just old enough to want to look after his little sister, but not really quite old enough to be a rival. As we were brother and sister, and with that age gap, we always had different interests and different priorities. In fact, as children, he was always the sporty one. He was often outside, kicking a ball around, or watching the football on the television. Dad often said how Matt was hoping to be the next Freddy Eastwood when he grew up – a passing reference to the fact that he had been stuck in the hospital, waiting for Matt to be born, on the night that Southend United beat Manchester United. When Matt was ten, he was told he had to start wearing glasses at school. This was not really a surprise, as both of our parents wore glasses. I could sort of see through Dad’s glasses. With Mum’s, I couldn’t see anything more than colours and vague shapes. I could probably count the number of times I saw Matt wearing that first pair. Mum made him wear them into school on the very first morning, so everyone knew that he had them. He was not wearing them when she picked us up at the end of the day. Occasionally, she would nag him to go and put them on if he was watching the television. “You don’t want to end up with eyes like mine,” she would say. I have to admit that I was a bit jealous of Matt. Up to that time, my experience of glasses was that either people needed them, or they didn’t. There were a couple of children in my class who had glasses, but they had always had them. So had Mum and Dad. Matt was the first person I knew who had to start wearing them. Except that he seldom did. However, I didn’t like being the odd one out in our family, and secretly hoped that I would get glasses next time we had our eyes tested. If I did, I would wear them all the time. It didn’t happen. Matt had to get new glasses, as his eyes had changed a bit, but mine were still perfect. Mum clearly sensed my disappointment, and tried to tell me all the advantages of having perfect eyesight. She did finish by saying that she had been nine when she got her first glasses, so it might be my turn next year. She did show me one photo of her in an album with them on. Apparently, it was the only photo she ever had taken with that particular pair of glasses, and I could see why. They didn’t really suit her. Matt continued not to wear glasses as much as possible. He didn’t need them when he was outdoors playing football. He didn’t need them when he was doing his homework. He didn’t need them when he was watching the television – although, again, Mum sometimes made him go and put them on. You could always tell how interested he was in what he was watching. If he was into it, he would go and get his glasses. If he wasn’t, he would just turn the TV off, and go and do something else. I had high hopes that I would get glasses next year, as I was nine, but again it didn’t happen. I couldn’t read all of the letters at the bottom of the chart, so I felt sure that I would be getting glasses, but again I was told that I did not need them. That was the first lesson I learned about sight tests: there are some really small letters at the very bottom of the chart that only people with the very best eyes can read. If you could see them clearly, that was a bonus, but I had managed to read most of the line above, so there was certainly no need for me to get glasses. Matt needed new glasses again. The outcome was identical 12 months later. Mum had told the optician that I was desperate to get glasses, and I had mumbled something about having a few problems with seeing things in the distance. I was sure I would need glasses, as Matt had got them when he was ten, and I was now also ten so… As the optician changed the lenses in front of my eyes, the smaller letters came into focus. I fully expected him to tell me the good news I had been hoping for, but apparently the good news was that my vision was still perfect. He took the trial lenses out of the frames to show me. One of them said +1.00 on it. The second said -1.00. Matt needed new glasses. If you mention the year 2020 to anyone, the one word “Coronavirus” pretty much summed it up. For me, it was the year I finally got my wish, though not really as anyone might have expected. The annual visit to the optician’s took place against the background of increasing concern. All of the staff were wearing face masks, to prevent the spread of infection, so the whole thing was a rather different experience. New glasses for Matt, and he was told that he had to wear them all the time. Again, I was left disappointed. There were some signs that I was starting down the road of becoming myopic. When I asked what that meant, he picked a couple of lenses out of his tray and held them in front of my eyes. “Not a huge difference, is there?” I suppose if I had said that there was, I might have persuaded him to give me a prescription, but I had to agree with him. He indicated the large tray of lenses by his side. “Of all the lenses in my tray, this one,” he waved the lens he had been holding in front of my right eye, “is the weakest one in it. The other one is only one step stronger.” Knowing that I wanted glasses (Mum had reminded him), he agreed to see me again in six months – especially as he had asked to see Matt again at the same time, because of how much his eyes had changed this time. It was the day before the lockdown began that Mum managed to pick up Matt’s new glasses. We had both been at home since the Friday, as the schools were shut. Mum didn’t have the time to come home and get Matt, and no-one knew whether it would even have been possible to pick the glasses up if we had left it until the weekend. There had been some speculation that we would get an extra couple of weeks added on to our Easter holidays, which sounded great, but by the time the schools finally shut, it was clear we were going to be off for rather longer. “I’ve got your new glasses, Matt,” she called up the stairs. I was busy playing a game on my computer. I knew that he had chosen a similar black, plastic