The guy in the mirror is an idiot

Sure enough.

Two evenings ago, I went out for a run. Not a long run--just a few miles--but it was so nice out, and things were slow enough at work that I was able to slip out for an hour or so...

It was hot and the humidity was pretty low. I knew it, but I didn't bring water with me. I know that I need to stay hydrated just for my leg if nothing else. But I ran without any because I didn't have anything to put water in.

Then my leg started hurting about a mile into the run. Not the usual mild and temporary pain that I get for the first little stretch before my leg settles into the prosthetic, but a deeper, sharper pain suggesting that things weren't fitting quite right. I should have quit running and called back to work for someone to come pick me up. But vanity...vanity is strong in this one. I will not quit, and I will not show weakness, especially in front of these co-workers who have only heard tales of the incident that cost me half a leg a few years back. I will finish this run despite the pain, and when they day is over, everything will magically be all right again.

Self-delusion is strong in this one, too.

I did finish the run even though every step brought me a new, sharp stabbing pain, and I finished it in pretty good time because by the last mile, I was mad at myself because I knew that I'd caused some damage, and because I was mad, I drove myself that much harder. And when I got back to my workplace and stopped running, it was just about all I could manage to do to even walk once I switched back to my regular walking leg. I knew for sure that I'd done some significant damage indeed. Idiot.

I tried to ignore it yesterday, but it got progressively worse the longer I was up on it walking around. By the end of the day, I was really hurting, and when I got home and took the leg off, I knew right away that I wouldn't be putting it back again this morning. I called work and let them know that I wouldn't be in today. So now I'm just sitting home with my leg off, talking to Lagniappe, playing on the interweb and reading my new book about Air Force legend Robin Olds while trying not to spill too much coffee out of my mug as I hop around the house on one foot.

A lost work day, just because I didn't listen to my body and stop a run when it was telling me to. Now I won't be running for a week or more, and the upcoming 5k that I was ready for? Scratched.
All because I wanted to tough it out in front of my peers instead of being smart and sensible and stopping when I knew that it wasn't going to work. I just had to show everyone that I can do anything, and that my missing leg never slows me down. I guess I showed 'em, now that I'm not there today.

Dumb...
Dumb...
Dumb...

Another goal met--a hundred miles run in our nation's capitol city.

I want to die.

OK, maybe not really, but I sure feel like it right now.

I just finished another run in Washington, DC. 7.5 miles. It was too hot and too humid today, and I ran too long. But I had a goal of running more than 100 miles in Washington DC and this run put me over the top.

Don’t ask me why I set such a stupid, pointless goal. I don’t know. I just do stuff like that.

And no, this hundred miles does not count the other miles run in West Virginia and Maryland. I’m up in the triple-digits with my runs in those places, too. Maybe someday I’ll be able to say that I’ve run more than a hundred miles in each of the 50 states.

Oh hell no. That’s over 5000 miles. Just shoot me now.

Anyway, my runs in our nation’s capitol city have taken me over the 14th Street Bridge nine times. I’ve circled Hains Point three times. I’ve run to the White House once, and the Capitol twice. I’ve circled the Washington Monument countless times and have become a virtual fixture around the Lincoln Memorial. I’ve run across Memorial Bridge a dozen times, and the Theodore Roosevelt Bridge four times. I’ve also crossed Key Bridge three times, each time running the length of Georgetown, either along the C&O Canal or up on M street. I’ve been to the Iwo Jima Memorial once, run the Pentagon’s parking lots once, and run to the visitor center at Arlington National Cemetery at least four times. Yeah, I know that these last three are technically in Virginia. I just don’t feel like quibbling that point since the runs originated and concluded back in the District.

Oh, and I also ran in Anacostia one day. Bonus points to me for not getting mugged or getting involved in any scandal having something to do with Marion Barry. I’ve run on the National Mall half a dozen times, including two full-length runs from the Lincoln Memorial to the Capitol Reflecting Pool and back.

I’ve also run Embassy Row in Northwest, and the campus of George Washington University, where I collided with a small tourist who wasn’t paying attention.

I’ve had some fun while boosting my fitness, and I’ve covered 102.5 miles in DC or on National Park Service land immediately adjoining it since beginning to run here in mid-April.

Today’s run was one of the toughest ones though. Like I said—it was too hot and humid to push as hard as I did, but I was so close to the hundred-mile mark that I just decided to go for it. And I didn’t want any punk run—I wanted a good one. So I started out on Hains Point and crossed the 14th Street Bridge to head north along the George Washington Parkway bike path. I ran up to the ramp to Arlington and took Key Bridge across to Georgetown. I was actually carrying a water bottle on this run because I tend to dehydrate quickly and when I do, my leg loses mass and then the running foot starts to give me problems. It only takes a little bit of shrinkage to cause big problems with it so I made it a point to drink as much as I could and refilled the bottle at every opportunity.

