Risen from the Ashes

“Iraq or Afghanistan?” It’s a question I often hear. And why not? I’m a relatively young guy who is reasonably athletic……oh, and missing a leg. The looks on peoples’ faces when I explain how I came to be an amputee is nearly as priceless as when someone asks me if I hurt my foot as I walk by them and I simply reply, “I don’t have a foot!”

To understand my acceptance of being an amputee, you have to understand who I am and how I came to be an amputee. I joined the U.S. Army and left for Basic Training in February 1998. Being a heavy bastard in basic training is not very fun. I was always the last guy in the chow line and had to stop by the Drill Instructors’ tables before sitting down so they could pirate some of my food. My favorite was sitting down and hurriedly drinking my two 8 oz. glasses of water only to have one of my fellow soldiers start talking, resulting in the hasty evacuation of the chow hall and the disposal of my meal without even getting a bite. I swear I never had a day in those eight weeks where I ate all three meals. Nonetheless, I made it through. It was actually fun, considering.

All my life I have fought the battle between fat and skinny. I was picked on for being a chubby kid but honestly never let it get to me. I first discovered the gym and weight lifting when I was assigned to the 10^th Mountain Division. I lived for the gym. I helped to lead PT in the mornings and lifted, ran and rucked at night and on the weekends. Hungover from a Friday night party, I would load up my ruck and hit the country roads for a few miles to work it off. I truly enjoyed my active life and LOVED being a soldier.

As I heard the explosion I stood up and looked behind me. At first, I thought the exhaust pipe for the potbelly stove cooked off.  However, I began to hear the screams from outside the mess tent and knew this was something much more serious. As I moved to go see what had happened, the most intense pain I have ever felt shot through my body and I collapsed. My left leg seared with pain. That’s when I realized I wasn’t the only one screaming in pain. I began to apply first-aid to another injured soldier as I was being tended to by my own team members. I was evacuated to the local hospital and moved almost immediately from triage to the operating room.

The next morning, as I came to, I struggled with what had just happened. I had no idea how bad the situation was. I looked down at my right leg, wrapped in dressing with an obvious fresh wound beneath and immediately began ringing for the nurse. When she arrived, I informed her that the doctor had fixed the wrong leg. Horrified, she pulled back the covers, displaying my mangled left leg. I immediately sank in the bed, but not because of shock for my own wounds. I found myself worrying about my fellow soldiers. Had they been injured? Killed? How many? What happened? This was also the first, and only REAL time when I wondered “why me?”

Two soldiers lost their lives that day, while 13 others suffered injuries ranging from minor to severe. I was evacuated to Walter Reed Army Medical Center where the doctors discussed with me the extent of my injuries along with my options. I could have my leg amputated above the knee or they could attempt to repair my leg. I chose the latter option and embarked on an 8-month journey filled with emotions, severe pain and fear of what the future would hold. My biggest source of inspiration during this time was my new born son and my hope of being able to walk with him and care for him and to be able to play sports with him. My biggest source of support was my fiancée who spent everyday by my side, helping me through it all. After 8 months of extreme pain and hard work, I came to the reality that my leg was useless. I attended a doctor’s appointment and informed the doctor I would like for him to remove my leg. You cannot imagine the look on his face. He reluctantly agreed and scheduled the procedure.

As I lay there anxiously marking my right leg with large words saying “NOT THIS ONE” and “THE OTHER ONE”, I was excited about moving on. I rolled out of the surgery all smiles and hungry to get back to life. Originally I was told I would lose my leg above the knee. As I looked at my limb, I thought to myself, “shit, my thigh is long…..”. I called the nurse and asked about my limb and was informed that the doctors were able to save my knee. Within a few weeks, I started hobbling about on a training prosthesis. Within a month I was wearing a real prosthesis and eagerly went and joined the gym.

Having gained a substantial amount of weight, I was working to not only walk with a normal gait, but to get stronger. I returned to lifting weights but wasn’t happy with myself. In early 2008, I made the decision that I wanted to run again. You see, when I was in high school, I ran so slowly, you would have needed a sundial to time me. At my peak in the Army, I was running the 2-mile run in under 11 minutes. I wanted to be fast again. After consulting my doctors and prosthetic therapist, I was told I needed to drop weight. So, I worked and lost 25 lbs. The day I picked up my running prosthesis, I went to the track and ran two miles. I then spent the next two weeks wondering why the hell I thought that was a good idea. But I continued to run. I ran in the morning. I ran in the evenings. I ran 5K races and 10K races. My wife convinced me to run the 2010 Army Ten Miler. I trained and ran the race in 1:44:48 with a 10:28 pace. I was so happy with myself. But I wasn’t finished. I committed myself to training for and running the Marine Corp Historic-Half Marathon, Bataan Memorial Deathmarch and Marine Corp Marathon. In order to do so, I needed to drop weight and get serious about nutrition. This is when I discovered CrossFit. I started performing the WODs from CrossFit.com daily and mixing in running in a training plan. In my first training race before the MC Historic Half, I suffered my first set-back. I had excruciating knee pain, which was attributed to enflamed vascular issues in my left leg. I had to stop training and drop out of the Half Marathon. Bum knee and all, I drove to White Sands Missile Range in New Mexico and completed the Bataan Memorial Deathmarch; a 26.2 mile march through the dessert. When I returned I continued to excel in CrossFit on my own but something was still missing.

In April 2011, I was informed by doctor I should lay off of running because my knees were both showing signs of degenerative arthritis. This was when I made the decision to drop out of the Marine Corp Marathon. However, I made the decision I was going to run the Army Ten Miler once again.  I then promptly forgot I had registered for the Ten Miler. After discovering Strongman Training, I was talking with a few members of CrossFit Reston and decided I was done doing CrossFit on my own. I joined CrossFit Reston and found a second family of people just as determined and just as hardheaded as myself. In October 2011, after receiving an email, I suddenly remembered the Army Ten Miler, and against my better judgment, I ran the race. I completed the race in 1:39:29 with a 9:56 pace, all without training.

While I have had to bow out of things for safety’s sake, I don’t have quit in my vocabulary. I love to go to CrossFit and have my ass kicked. I love to go for a run and feel my legs and lungs burning. Most of all, I love to be able to help others to achieve their goals by motivating them. I don’t consider myself special or exceptional in any way. I am, however, very determined and very hardheaded.