frame to the previous four pairs, so I had a fair idea of what they would look like on him – if I ever saw him wearing them at all. I knew he was supposed to wear them all the time. I also knew him well enough to know that this was highly unlikely. The next thing I was aware of was the raised voices downstairs. “You know full well that it can take up to two weeks to get used to new glasses. You’ve just got to keep them on, and very soon you’ll wonder how you ever managed without them.” “But these are far too strong for me,” Matt protested. “I can hardly see through them.” “The optician did say there had been quite a big change, so of course they’ll take a bit more getting used to. Just wear them, like you were told.” Matt stormed up the stairs and slammed the door of his bedroom. By now, my curiosity had been aroused. What could be so awful with Matt’s new glasses that they had caused such an argument between him and Mum? I wanted to know, but I didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his anger, so I decided to give him a few minutes to calm down. I became so engrossed in my game, that I forgot to go and ask what the problem was. At dinnertime, there was an atmosphere. Like me, Dad must have overheard the argument, but decided not to say anything – and I wasn’t going to start. I had a look at Matt’s glasses. I couldn’t tell there was any difference at all. I suppose the biggest thing was that he was actually wearing them at mealtime – something he usually only did if he had been watching the television when he had been called to table, and forgot to take them off. The conversation, such as there was of it, was all about what we had been up to during the day. Dad had been working from home, as he often did a couple of times a week. Mum had been into work, as the Council still needed someone to keep their services up and running. She had been working in a largely deserted office all day. Matt and I had spent most of the time in our rooms, doing a bit of schoolwork, and playing some games. I went to see him after dinner, and asked him what the problem was with his new glasses. “They’re too strong,” he complained. “They don’t look much different to your old ones.” “These are my old ones. I didn’t want to be nagged about not wearing glasses to dinner, so I put these on, and just kept my head down. It seemed to work.” He took them off, and opened the black glasses case which was sitting beside his bed. “These are the new ones.” He put them on. The frames were identical. The lenses clearly weren’t. They made his face look a lot smaller. “I know I’m supposed to wear them for two weeks to get used to them, but it helps if you can see through them properly in the first place. I figured that I’d just wear the old ones when Mum’s around, because it doesn’t look like we’ll be able to take these back anytime soon. I might even have to wait until the 6 month check comes around before I can get some glasses which actually work.” “But those old ones are okay, aren’t they?” “They’re fine when I don’t need to see anything too far away. I knew I was going to need new glasses even before we went, but I just hoped I wasn’t going to have to wear them all the time. What I wasn’t expecting is to get a pair as strong as Mum’s.” He changed back into his older pair. “They can’t be that strong.” “No, you’re probably right, but they’re a lot stronger than these ones – and these are much stronger than the first pair I got.” “Don’t tell me you’ve still got them?” “Yes, they’re somewhere in the bottom of that cupboard, along with my old pairs of football boots. You can dig them out, if you want.” I didn’t need a second invitation. It only took me 10 seconds before I had a case in my hands. “Here they are,” I announced. “No, that was my third pair – the ones I got two years ago. You’re looking for a black case which rattles when you shake it. That’s because my first two pairs had slightly smaller frames, but then my head grew bigger, but the cases remained the same.” I resisted the opportunity to comment, as I already knew what I was going to do next. I found the case, opened it up, and put the glasses on. I took them off almost immediately, as the lenses were extremely dirty, and I was struggling to see through them at all. When I had cleaned them, I put them back on. “What do you think?” I asked Matt. “They suit you. Go and see what you think.” I headed off to my bedroom, before I put them back on. Size-wise, and shape-wise, they suited me, although I felt they would have looked even better if they had been brown, rather than black. Everything around the room seemed so much sharper. Looking through the window, I realised that the car number plates were that little bit clearer with the glasses on. “Can I borrow them for a couple of days?” I asked when I went back in to see Matt. “You might as well keep them. They’re no use to me, and if you are going to be getting your own glasses in September, well at least you can practise wearing mine – especially if you’re sure you can see better – and you promise not to tell Mum that you’ve borrowed them.” There was no danger of that. The following morning, I got up and went downstairs at about eight o’clock. Mum was just getting ready to go to work, so we chatted a bit while she made her lunch and I had breakfast. I went back upstairs, showered, got dressed, and became a full-time glasses-wearer. At first, I was very conscious of the black frames which now surrounded my view of the World. I wanted to go for a wander around the house to see how different my vision was, but I didn’t dare, in case I bumped into Dad. I knew he would be spending most of the morning in the study, so I could probably go and watch television with them on, and he would have been none the wiser, but it wasn’t worth the risk. Instead, I spent some time making a large sign which simply said “GLASSES.” I stuck it on the back of my bedroom door, to remind me to take them off before I left the room. I did eventually get to do my wander around the house on Saturday