I also had some new music on my MP3 player, and that’s always a big help; when I tire, I just stop looking down the road and instead just concentrate on putting my feet (foot?) down in time with the music. I have some eclectic musical tastes and usually run to a mixture of older rock, blues and country, with a few TV and movie themes tossed in for fun. Sometimes these tunes give me that last bit of motivation that I need when I’m tiring, like today after I’d climbed up the ramp to Arlington. I was wearing out, but Eye of the Tiger from that Rocky movie came on, and it was enough to push me over the Potomac across Key Bridge. Then it was sing along with the Beatles as I ran down Georgetown’s M Street, loudly singing along with “You Never Give me Your Money”. Hey—I got a few smiles from a few pretty ladies, so it’s all good. Then I ran down Wisconsin Avenue, past that particular little shop that I know Nicki likes, and onto to C&O Canal Towpath, now joining Meatloaf in a rousing rendition of “Hot Patootie”. Then it was the long run back along the river, which was made a bit easier by Hoyt Axton’s “Della and the Dealer”—always a fun song. Finally I made it back to the Lincoln Memorial, just a mile from the run’s end-point. And I was spent.

The sun had been baking me, the humidity had been sapping me, and I’d just not been running hard enough these past few weeks. I knew by then that I’d already passed the hundred-mile point and that I could have called any number of people that I knew in the area and gotten a ride back to my car. But that would be quitting, and I don’t quit. I’m Boer stock, not French, and I subscribe to the motto: “Never give up, never surrender.”
OK, I totally ripped that off from some otherwise-forgettable movie with Tim Allen in it, but I still like it. So I ignored my body’s protestations and finished the run in time with the Blues Brothers’ “Sweet Home Chicago.” And I finished strong, with 7.5 miles run in an hour, 27 minutes.

Of course now the music’s off, the adrenaline’s gone, and I’m just tired.

But it’s a good kind of tired. The kind that comes with accomplishment.

And in other good news--the new extended-wear tread on my running foot seems to be holding up quite well indeed. I've got about 25 miles on the foot since it was re-soled and it's hardly showing wear at all. The old tread would have been seriously eroded already by now.

This one may last me more than the 80 miles or so that the old ones did and if so, it'll seriously cut down on those way-too-frequent repair shop visits.

On running...and pushing too hard.

So I'm out for my usual morning run today, and after a few miles in the hot sun, I come upon this neat little decorative chain fence that's blocking part of the sidewalk in my path. Now back in the old days, I'd have just jumped over that chain just because it was there, even though I could easily walk around it. And of course the temptation to do just that quickly becomes overpowering. But being older and wise now, I stop and think about it.

If I do this wrong and hook a foot on the top of it, I'm going to take a nasty fall.

On the other hand, if I do this right, I'm going to look GOOD. And there's people watching.

I weigh the costs, benefits and risk. Hell, I've fallen before. It won't be the end of the world. I go for it.

I run at it, leap, and clear the fence, and I look so damned good with my nice shiny running foot catching the sun. Yeah, I got this. I land on the other side, coming down squarely on my running foot, which takes the impact beautifully and bounces me another foot or so back in the air...

And then one of the worst charley horse muscle cramps that I've ever had tears through that leg. Apparently I overtaxed or overstreched something. The pain quickly ratchets up past "Damn, that hurts" and hits "Oh sweet mother of God, make it STOP!"

With no "real" foot on that leg and no distal attachment for the calf muscle, I can't just flex my leg and stretch it out. I have to drop to the ground and tear the foot off so that I can try to massage the muscle knot out.

Now I'm not looking quite so cool. And it took a few minutes to make it go away so that I could reasemble everything and commence to running again. So much for advanced athltetics. I guess that my appearance on Ninja Warrior is going to have to wait a bit longer.

Then to add insult to injury, as I ran past a family out walking, I heard their little boy ask his dad if I was a Transformer.

yeah, I got your "transformer", kid. C'mere...we'll transform you into a football and go for a field goal.

OK, I've seen it.

Two years after losing my foot in the line of duty, I can't help but tire of people asking me if I've seen the episode of COPS where the amputee police officer chases down a crackhead and catches him. (For the record, I never saw it.) So I looked on-line today and found it.

And here it is.



Not bad. Personally I think I could have done a little better, especially with the take-down and arrest, but then again it's easy to be the Monday morning quarterback. The cameraman sounds like he's about ready to keel over though. THAT was sad.

I'm glad to see that officer back on the job. It must be nice to have a department willing to actually stand behind you when you get hurt and give you a chance to get back in the saddle again.

I wouldn't know.

And while looking for that story, I ran across this news piece about another amputee cop, Bill Lyle of Alexandria, VA Police Department.

Alexandria, VA, Police Officer Bill Lyle had his right leg amputated above the knee in September 2000 after suffering an injury chasing a drug suspect.

Seven months later, he returned to active duty on the force. As of JET press time, he'll try to regain his spot on the city's SWAT team by completing a grueling obstacle course that requires, among other things, carrying a battering ram up a flight of steps and dragging a 180-pound dummy 20 feet.

He already has outperformed some of the SWAT team members on the physical fitness portion of the test.

After he lost the leg, doctors told Lyle his career as a police officer was over. But Lyle says he never doubted that he'd return to the force.

"That doctor's wrong," Lyle told them. "He just doesn't know the God that I serve. I'm going to be a police officer again."

On Sept. 20, 2000, Lyle was patrolling a public housing project in the city just before midnight when he came upon a group using drugs and drinking. He ended up in a foot chase with one of the suspects. He did not see a thick chain stretched out in front of him, about three feet high. "When I hit the chain, I thought I hit a brick wall," Lyle said.

He landed on his back. As he lay on the ground, he saw a shadow above his face and quickly drew his gun, thinking the suspect had doubled back. Then he came to the sickening realization that the shadow he saw was not the suspect.

