A life without limits

The bushes were coming. For most children, that warning might have been enough to slow down. For Letticia Martinez, it was simply information to process before deciding what to do next.

Growing up in Las Cruces, Martinez rode her bicycle with her father nearby, calling out obstacles she could not see. When he warned her that bushes were ahead, his expectation was simple: use the brakes, steer around them and keep going.

Instead, she often launched herself off the bicycle and rolled. Years later, she laughs at the memory. Her father would remind her that the warning was intended to help her avoid crashing. Martinez viewed the situation differently.

The story has become family folklore, but it also serves as a fitting introduction to a woman who has spent much of her life refusing to let obstacles dictate the limits of what she could do.

Born with a rare progressive eye disease, Martinez was blind from an early age, though doctors needed years and numerous specialists before they fully understood what was happening. The diagnosis explained her condition, but it did not define the way her family approached it.

Instead of narrowing her world, her parents widened it. She raised goats through 4-H. She took public speaking classes. She experimented with horseback riding, baking, barrel racing and anything else that seemed interesting. If there was an activity available to other children, her parents looked for a way to make it available to her as well.

One year she entered equestrian events that required riders to maneuver through an arena. Because she could not see where she was going, her father stood outside the fence shouting directions. When organizers refused to allow a headset that would make communication easier, he resorted to a megaphone.

The arrangement may have looked unusual, but for the Martinez family it was simply another solution. Looking back, Martinez says much of her determination came from wanting what every child wants.

"I just wanted to fit in and do what everybody else was doing," she said. "I hated carrying the Braille writer everywhere. I hated being the only one with a cane. I hated standing out. I would break my cane. I would run on the playground when I wasn't supposed to. I would run into trees and end up in the nurse's office. But I wanted to play. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to do everything the other kids were doing, and I wasn't willing to just sit down because something was harder for me."

That mindset shaped nearly every decision she made growing up. The challenge was finding a place where determination alone could not overcome the practical reality that many sports and activities simply were not designed for someone who was blind.

She tried gymnastics. She rode horses. She experimented with whatever opportunities she could find. Then, in eighth grade, a track coach named Mike Montoya introduced an idea that would eventually change her life.

Every day he asked the same question. Did she want to do a triathlon?

Every day she gave the same answer. No.

Swimming, biking and distance running sounded miserable. Martinez preferred short bursts of effort, not hours of training. Montoya persisted anyway.

Eventually she agreed.

The tandem bike rides were enjoyable. The running was manageable. The swimming was different. For the first time, she found something that felt natural.

"There was always this void because I couldn't really do what everybody else was doing," Martinez said. "I was always looking for something. I couldn't play soccer. Basketball wasn't really an option. I was always trying to figure out what I could do. Then I found swimming and realized you don't really need to see to swim. Once I figured that out, it became an outlet. It became something that belonged to me."

That discovery set her on a path few people could have imagined. She joined the Las Cruces High swim team and immediately found herself competing against athletes who had years of experience she lacked. At her first meets she finished far behind many of the other swimmers.

The results frustrated her. Rather than accept them, she trained harder. Then harder still.

A chance meeting with another blind swimmer from Hobbs introduced her to the Paralympic movement. Until then, Martinez had never even heard of the Paralympics.

Within months she was competing internationally. By 2011 she had earned a spot on the United States team for the Parapan American Games in Guadalajara, Mexico. A year later she qualified for the Paralympic Games in London. Later came the training center in Colorado Springs, world championships and another Paralympic appearance in Rio de Janeiro, where she finished sixth in the world in the 100-meter freestyle.

What spectators saw was an elite athlete. What they did not see was the constant adaptation required simply to compete.

Blind swimmers race wearing blacked-out goggles. Volunteers known as tappers stand at the ends of the pool with long poles and signal swimmers when they are approaching the wall. Staying in a straight line requires constant awareness of lane lines, water movement and body position.

Martinez learned to brush lane lines with her shoulder or elbow while racing and developed a feel for where she was in the water.

"I learned to swim blind," she said. "A lot of the swimmers who were better at staying straight had vision before and then lost it later. I never had that. So, I was figuring it out as I went. Sometimes I'd count strokes. Sometimes I'd use the lane line. There was always a lot going on because you're trying to think about your race plan, your turns, where you are in the lane and what everybody else is doing around you."

The same persistence that carried her through international competition now shapes her daily life.

Martinez is a single mother raising a 6-year-old daughter. For more than two years she has been searching for employment while volunteering throughout the community, particularly through programs offered by the City of Las Cruces.

Volunteer coordinator Wendy Shipley remembers meeting Martinez and hearing about the challenges she faced finding work. Her reaction was immediate.

"Nobody saw a disability," Shipley said. "What I saw was somebody incredibly smart who had a lot to offer. The challenge wasn't whether Letticia could do the work. The challenge was figuring out how we could rethink some of the things we'd always done and create opportunities where she could shine."

The opportunities quickly multiplied. Martinez began reading Braille books to children at schools and libraries. She volunteered with preschool programs at city museums. She assisted at city hall. Everywhere she went, she discovered that children were less interested in her blindness than they were curious about how she experienced the world.

One child listening to a Braille story noticed there appeared to be no words on the page. Another asked why Martinez wasn't using her eyes.

The questions never bothered her. In fact, she welcomes them.

"I love talking to kids because they're honest," Martinez said. "A lot of them will say things like, 'If I was blind, I'd just sit at home all day.' Then I get to show them that's not true. I get to show them how Braille works and explain that I can read, that I can travel, that I can do things. I just do them differently. I think it's important for them to see that because a lot of people don't know any blind people."

The volunteer work has given Martinez something she values deeply: a chance to contribute. That desire, more than medals or recognition, emerges as the central theme of her story.

Again and again, she returns to the same idea. She wants to be useful. She wants to help. She wants to be part of the community that raised her.

"I don't want to just sit at home and rot," she said. "I want to have purpose. I want to be involved. I want to help where I can help. That's why I volunteer. That's why I keep applying for jobs. That's why I keep trying. Sometimes it gets frustrating because everything takes more planning and more effort. But I've learned that if something is worth having, you just keep working toward it."

Her faith helps sustain that perspective. So does motherhood. So does a lifetime of learning that persistence often matters more than circumstances.

The girl who once ignored warnings about bushes eventually learned there are times to push and times to rest. She speaks openly about patience, something she admits did not come naturally. She talks about trusting that opportunities will arrive when the time is right.

Even now, after Paralympic Games, international competition and years of overcoming challenges most people never have to consider, Martinez resists the idea that she is inspirational. From her perspective, she is simply living the life she was given.

"I've had to learn that it's okay to rest and it's okay to be patient," she said. "My faith has helped me with that. It's helped me trust that things will work out even when I don't know how. There are still hard days. There are still things that frustrate me. But I know I'll be okay. I know there's something better ahead, and I just have to keep moving toward it."

And perhaps that is what makes her story resonate. Not the blindness. Not the Paralympics. Not even the obstacles.

It is the quiet certainty that whatever appears in front of her next, Letticia Martinez will find a way forward because she always has.