morning, but only by getting up earlier than everyone else. Even so, I made sure I had my dressing gown on, so that I could hide the glasses in one of the pockets if I heard anyone else moving about. Even then, I took them off for a few seconds as I went back upstairs to my room, just in case someone came out of their room at just the wrong moment. I was a little surprised at how easy it had been to get used to wearing glasses. Matt had been told two weeks, but it hadn’t taken me two days. I had begun to wonder whether I hadn’t given some wrong answers when I was at the optician’s, and that I really should have been given my own pair of glasses to wear then and there. In fact, I think I managed to persuade myself that this was what had happened. I was pretty sure that I was spending more time wearing them than Matt was, as I only ever seemed to see him wearing them when Mum was in the house. I didn’t want him to think I was deliberately trying to ruin my eyesight, so most of the time when he was around, I took them off, although I did let him catch me wearing them while watching the television once or twice. He did ask whether they helped me to see the television better. I did the with and without version of looking at the television, and declared it was clearer with. I would have said it anyway in answer to his question, but what might have looked to him like me double-checking, was in fact me realising that I had just told him the truth. Week three of our confinement was supposedly the first week of the Easter holidays. True, we didn’t have to do any schoolwork for the next fortnight, but the days all began to blend into one. There was only so much time I could spend chatting to my friends on social media, as none of us were getting out of our houses to do anything. Even computer games were getting boring, and I occasionally found myself watching things on television that I never would have watched otherwise. Matt’s movements were equally predictable. There were a couple of things he liked to watch between 11 and 12, and then again between 7.30 and 8.30. Apart from that, he spent most of the time in his room, playing on his computer. I didn’t have to go in to find out; I could hear how he was reacting to the games. I needed something different to do, so I found myself picking the first of the Harry Potter books off the shelf in the lounge. I had watched most of the films, so I decided to give the books a go. There was no harm in trying them, even though I wasn’t the most avid of readers. Returning to my room, I settled down onto the bed, put my glasses on, and began to read. For some reason, my mind wandered to what Harry Potter might have been able to see without his glasses, and how many pairs he might have owned. I guessed that he must have been a bit like my brother. He must have needed new glasses as he grew up, but he always seemed to choose the same frame. And somewhere in my musings, I found myself wondering how well I would be able to see if I wore his glasses, and then how well I would be able to see if I wore Matt’s second pair – if I could find them. There was only one of those things I would ever know, so the following morning, I waited until Matt was busy watching his programmes, before I went in search of his elusive second pair of glasses. It took a couple of minutes before my hand landed upon a hard case, under several layers of old football boots. I wondered why he kept the boots, as he had outgrown them all. The same could have been said of the glasses, although I was secretly very glad that he hadn’t thrown them away. In order to avoid any risk of getting caught, even by Matt, I swapped his first pair for the second one, and put the case back somewhere near the bottom of the pile of old boots. Rather than going straight back into my room, I wandered downstairs to see what Matt was watching. He turned to look at me, just as I was putting the glasses on to help me see the screen a bit better. He didn’t look particularly surprised by what I was doing. My heart was pounding, as I felt sure he would spot that this was his second pair, but he didn’t say anything. I felt myself beginning to blush, but he wouldn’t have noticed, as he was already turning his attention back to the programme that was on. For me, everything came into very sharp focus. I could tell that these glasses were a little bit stronger than the others, but it only took minimal effort to focus through them. I took them off again as I went back upstairs, if only to avoid answering any awkward questions if Dad picked that moment to come out of the study. As I had the day before, I settled back on my bed to read. I quickly became engrossed in the story, and it was only when I took the glasses off while I went to the toilet, that I remembered that this was Matt’s second pair. After I had shut the door, I took a good look at myself to see if I could tell the difference. Maybe my face looked a tiny bit smaller, but I couldn’t be sure. And I knew that if I couldn’t tell, Matt couldn’t possibly have noticed either. Besides, he hadn’t been wearing any glasses at all, as he often didn’t when Mum wasn’t around. It took me just over two days to read the Philosopher’s Stone, and then three to complete the Chamber of Secrets. I was becoming an avid reader – so much so, that I didn’t notice the extra strength in the glasses at all. It was beginning to feel strange when I had to take them off for mealtimes, as I was becoming used to having something on my face. On the Saturday morning, I was up first. In an attempt to make it seem like something other than just another weekday, I decided I had earned the right to watch the Harry Potter films, at least, those for the books I had just read. Although it was tempting to shut the door of the lounge, so that no-one could casually glance in and catch me unawares, I left it open. That way, I could hear if anyone was coming – and whip my glasses off. I didn’t actually need them for watching the television, as the screen was big enough anyway. However, I