"It was my foot," Lyle said. "My foot was angling back toward me."

Lyle amazed his therapists during rehabilitation.

"This guy was in such good shape," said therapist Charlene Kelly. "No way could we do a traditional program. That had to be thrown out the window."

Lyle, a former Marine, would be drenched in sweat. His stub would be worn raw. They kept pushing. Even Kelly was exhausted. "I just had to keep coming up with things that were challenging," Kelly said according to the Washington Post.

Eventually she recommended that Lyle return to active duty with no restrictions. Lyle resumed work in May, and quickly earned the confidence of fellow officers.

His mother, Mary J. Davis, 60, isn't surprised by her son's positive attitude. "Everything happens for a reason. "I knew he was in God's hands ... I knew God wouldn't let him have no more than he could bear."

I had the pleasure to meet Bill Lyle not long after my injury. He came to visit me in the hospital and to say that he was an inspiration is an understatement. He lost his leg above the knee and he not only made it back, but regained his position on the department SWAT team and earned a promotion to sergeant too before he retired. He's now a minister in Washington, DC. When I met him, he was the first amputee that I saw and I was amazed at how well he walked and how little trouble he had with his prosthetic. His visit and his stories of what he went through did me a world of good. And because of the impact that he had on me, I've placed myself on call to go visit new amputees whenever my old surgeon thinks that it might help them. even though it's a long way, I've gone down a few times and every time I could tell that it helped, especially in the cases with kids. I couldn't imagine facing this as a kid so if I can help one cope, I'm there, just like Bill Lyle and a few others were there for me. Life's all about giving and taking. Sometimes you take, and sometimes, especially when you've been blessed, you get to give.

At least I'm not bitter after getting hosed by my old department.

Well maybe I am a little bit. But not enough to keep me from getting out and living life.

And flying, and shooting, and running 5K's.

So it's August 23rd again

Happy two-year anniversary to me. It was two years ago today that I lost a foot to a woman who can't drive a car.

So what better way to commemorate it than going to Manassas, VA and participating in their Stonewall Jackson 5K run? Well I couldn't think of a better way, so I went. At 7:30 this morning, I was standing at the starting line with several hundred other folks waiting to go.

And that was my first mistake--being up at the front. This was my first ever 5K and by not thinking it through, I wound up taking off with many of the strongest runners, and I let that influence my pace, making me run way too fast and hard from the start and finding myself winded after the first mile. It got pretty hard from that point on, but I didn't quit.

Two thinks helped me finish that race, aside from my determination to do it. The first was all of my Law Enforcement brothers from the Manassas Police Department who were cutting traffic along the race course. every time I felt like dropping back to a walk, I'd see one, and dammit, I've still got to represent, especially since I'm wearing a t-shirt from my old department. If anything, I had to pick up the pace whenever one was in sight, just to make it look easy.

Truth be told, it wasn't easy. I haven't run since my 6-mile run a few weeks ago due to problems with my running foot and even that brief hiatus hurt me today. But fortunately I was blessed with assistance from a kindly and very pretty angel named Ariel, a fellow runner that I fell in with somewhere past the two-mile mark. She ran alongside me and kept pushing me to keep on, even when I was sure that I'd already burned what energy that I had. Bless her soul, she even slowed her pace to keep up with my dragging one, and with her as motivation, I made it to the finish line and even managed a final sprint to cut a few seconds off what was still a pathetic time.

And it was a horrible time even compared to my regular practice runs, but I still finished and that's what counts. It was that fast start that did me in, and next time I'll start out farther in the back and focus on overtaking people instead of staying up ahead of them all. And there will be a next time and it'll be soon. I can't think of a better way to train and improve than to get out and actually compete so as long as I've got Saturdays free, I'll be looking for other races within 50 miles or so.

And even though my time sucked, I finished. For the first race, I'm satisfied with that. I also spent a bit of time with a nice lady and quite a bit more with some of my LE brothers, a few of whom tracked me down after the run to offer congratulations and shoot the bull for a bit. That's the one thing that I truly miss about the job--everywhere you go, there's LE family around somewhere.


Oh--and I gave blood today, too. The American Red Cross is actually calling donors (like me) on the phone because they are critical short right now, so when I saw a donation center, I gave a pint. If you've got the time, they've got the need.

Monday, Monday...

Woke up early this morning. Went out for a light breakfast, and by 7:30 I was parking over at Harpers Ferry, getting set for a run on the C&O Canal towpath.

I decided yesterday to try for six miles today, and I figured that if I got out while it was still cool, I could make it. I also chose an "Out and back" route that gave me no real chance to quit. Once I started, the only way back to the endpoint and my vehicle was to finish.

Now I haven't run six miles in one shot since my last police academy some years back, and I had both feet back then. But I've been working back up, and today felt right, so I gave it a shot, focusing on distance, not speed this morning. Slow but steady and all that. I also figured that the dirt path of the towpath would make for a good running surface. On that I erred a bit. My running foot needs a smooth, level surface, and the rocks and ruts on the towpath forced me to watch every step, and they ultimately resulted in enough jarring missteps to turn on the "pain" lights in my knees, hips and ankle before it was over. But the one light that I wasn't going to accept was the "FAIL" light, so I kept on.

I won't lie--it was hard going towards the end. As I tired, I had more mis-steps and stumbles in the last mile than I did in the five before, but I kept the pace up and finally finished strong.

The downside was that the rocks and gravel of the towpath destroyed what little tread and lining was left on the bottom of my running foot, so I have to run it into the shop for repairs. Fortunately I have a good prosthetist and he's going to fix it tomorrow. When he heard that I just did six miles on it, he expressed some surprise, but I told him that he'll believe it when he sees the damage to the bottom of the foot. Then I had to tell him that I'd incurred some minor damage on the swim leg too, and I haven't had that for a week yet. I could hear him sigh. No wonder he loves my business so much. But then again, his average patient just wants to be able to walk around the house. I'm gearing up for an eventual triathalon and trying to snag another law enforcement job. I can do both eventually. I've just got to work a little harder to beat out all the mere mortals who, for some reason or another, still have two feet.

It's all good...

Just finished tonight's run. Up to four miles now, and my time's coming down a bit too due to a change in pace from my old jogging pace to a longer stride. Speed is up but it's a bit harder, let me tell you. Still, considering that I only started outdoor running a bit over a month ago, four miles isn't bad.

I remember back when I went to my last police academy. I was about ten years older than average in my class, and I'd come out of a private law practice where I did little more than sit around and eat lots of good lunches with clients and legislative staffers. When I got to the academy, I was seriously out of shape and actually at risk of getting dropped out if I didn't ramp up fast. I was about the slowest and least fit in the class on day #1. But I decided to work on it, so after a full day of whatever we'd done--and it was a pretty heavy program at times--I spent a lot of after-hours time in the gym and running around the campus after dinner. Soon, the day's fitness runs started to get a little easier. My classmates noticed that I wasn't the tail-end runner any more as I started moving up in the pack. We were all getting fitter, but my extra work was bringing me up more than the norm.

The crowning event was when I decided to run the 10K course one night. I'd never run that far before, but it was one of my goals before leaving the place, so one night, when I felt up to it, I started out. I'd told a couple of classmates that I was going to try, but I'd wanted to keep it low key, just in case. 10 Kilometers is six miles, and even back then, that was a pretty good run, especially for a guy who'd started out on PT probation.

About half way through, I was tiring and wondering if I could finish, when a car pulled up alongside me with two of my classmates in it. They'd heard that I was running the course and came out to see. One handed me a bottle of water and told me to keep going. That was the motivation I needed to keep going despite the pains and fatigue that was setting in. And when I was about a mile out from the start/finish line near our dorm, what did I see but about half a dozen more of my classmates in their running gear--they'd come out to wait for me and run in with me because that's what the law enforcement family's all about. I finished that 10K, and I finished it strong, and I was sore the next day but it didn't matter because I'd done it. I felt good, my peers were supporting me, and even our class coordinator/supervisory instructor pulled me aside about half way through the day to let me know that he'd heard I'd done it. Now that guy had been a total prick to me and everyone else all through the program, but his congratulation was sincere and for the first time I felt that I'd actually earned his respect.

I kept on with the running and eventually finished in the top third of my class. I kept with it when I hit the street and there were several times that I was able to run down some punk twenty years my junior even though he had a fresh pair of Nikes on his feet (probably stolen) and a head start. I, on the other hand, usually had twenty extra pounds of gear, including a duty belt, gun and body armor, and boots. But I still managed to catch the little shitbirds. And it gave me motivation to keep running in my off-time, because it's a fact that you can catch nine out of ten running punks, but let that one get away and you'll get no end of razzing from your own peers (which is ok) and the other scumbags on the street (and that's never ok.)

Well now it's coming up on two years since I've worked the street, thanks to that woman driver who woke up one morning and apparently decided to go out and crash her car into the first police motorcycle that she could find, but there's no reason that I can't get back to where I used to be, fitness-wise, and even better, given a bit of time and effort. Since my current employer is now essentially paying me to sit around the house and watch old cowboy movies all day, I'd be a fool to waste the opportunity and not use every free day to get out there and trade some fat for muscle. Life is what you make of it, and I'm using my free time to make mine good.

Run total since June 1: 29.5 miles.
Weight lost: 11 lbs.

Onward and upward.

YIPPEE!

The above picture is a P-38 Lightning, made by the Lockheed company during World War Two. It's tricked up and painted pretty because it was the 5,000th P-38 to come off of the production line. It was flown for some time by Lockheed's ace test pilot, Tony LeVier, who used it to show Army Air Corp pilots that the aircraft was safer and more effective than the pilots first thought.

Here's what they usually looked like. They were one of the premier fighters of the second world war, and just shy of 10,000 were made. Later variants could climb to nearly 40,000 feet (without pressurization or heaters for the pilot) and exceed 425 MPH. It was one hell of a plane.

So what does that have to do with anything?

Well I share the sentiment of "Yippee", above. I've finally--finally--been cleared to fly and rent planes again, and in the spirit of British WW2 ace Douglas Bader, I can now take to the air with an artificial leg.

Of course I don't get to fly Spitfires, or P-38 Lightnings. Nah, I just fly a Cessna 172.

<---This one.

I had my first unrestricted solo flight today since losing my leg almost two years ago. It felt great to get back in the air and play around the area, knowing I was one more step ahead on the long road back. After my final check flight, I took off alone and spent the next hour flying up and down the Shenandoah and Potomac rivers, then circling Harpers Ferry a bit. There are few things that can top the exhilaration and freedom of flying a plane, and there's no way that I'm going to let a little thing like a missing leg keep me from doing this. You can't take the sky from me.