remembered that “Watching television” was one of the things Matt had been told to wear them for, so it seemed like the right thing to do. On the Saturday, I got to the end of the film before I heard any movement upstairs, although on the Sunday, I had to watch the last quarter of an hour or so bare-eyed. One of the things about being in lockdown was that almost every day was the same. It was quite a struggle to keep tracks of which day was which. It did help that Mum had been going to work for the first three weeks, although for the fourth one, she was having a week’s holiday. Ordinarily, she would have been at home, looking after me and Matt, while Dad went to work, but this time around, she found herself pottering around the house, looking for odd jobs to do. I spent most of that week shut away in my room, reading. I completed the Prisoner of Azkaban at about lunchtime on Wednesday, and spent even more time each day reading the Goblet of Fire, in order to have earned the right to watch the film on Sunday. It certainly didn’t help me that each book seemed longer than the one before it, but I was enjoying them. The next week was the start of the new term, and there was still no sign of us going back to school. Dad had to go into the office on the Monday, as there were some files he needed. Mum had to return to work. That just left me and Matt at home, with the television, and our school work starting up again. He couldn’t resist the temptation of rather a lengthy lie-in, and although I did a bit of school work, my heart was not in it. I knew some of my school friends had done even less than me, and as we were nearing the end of year 6, we were due to change school in September. Consequently, I spent rather more time reading than I did on my Maths and English. I was a dozen or so chapters into the next Harry Potter book, before I realised I had been wearing the same pair of glasses for over two weeks. I had fully adjusted to them, and would quite happily have kept wearing them, but curiosity was getting the better of me. I wondered what I would be able to see with the pair in the red case; the ones which did not rattle. I was concerned that they would be too big for me, and that I would not be able to wear them in front of Matt, for fear that he would notice, and say something. All this, however, was very much in the future, as he was having a lie-in. I couldn’t predict how long he would be out of his room for, even if I knew exactly where to find the next pair of glasses. It took another couple of days before the opportunity presented itself. It was his turn to do the washing-up, and I knew the dish would take some scrubbing, as we’d had lasagne. Mum and Dad had gone to watch an animal documentary in the lounge, so I knew they weren’t around either. Even then, I was in a dilemma. Did I just replace the glasses I was using with the other pair, or just take the other pair, on the basis that any empty case wouldn’t rattle? I decided on the second course of action. I could wear the stronger pair in my room, and the weaker ones in front of Matt. It also meant that I could compare both pairs. I went straight back to my room, eager to see what I thought. In terms of size, the newer ones were about 5 millimetres wider. I could only tell this by putting both pairs together, and I doubted that Matt would be any the wiser if he saw me wearing them. True, the fit was a little bit looser, but it was not a problem. I could tell immediately that the lenses were stronger; I’d like to think that everything looked a little sharper, but I had to work for that to happen. If I let my eyes relax, it all went a bit blurry. Still, there was nothing that I couldn’t see, so I resolved to make them my new pair and wear them as much as possible. A couple of weeks later, there was a film on the television, that I was keen to see. Unfortunately, it was in the evening, and Mum wanted to watch it, too. Although I carefully chose the seat closest to the screen, I really wanted to be able to go and get the glasses and put them on. If it had just been Matt in the room, that is exactly what I would have done. I realised that it wasn’t just the screen which was not as clear as it might have been. Other things on the opposite side of the room were a little blurry – and how anyone could tell the time on the clock beat me. I ended up with a headache from not wearing glasses, just like Matt occasionally got. I enjoyed the film, but was pleased that I could go to bed straight afterwards. There had been talk of how to end the lockdown for several weeks, but we didn’t seem anywhere nearer to it actually happening. I was still doing some school work in the mornings; Matt was doing rather less. Dad’s habits had become predictable. Start work at 8.30, coffee and toilet at 11.00, lunch at 1.00 for thirty minutes, and finish work at 4.30. Mum was still out of the house from 8.30 until 6.00. Matt seldom emerged from his room until just before Dad stopped for lunch. I was able to wear my glasses anywhere I wanted, provided that I was a bit careful (this usually meant going down the stairs bare-eyed, but that was about all). I didn’t want to stop wearing glasses. There were two reasons for this. First, was that I couldn’t see very clearly without them. Second, I was concerned that my eyes would start to revert to being a borderline case, if I did so, and I really didn’t want that to happen. Although he was supposed to wear his glasses all the time, Matt had got very bad at doing so. Often, I would find them on the windowsill near the television, or on the floor, as if they had been knocked off. Although I wanted to “borrow” them for myself, it just wasn’t possible. As his movements were fairly predictable, I was able to wear them for several hours a day. They didn’t seem much different to the pair from the red case. There was one day when I forgot to put them back, so he had to wear the pair which he said were too strong. Mum was pleased to see that he had finally decided to wear them. but he told her it was only temporary. The following day, I slipped the pair of glasses he preferred behind the sofa – where they might have landed if someone had simply knocked them off the windowsill. I then made sure that it was Mum who found them and returned them to him. He put the case with his newest pair of glasses on the telephone table in the hall, for Mum to take back if and when she got the opportunity. A couple of days later, I decided to hide them at the back of the drawer in the telephone table. If anyone asked, I had done it as I was fed up of them falling on the floor when I answered the phone. They stayed there for about a week. No-one mentioned them at all. So, I borrowed them. It wasn’t difficult to tell why Matt had claimed they were too strong for him. The lenses stuck several millimetres out behind the frame on both sides. When I put them on, I was immediately plunged into a blur. When looking out of the window, I could just about force things to come into focus. I tried reading, but although I could manage the odd word, there was no way I could wear them for that. This all caused me to ask what I was trying to achieve. I wanted to wear glasses to feel part of the family. I wanted to need glasses, to be told I had to wear them all of the time. I wanted other people to know I needed them, too. I had a few friends who had started to wear glasses within the last six months or so. We’d all borrowed them and tried them on. Most of us couldn’t see why they had got them in the first place. I didn’t want that to happen to me. If this was the strength of glasses I had to get used to, to need them all the time, I had to try. Just as they did on Matt, they made my eyes look a lot smaller when I looked at myself in the mirror. I had managed to get used to the other glasses over the last couple of months; these would probably take a bit longer. If it took two weeks to get used to them when they were yours, it might take me a couple of months. I couldn’t wear the glasses for close work at first, and I was never going to get used to them if I only wore them when I was out of my room on my own. I decided to try wearing both of Matt’s old pairs together when I was working on my computer. Their combined strength was a noticeable step up from what I had been used to, but at least I could keep myself amused. I did find it easier to wear the stronger glasses first thing in the morning, especially if I pulled them down my nose a bit, and I was usually able to get in a couple of hours of early-morning television viewing before I had to worry about getting caught. Slowly, I began to get used to everything being a bit smaller. When I sat wearing the two pairs at my computer, reading seemed easy. It was another couple of months before we saw any signs of the restrictions being lifted. It was a time which has helped to make me into the woman I am today. I went into the lockdown as a girl who was beginning to be short-sighted. I emerged as a highly-myopic young lady. Matt’s glasses were still too strong for me, but I was now wearing them for everything where I wouldn’t get caught. I still found it easier to read through them if I pulled them down to the end of my nose, but what was much harder was having to go around the house without them on at all. Once we were out of lockdown, Mum was keen to ensure that Matt really did start to wear his glasses all the time. She made arrangements to come home early, take Matt and the glasses to the optician’s, and get things sorted. He hunted high and low for them, but it wasn’t until he asked me that I told him where they were. It had been a wrench to put them back, as my whole world was now a blur. I could still wear the two pairs of glasses in my room, and they helped, but only to a limited extent. It turned out that Matt had been right about the glasses. They had been too strong. Much too strong. They should have been -3.50, but the person who ordered the glasses had misread the optician’s handwriting, and the glasses were -8.50. No wonder he refused to wear them, and no wonder I had also struggled to get used to them. They had actually done a retest while he was there, and his new glasses were going to be -4.00. I wondered what this meant for me, but was even more horrified when I found out that he had left the glasses in town, as they were going to put his new lenses into the frames he already had. He had to wait several days before they were ready, but he seemed to accept the fact that he had to wear them all the time. As casually as I could, I asked him if I could try them on. “I bet everything’s pretty blurry,” he said to me. It was, but it was the best I had been able to see all week. Rather than dig myself an awkward hole, I simply agreed with him. The question now was how to persuade Mum to get my eyes tested, and with a certain degree of urgency. My eyes had shown no signs of reverting to being able to see well, even with the two pairs of Matt’s glasses that I did have. As I mentioned earlier, I had become a young woman during the time of lockdown. As well as new uniform for my new school, bra shopping was also a high priority. I was quite excited by the thought, as it was clear to everyone that I needed to be wearing a properly-fitted bra, rather than the crop tops I had worn for the last couple of years. I was going to mention that I thought I might need to get my eyes tested, but Mum spotted it for herself. I couldn’t help but peer while looking for the sort of bra I thought I might like, and then was bringing the labels rather closer to my face than was necessary in order to read the sizes. “It looks like your eyes have changed, too, Grace. We’ll have to book you an eye appointment sooner rather than later.” As we were still coming out of lockdown, I had to wait a couple of weeks for the first available appointment – and even that was at 7.15 in the evening. They were putting on extra sessions to help cope with the backlog. Climbing into the big, black chair, I was a bag of nerves. There was no way I was going to be a borderline