Yippee!

Saturday...

Started out with my morning cowboy movies like always on Saturdays. The one on AMC wasn't that good though, so I watched Burn Notice on USA. It's a rerun, but I love that show--probably one of the few original shows that doesn't rely on sex, violence or other shock material to get and keep it's audience. I don't watch much TV but I can hardly wait for the new season to start July 10th.

My show this morning was interrupted by a deer bolting through the front yard. Lagniappe of course couldn't let that go unchallenged and he vaulted his baby gate at the top of the deck stairs and took off after it through the woods. So I had to go out and get him back, costing me about 15 minutes of the show. Lucky for him it was a rerun.

Went shooting this afternoon and tried out some new .38 Special test loads. I settled on 4.0 grains of Win 231 powder and Winchester small pistol primers pushing Hornady's fantastic 158 grain lead semi-wadcutter hollowpoints. I lack a chronograph but per the load data, they should be flying at a nice 860 feet per second, give or take, and they group tightly enough to overlap from 15 yards and leave one jagged hole on the target. I liked them so much that in between loads of laundry I loaded up another 500 rounds of them for future practice sessions.

I finished the day with a nice run--3.5 miles. It was a little hot tonight but I pushed on and kept going and managed to do it in just under half an hour. Like the song says--I'm getting better all the time.

And in the good news department...

This past Tuesday, an examiner from the Federal Aviation Administration came out to meet me at the local airport, and after a brief but intense fight test, I have been awarded a Statement of Demonstrated Ability (SODA), basically a waiver that allows me to fly with a prosthetic foot. In effect I have been declared safe to operate a small aircraft once again, joining the ranks of prosthetically-enhanced pilots. (Yes, there are more amputee and paraplegic pilots out there than you'd think.) I've still got to get my bi-annual and rental check rides out of the way, but this was by far the biggest hurdle, and my pilot's license now reflects my ability to safely operate all aspects of a single-engined land aircraft to FAA standards, and what's even better, I did it without any special equipment or required modifications to the aircraft, so there are no disability-related restrictions on my license.

Yay, me! One more step on the road back. Flying pictures to resume soon enough.

Ok, so today I took Lagniappe out to Harpers Ferry, stopping at the flea market along the way. Lagniappe likes to walk around the flea market, getting petted and seeing all the other dogs, and I had a mission: I was there to acquire some walkers and wheelchairs for Good Shepherd Caregivers, a local nonprofit that helps area disabled people by providing medical equipment that the people might not otherwise be able to afford. I try to support Good Shepherd because they were there when I needed help a couple of years ago and when I can, I buy used equipment like I know that they need and I donate it. (If you want to help, follow the link...They can alway use more.)

After getting what I could, (and locking my keys in my van, proving again that no good deed goes unpunished) I took Lagniappe to the Ferry. Parking was, as usual, nearly impossible to find, but as luck would have it, I saw a car-sized gap in the middle of a long line of motorcycles. It appeared as if the bikes had backed in in front of and behind a car which had then pulled out. The question now was whether or not I could parallel park my full-sized van in that gap without hitting a bike front or rear. (As a former truck driver, I tend to park by Braille, reasoning that those things on either end of my vehicle are called "bumpers" for a reason.) But bumping a bike is different than bumping a car, truck, or SUV, in that the bikes will topple over, even perhaps to the point of falling against each other like a row of dominoes. That would, of course, be bad. But since they weren't my bikes, I figured I'd give it a try. I love a challenge.

I lined up next to the bikes ahead of the gap and backed into the hole, stopping just short of the bikes behind. I then pulled forward as far as I could to straighten out, then finished up by easing back perfectly into the slot without dinging even one bike. I am THAT good. And as I got out to admire my handiwork, I heard someone's hands clapping from the restaurant balcony above. I looked up and there had to be at least twenty people, all attired in biker leather, watching me over the rail. Two or three actually applauded me, and the rest looked mildly irked. Ah well... I'm the guy with the German Shepherd so it's not like I'm worried. I gave then a rather theatrical bow and took Lagniappe off to the ice cream store.

The ice cream shop is the Swiss Miss store. Best ice cream in the WV/MD/VA area. And Lagniappe is known and loved there, particularly by Sharon, the wonderfully nice lady who is as much a fixture there as is the store. (She actually used to own it before selling it and staying on as an employee.) She always gives Lagniappe an ice cream cone of two, handing it out the window for him to snap up like a shark. (He'll cry until he gets one.) Then we walked down to the conflux of the Potomac and Shenandoah rivers and spent some time talking to tourists and enjoying the view before heading out.

We drove back to the park entrance and I parked my van and grabbed my running foot. As I put it on, I noticed a big abraded spot on the sleeve right over the knee that wasn't there before. Just great...this obviously happened yesterday when Lagniappe tripped me with his toy. Sigh. Fortunately it won't affect the performance but it's definitely noticeable (as if the rest of the leg isn't)and those sleeves aren't free or even cheap.

I hit the road and ran back to the bus turn-around then back to the van again, a distance of 1.2 miles. It was hard towards the end, but I managed to finish without stopping. Again I was reminded that running outdoors for real is harder than just keeping up with a treadmill. But I finished and it's another benchmark on my progression back to where I used to be. If I can do a mile or 1.2 miles now, eventually I'll get up to where I can do a ten-miler or maybe even a whole marathon someday. I'll only know if I keep at it.