case this time. I’d made a note of the big, black E on the wall behind me as I sat down, but when I turned around, all I could see was a black splodge. I explained that I thought all the time I had spent in my room during the shutdown had had an effect on my eyesight. The optician was not surprised, and told me that he had seen some big changes in people’s eyesight over the last six months, so I wouldn’t be alone. Although I claimed that I could read the E, it took a number of changes of lens before I could read anything under it, and it seemed to take forever until I could read the smallest letters with my right eye. The process seemed a bit quicker with the left. He took a lot of time and care examining the backs of my eyes, too, before he stopped and completed his notes. The verdict was that I was now very short-sighted, and urgently needed glasses. As it was the end of the day, it was more important that we choose some frames, and he would do the extra tests he wanted to do when we came to pick the glasses up. When Mum asked for a copy of my prescription, she was told that she could have it after I had picked my glasses up, as he needed to make sure that it was accurate. Then came the music to my ears; I would need to wear my glasses all the time, when I got them. The first week at school was tough. Finding your way around a large new site when you cannot see very well is not easy. Time and again, I had to ask to be moved to the front of classes, as I was waiting for my glasses to come in. My friends were not particularly surprised, as they knew that poor eyesight ran in the family – and I even got one offer of a loaned pair, from someone I knew who had them, but didn’t really want to have to wear them. Even in the front row, there were still some things I couldn’t see. It was five days later when we got the call to say that my glasses were ready for collection. I needed to come in at lunchtime, so they could fit me in for my follow-up appointment. Mum sent a message to the school to say that she was coming to pick me up, so I missed my first Friday afternoon of the new school year. I’m not sure what I was expecting from my follow-up appointment, but I was shown straight to the black chair. The optician came in and put some drops into my eyes, and told me that they would take a while to work properly. When he came back, about half an hour later, he brought a case in with him. Instead of getting the glasses out, he moved one of his other machines in front of me, and spent several minutes looking really closely at the back of each eye. Then, he put the trial frame on me, and asked what I could read. I told him that I remembered that the big letter was an E, but I couldn’t see it. He put a couple of lenses in, and I could read the whole chart. Then, he started again with his “better with or without” routine. After that, he took both lenses out and put a new one in, which seemed to make things a little better. The same process was repeated with the left eye, until he was satisfied with that, as well. Then, he opened the black case he had brought in with him, and put the brown frames onto my face. I heard a gasp from my mother. “How’s that?” he asked. I could see everything in the room really clearly. For some reason, my mother looked shocked. Then, he had me hold a bit of plastic in front of my left eye, and had me read as much of the chart as possible with my right. I managed the whole bottom row, and it was even easier when he held an extra lens in front of the eye. The same process was repeated with the left eye, and again, the extra lens made things really sharp. “Are those really Grace’s glasses?” Mum asked. “They look very strong for a first pair. Are you sure there hasn’t been some mistake? What about those extra lenses which made things better for her?” The optician very patiently explained that the reason he had dilated my eyes was to make sure that there hadn’t been any mistake. My glasses were a -7.75 in both eyes. The extra lens, which made things that bit better, took the total up to -8.00. He had nearly prescribed that when he first saw me, but didn’t want to risk over-correcting me. The good news was that the inside of my eyeballs was healthy. He did say that he had seen some major changes in people’s vision over the last few weeks, although mine was the biggest so far. He wanted to see me again in two months, to see whether he needed to refer me to a specialist. He also suggested that we book the appointment then and there, and ask for the 12.45 slot, so if he did need to go into his lunchtime, he would be able to do so. I didn’t go back to school that afternoon, but went home to have a lie-down. With my eyes being dilated, I wasn’t going to be able to see anything up close. Mum went back to work; Dad was at his office anyway. I took my glasses off, and fell asleep. I didn’t wake up until just after five o’clock. Given the time, the person I could hear moving around had to be Matt. I wanted to show him my glasses, but with the dilation now wearing off, I was able to examine them more closely myself. Like Matt’s wrongly-made glasses, the lenses stuck out of the back of the frame, and there was a noticeable cut-in when I looked at myself in the mirror. I felt exceedingly pleased with myself. These were no part-time glasses. No-one was going to tell me that they didn’t make any difference when they tried them on. And they were mine. I could wear them all day, every day. I was going to. I needed to. Matt’s first comment was along the lines of the fact that they made me look more like Mum, and that when I got a bit bigger, as well as being able to borrow her clothes, I’d be able to borrow her glasses. He also became the first person to tell me how strong they were, when he tried them on. It was great to be able to see clearly when I got to school on Monday. And, of course, I got a lot of comments. No-one could see anything with my glasses on, and I couldn’t see anything without them. At least I could see the board clearly. And I learned a lot