Now I'm home, and I'm going to have a shower then a nap on the couch. I think I'll watch a DVD'd episode or two of Torchwood tonight and maybe finish up be taking Lagniappe for a moonlight walk.

Back...

Sorry for being off a few days--it's been one of those weeks.

First I had to miss two days of work last week because suddenly and without any warning at all, my walking foot stopped fitting comfortably and began digging under my kneecap with every step, causing excruciating pain. Worse, by the time that I realized that it was not going to be a minor temporary issue that could be resolved by walking around on it a bit or taking it off and putting it back on again, I was at work. So I had to shelve my day's planned projects and hitch a ride back home again since the buses weren't running so early. I lost that day and the next two waiting to get back in to see the prosthetist so we could figure out what was going on.

One minor adjustment later, I was good to go again. But it was another reminder that the line between "perfectly fitting" and "unusable" is often no greater than a quarter of an inch.

Ironically, the running foot still fit great, so for two days, I could run but I couldn't walk.

And the day after I got the walking foot fixed, I went for a run down in Georgetown--my first "real" (non-treadmill) run. And while I can do a mile and a half on the treadmill no problem, running for real on the ground turned out to be a lot harder, and it was all I could do to go a quarter mile out on the C&O towpath and a quarter mile back after a brief rest. Needless to say, this didn't make me feel any better. I've apparently got more work to do than I'd thought.

Then to cap it off, the next day I went back to the airport for another flight check. I have the plane down good as I used to, but dammit--I can't get on that left brake when taxiing courtesy of this inflexible left foot. Now I have to see if the FAA will grant me a SODA to fly despite this. My argument is of course that the brakes really only come into play on the ground and I can still make wider left turns with rudder only if need be, and my right turns--and my flying--are fine.

So it hasn't exactly been my week last week. But I'm not one for giving up, and when I hit the treadmill this morning before work, I turned in a new best time on the mile run. Still a crummy time compared to my old times, but better than my last best. There's still a lot of potential here. It's just going to take more time.
(Sigh...)

Morning run

OK. It's quarter to five in the morning and I just broke the ten-minute mile for the first time in two years. I'm nowhere near my old pace of 3 miles in 24 minutes but I'm getting back. Today was just another step in that direction.

Now if you'll excuse me, I need to go collapse. I'm spent.

But I did it nonetheless.

Now I gotta get ready for work.

Running once again

And not for office...actual running.

Those of you who've been with this blog for a while know that I'm missing a foot and part of a leg courtesy of an on-the-job accident not quite two years ago courtesy of a woman driver who wasn't paying attention. Well it's spun me into a different vocational path but it hasn't curtailed my drive to get back to what I was before--a motorcycle rider, small plane pilot, distance runner and street cop. I don't post about it much these days, mainly due to a stalker from my police days who found this blog after tracking to this site from some posts I put on a website for folks with disabilities shortly after the accident. To my shame, I reacted by pulling from this site any references to my injury and recovery and I was wrong to do so because I know that there are others out there who lose limbs or otherwise suffer debilitating injures and search the internet to find others who've been where they now find themselves. I haven't been available to those people for a while now and that's not right. Screw the stalker. I know he's still around and in due time I will name him and tell the whole story but for now I'm just going to go on talking about new milestones in my recovery because it is a source of pride for me and possible inspiration to other people in a similar situation.

A couple of weeks ago, I finally got a good running foot made and fitted. It took a while because they have to be custom made and they're non-adjustable--the height and alignment have to be perfect, and I mean within half an inch or so. The first week-end I had it, I took it out to a local high school and tried to run with it on their track. But alas, I hadn't run in almost two years and I couldn't even make a quarter mile before I had to stop. This was not what I'd expected as I used to run 3-5 miles per day.

But after taking time to mull it over, I realized that I'd tried to run too far and too fast and that there was no way that I could start out at or near my old pace, especially with a totally new and different foot that still needed a bit of final tweaking. So I had the foot re-shaped a bit by my prosthetist and I started out a bit slower, using the treadmill in the Lair. Now this treadmill has been sitting idle for almost two years, serving as little more than a coat rack and basically mocking me. However I passed up opportunities to sell it because I knew that as long as it was still here, eventually I'd be back to running on it. And now I am. I started out with a slow quarter-mile and I've been on it every day before going to work, each day going for a little more distance and a little faster pace. After two weeks, I'm back up to a mile and a half, although my pace is pretty sad at an eleven-minute mile. (I used to run eights and could keep that pace up for a while.) But I am on the way back and I'm already looking at running in a ten-mile race this coming fall. I'm also going for my FAA medical exam and starting the process to regain my pilot's license. Hell, if Douglas Bader could fly fighters with two metal legs back in World War Two, there's no reason that I can't fly a simple Cessna with just one much more modern one today. My preliminary medical exam is Wednesday.

It's a long road back, but I'm well on the way.

Oh--and I will be buying another motorcycle one of these days too. I still haven't ridden one out to California and back like I've always wanted to. Maybe I'll even get a sidecar for Lagniappe so he can come too.

Got hosed on the Law and Order gig.

Sadly this did not work out as planned.

Monday came and went without a call, so obviously they'd chosen other people for the spot. Ah well...

However last night at about 6:30PM, they call me up and tell me that one of the people that they had chosen in lieu of me had canceled and could I possibly be in New York City by 8AM this morning?

Now my plan had been to drive up early Tuesday and enjoy an afternoon and evening in NYC before doing this on Wednesday. That mini-outing would have justified the 600 mile round-trip drive. But the idea of starting out at dusk and driving through the night just to be there first thing in the morning wasn't nearly as attractive, especially with weather forecasts calling for heavy rain in NYC all day today and tonight. effectively denying me any ability to enjoy the city after filming, so reluctantly I had to decline. Pity, because Tuesday night was beautiful with temps in the high 70's and it would have been a great evening to wander around Manhattan. As one of the relatively few people allowed to carry a handgun in New York City, I actually enjoy strolling in Central Park after dark. And I've yet to tire of the Broadway lights. It's nice to be able to sit on a bench and read a book by the light of all the advertising signs. Plus Lagniappe's never been there and I think that he'd have liked it.

Now if they'd called me when they'd initially said that they would and given me enough time, this could have been lots of fun. And of course I'm sure that once they saw me, there would have been a new Law and Order spin-off of the show in the works undoubtedly featuring me as the no-nonsense, dashingly-handsome BKA cop who solves crimes while saying things like: "Time to put on my ass-kicking foot."

So it goes...

This is it...my big chance

I was perusing a discussion forum for amputees the other day when I saw a posting announcing that the people who film the TV show Law and Order are looking for some amputee extras to star in an upcoming episode. Well darn it, I qualify for that. So I e-mailed the people and they e-mailed and called back asking for pictures of me. I sent them several--most with Lagniappe in them because every time I set my camera up on timer and took up my pose, he wandered into the frame just before the camera went off.

Well they just called me back a few hours ago and told me that they'd gotten the pictures and that they'd let me know by Monday if I was going to get the part. If selected, I have to be in NYC on Wednesday. But that's cool--I haven't been to New York in a while and it could be a fun trip.

it could also be my big break. You see, I'm sure that once I'm on the set, I'll get discovered and wind up with a contract to go to Hollywood, where I'll star as leading man in many action movies and wind up with numerous stunningly attractive leading ladies and starlets pursuing me. Heck, John Wayne and Humphrey Bogart are gone, Clint Eastwood's gotten soft, and Chuck Norris is getting old. It's time for a new action hero...one who stands tall, talks straight, and punches or shoots dozens of bad guys, all while using a prosthetic leg. I will get a really cool new signature line, like: "Don't make me take this foot off and go upside your head with it."

Yeah, if all goes well, this time next year I'll be living in Malibu with Hollywood's hottest actresses mud-wrestling in my front yard for the privilege of starring in my next picture and cooking my breakfast every morning. Someone please tell Traci Bingham and Halle Berry that I like my eggs over easy and my bacon crispy...

What a week...Drinking, shooting, WALKING!!!

All right. Back again. I apologize for the lack of updates this week to both this site and The Shekel, but Aaron, creator of The Shekel was here visiting all week and neither of us managed any site updates. But I dropped him at Dulles International Airport a while ago and as I write this, he's on his way to Toronto where he's undoubtedly going to catch hell for missing the flight that he was supposed to have been on. That's my fault though. If I hadn't insisted that we bring those two strippers back here last night we'd have been able to get up on time to allow him to catch that flight.

Uh, if Aaron's lovely and understanding wife Natasha should actually read this, I'm kidding about those strippers. We did not bring them home. Uh... I mean we didn't even go see any, Tash. Honest. Two nice guys like us would never even consider such a thing.

What we did do, however, was knock out a lot of pre-winter projects that I had lined up here. We stripped and painted my last deck, did some heavy grocery shopping, and got lots of other things done that I quite frankly needed a bit of help with.

We also went to the gym every day to work out, (Hooray! I finally found someone younger than 60 who is in worse shape than me!) we shot a couple of times, we visited a few Civil War battlefields, and we drank lots of beer and watched a lot of violent movies, critiquing the weapons-handing, military tactics and any legal arguing in all of them. In other words, we just did the guy thing for a week. (Except for the strippers, Tash. Honest...)


But the best news of the week was that I actually started WALKING again without crutches! Serious Yay for me!!

Let's deal with the walking first.

I got the new foot last Friday, but it was very rigid and heavy, and my leg wasn't terribly keen on my putting my full weight on it. I had to continue to use my crutches with it, but I was still grateful because I could move a lot faster and easier than without it and it was another step on the long road back.

Saturday was no big deal--I used it to get to the airport to pick Aaron up. Sunday we went out for breakfast, and as I stood up to pay, I was struck with a massive lower leg cramp in that leg. (Just imagine the worst Charley Horse that you've ever had...) And since I could not just stretch the foot and make it go away, I had to just grit my teeth and ride it out. Two more hit me at church that morning, but I still insisted on going to the gym. There, as I worked through my exercise regimen, they started up again and grew so severe that I had to quit and remove the foot immediately. And Monday I couldn't even get the foot back on due to the swelling. But my prostetist suggested that this might be caused by muscle strain due to the foot pulling at the leg muscles while I'm seated and he recommended that when I sit down, I should try releasing the foot's locking mechanism to take the tension off. I began following that advise Tuesday and I haven't had any further problems with it.