that first term – both academically, and about myself. Probably the most significant thing I learned about myself was just how competitive I was; the chance to play competitive sport, rather than merely participatory sport was one I relished. Unfortunately, I found myself relegated to one of the last to be chosen when it came to ball sports, and I could tell why. I had to choose between leaving my glasses off and hardly being able to see, or keeping them on, but only putting in a half-hearted effort, as I was afraid they would get broken. I didn’t have a spare pair. That changed at half term. My two-monthly check-up saw enough of a change in prescription to warrant new glasses. When I was told that I now needed -8.50 for both eyes, I felt a certain sense of achievement. I had arrived at the prescription of Matt’s wrongly-made glasses. Not that I could blame him or them; it was my decision to wear them as much as possible. I opted for the same frame as I had already. I hoped that no-one would notice that I had new glasses – and almost no-one did, although a couple of my closer friends from primary school did express some surprise that I had needed them so soon. I was also referred to a specialist who was doing some research into the effects of staying indoors and eyesight, so my sight tests for the next few years would involve trips to London three times a year – with new glasses, if required. Rather naively, I had assumed that my eyes would stop changing once I hit -8.50, as that had been the stimulus, but this was far from the case. It took just over couple of months before I realised that my eyes had certainly not stopped changing and, by the time it came for my next appointment, I was simply looking forward to being able to see clearly again. In the intervening months, I had discovered a sport where I could be competitive, and where my need for glasses was seldom an issue: cross-country running. Whether it was because I was genuinely quite good, or whether it was because others were just not trying as they didn’t enjoy it, I never quite knew, but I often finished third or fourth. This made me all the more determined to do better next time. My visit to Dr. Smith-Jones in London was an education for me. Her research was into how a prolonged spell indoors affected people’s eyesight, and whether simply being outdoors might be the best way of preventing myopia. She had to dilate my eyes so that she could see whether there were any underlying issues, so we chatted a bit while we were waiting for the drops to take effect. She was working with patients under 21 whose myopia had increased by at least a diopter during the lockdown. She had particularly been looking forward to meeting me, as I appeared to go from -0.50 to -7.75 in about five months. This made me her most extreme case study, although she was still receiving new referrals all the time. As it was too early in her studies, she hadn’t yet decided whether to keep with patients until they turned 21, until their eyes stopped changing, or merely for a period of three to five years after the lockdown. I also asked her about the various bits of equipment she used, and learned a lot about what they were used for. When it came to my actual eye test, I wasn’t surprised that I couldn’t get much past halfway down the eye chart. For the first time, I needed a slightly different prescription between my two eyes. My right eye was my good eye, and had only changed by one diopter in four months. My left had changed a little more, so I came away with a piece of paper which read R -9.50, L -9.75. I was told that I could order the glasses then and there, but they only had a limited range of frames, and would have to come back up to London to pick them up. We decided it might be better to take the prescription home and order them locally. Then, it would only take ten minutes to collect them. Although I opted for the same frames for a third time, it was clear to all that these were new glasses. The lenses were a bit thicker, but the real give-away was the fact that the fronts of the lenses were flat, so the light reflected back off them much more than it had on my other pairs. It was hard to believe how much my eyes had changed in the six months since I started wearing my own glasses, and to think that a year ago, I hadn’t needed glasses at all. I even tried Mum’s glasses on when she was in the shower; they were still far too strong, but no worse than Matt’s wrong pair had been. I wondered if and when my glasses might become stronger than hers. The answer turned out to be about two years. I continued to have four-monthly eye tests, and the result was pretty much the same every time – new glasses, and at least a diopter stronger every time. My left eye had just reached -16.00, so they gave me a new type of lens, one which went in at the front as well as the back. They gave me one for my right eye, too, as it would have looked strange having two types of lens in one pair of glasses. When I tried my Mum’s glasses again, the right eye (mine was -14.75) was pretty much the same as hers, but the left lens in her glasses was no longer strong enough for me. Dr. Smith-Jones had no miracle cures for stopping my eyes from getting worse. Although she felt that the three-pronged effect of gender, puberty and the time spent indoors was probably the reason why my eyes were changing so quickly, only one of those was within my control. I was encouraged to keep going with my running, so Winter saw me doing cross-country events, while the Summer was a track-based season. There were also three times-a-week training sessions throughout the year, although I was allowed to skip one or two in the run-up to important races. I didn’t really feel like I was improving, as I continued to finish third or fourth, but my coach pointed out that I was now running against better-quality opposition. He had a point. Nobody wanted to be in the same races as me at Sports Day at school, so I had to take part in the throwing events, where my only advantage was my competitive edge. When not out competing or training, I had to make sure that I kept up with my studies. There is plenty of money at the very top end of athletics, but there are very few people who can afford to retire on what they can make during their competitive career. I needed to make sure I had a good education as well. A lot of my studying had to be done first thing in the morning or late at night, and it was sometimes a struggle to fit everything in, and get enough sleep as well. About a year later, at the ripe old age of 15, it was suggested that I might like to try a type of lens known as a myodisc for my latest prescription. They took a bit of getting used to, as I could only see clearly by looking straight ahead, but that was probably little different to my experience of the last few years anyway. Suddenly, there was renewed interest in my latest pair of glasses from my friends at school. No-one had ever seen a pair of glasses like them, so everyone wanted to try them. However, even those who regularly complained about how awful their own eyesight was (with their -3.00 glasses), could see nothing but a blur through them. There was no question of anyone borrowing them for a lunch break, just to see what it was like to wear glasses; they couldn’t see anything with them. I couldn’t see anything without them. As far as my running was concerned, I felt that they gave me an advantage. I could no longer see who was coming up behind me by turning my head, so I just had to keep my eyes focussed on what or who was ahead of me. More than that, I learned to rely more on my hearing and my sense of smell to tell me who was just behind me. Stride patterns, weight of footfall, the occasional sniff or dry cough; all of these gave me clues as to who was around me. If someone’s kit had been washed in a particular detergent, they had used a strong body spray or deodorant, or if they had eaten a curry the night before – again, these gave me an idea of who I was racing against, even if I couldn’t physically see them. I also learned to listen to the spectators, to see who they were cheering for, and where they were looking. It was also once I started wearing myodiscs that my eyesight started to improve – or, at least, not deteriorate so quickly. I continued to see Dr. Smith-Jones every four months because she wanted to see where my eyesight ended up. She had concluded the bulk of her research several months earlier, and she just had a handful of patients that she was continuing to monitor while she completed her writing-up. I didn’t even have to keep getting new glasses every time. This helped my parents a lot. We got some help from the NHS towards the cost of my lenses, but with my running taking me further from home, they needed every penny to support me in this. A-levels and university followed in due course. It took a lot of time management and dedication to fit everything in. If I wanted to be an athlete, I had to keep putting in the training, but if that was not going to work out, I had to get a degree. There was always the worry that an injury would stop me from fulfilling my dream, and it was noticeable how my performances dipped slightly during my final year at university, but eventually I graduated with a Desmond, and it was time to see what I could really do on the athletics front. The rest of that Summer season saw me featuring in most races as an also-ran. I hadn’t had the time to do the training that some of the other girls had, so my core fitness was not what it needed to be. If I had to pick a positive from it, it had to be that it made me even more determined to succeed. As my fitness levels started to improve, I began to notice an upturn in my results during the cross-country season. As I no longer had my degree to concern me, and with my parents’ financial backing, I was able to pursue my goal of being a full-time athlete. Before long, I was back to finishing second or third in national races, and I ran internationally several times, as well. It was the international races which brought me to the fore. Although many of the other girls are better athletes than me, my trade-mark blonde pony-tail and myodisc glasses made me instantly recognisable, and there was a lot of attention given to my performances. If I’m honest, more of it was down to my looks, rather than my results on the track. I have often been asked about my glasses in interviews. More to the point, I am often asked why I don’t wear contact lenses. The truth is that I do. Gracie, the athlete, wears myodiscs and a pony-tail. Gracie, when out with her friends, wears contact lenses, and wears her hair down. It wasn’t that I had particularly wanted to wear lenses, but they do make it easier for peripheral vision when I am driving, which is why I got them in the first place. However, my dry eyes mean that I spend far more time behind my -23.00ish glasses than I do in contacts, although it is nice to have a choice. I do also have one pair of glasses with “normal” lenses in them. They live in my car, in case I have problems with my contacts, but the lenses are so thick that the frames are extremely heavy, and draw people’s attention to me, at times when I am just trying to be myself. I have also begun to receive fan-mail, and several marriage proposals! What I find more encouraging are those girls who write to me to tell me how much I have inspired them. One of them already wears stronger glasses than me, and she’s only 17. If I can do anything to help people not to feel ashamed of their poor eyesight, I’m only too happy to help. Clive Lloyd, Jack Leach, Edgar Davids, Daniel Vettori; all of these have had successful sporting careers in spite of their poor eyesight, and having to wear glasses to compete at the highest level. One day, I hope to see my own name, Grace Bulstrode, added to that list. But first, I need to nail that qualifying time for the Olympic Games… In my mind, I can already envisage the headline, just above a photo of a bespectacled me winning the gold medal: “A Spectacular Result.”