But Wednesday... That was Walking Day! Neither my prostetist nor I expected me to be walking on this temporary foot, but as Aaron and I were leaving the gym Wednesday, I decided to show off for the physical therapists there by holding my crutches off the ground and taking a couple of unsupported steps. As I lurched forward and took a step, something just clicked and two steps became three, and it didn't hurt. Three steps became four, then five, and not wanting to stop, I kept moving forward in a straight line right on out the door for another thirty feet until I reached my Jeep, where the leg finally gave out. Damn! First time on two feet since August 3rd. No one was more surprised than me. Thanks, God!

Thursday was even better. We went to Gettysburg National Military Park and I tried some more walking. I hobbled around a bit, with a gait resembling that of Frankenstein's monster, but it was good. And then I saw the tower.



It was an observation tower intended to let people see the panorama of the battlefield, and I just knew that I had to climb it. I looked at that tower and knew that it was going to be a tough one, but I couldn't just drive on and not do it. Leaving my crutches behind, I headed for the stairs with aron close behind, telling me not to overdo it. Yeah, like I've ever listened before when anyone's given me that good advice...
Using both rails, I took it one step at a time. Up, up, up we went. Slowly and with great exertion as the new foot not only doesn't have any muscles to help, but it's heavy and has to be lifted by the other leg. That tower has 121 steps and I'm proud to report that I made it all the way to the top, dripping with sweat and puffing like a vintage steam train. And Damn, it felt good!

I did one more strenuous walk a bit later, walking up the fairly steep and uneven trail that led to the Little Round Top position. This gave me a chance to try walking on soft earth, grass and rocks as well as asphalt. I also learned that it's easier with this foot to walk UP hills than to walk down them. And I was pretty much spent after those two short walks. It's definitely going to be a long walk back to where I was before, but I overcame these challenges and there's nothing going to stop me from going the rest of the way.

Again, Thank you, God. With Your help, I'm going to make it back.

I put Lagniappe to work today

So since it was a beautiful morning, I took Lagniappe and went down to Harpers Ferry for a bit. Of course he had to make a dog bee-line for the Swiss Miss ice cream shop on Potomac Street where he always gets a soft-serve ice cream cone. He was so excited at being back there (he hasn't been there in over a month) that he kept jumping up on the counter and thrusting his head in the customer service window until he got his cone, which he grabbed from the nice lady there and wolfed down in seconds. Then I took Lagniappe over to the John Brown engine house and he assumed his regular sopt inside on the floor, exactly where he used to lay when I'd taken him here so many times before. I loved to read my books--Twain, Steinbeck, Bradbury, etc.--while sitting on the faux rifle crates inside, taking breaks from my reading to talk to any tourists who popped inside and expressed any interest at all in the story of John Brown (or as I call him, "America's first terrorist") or the local area. Then I took my mutt to the river. Rolling my wonderful wheelchair up the hill to the footbridge across the Potomac, (Yes I still have this accursed thing until I can get cleared for crutches) I let Lagniappe get out in front of me on his leash and just for fun I yelled: "Ya mule! Giddyup!" To my surprise and delight, he began pulling and my chair began rolling and Lagniappe actually pulled me clear across the bridge. I quickly learned how to use his leash to steer my chair so that I did not hit the fencing on either side, and we went all the way across and then back again. This was great--free dog motive power and he maintained a nice steady pace that was the equivallent of a fast walk. Then since he did so well, I put him to more hauling down in town, letting him pull me up and down the sidewalk a few more times as I shouted out "Ya, Ya! Gee-up!" and tourists looked on and laughed. There were a few snags, like when he pulled my over some rough rocks and nearly dumped me out of the chair, and the time that he saw another dog and got distracted for a few seconds, but all-in-all, he did well and I recommend dog power for others with wheelchairs. It was great to finally find a use for this canine and besides being fun it let him work off some of those ice cream calories.

And so on...

It took a week to get out of the hospital per se. After a week (with one extra day added because Workman's Comp. / Dept. of Labor dropped the ball) I was transferred from the hospital to the rehab center across the street. This was a major improvement as my room was bigger and the food was better, even if the nursing staff seemed a bit less professional and much slower to respond. I had and could use a wheelchair to get around by myself by this time and I soon began what they called "physical therapy" sessions, otherwise known as: "Ve haf vays of making you talk!". Here, some cute but sadistic young ladies spent a few hours each day making me stretch and walk (with a walker since my fractured wrist ruled out crutches) and do all sorts of other exercises obviously intended to test the limits of my pain tolerance even with max. pain drugs on board. But every day it got a bit easier, and every day I got better, stronger and faster. I spent two more weeks there working and healing and finally I was released three weeks to the day after the original crash. And much to my surprise, when I rolled out the hospital's front door, there was a line of over two dozen officers from my department waiting at attention and they saluted me and gave my full honors as I rolled to the SUV that was going to take me away. The SUV was also my department's and they were going to take me home but there was a detour planned. With a police motorcycle escort, they drove me to the hospital's helipad where my department helicopter was waiting. They then flew me to a municipal picnic that was taking place a short distance away, and I found out that I was one of the guests of honor. It was damned nice and many of my co-workers were there. I also had my first beer in three weeks--and that was great.
After about an hour, I was starting to tire so they drove me back to my house. I guess that I'd thought that it would feel good to be back in my own home again, but that's when reality really set in hard. I suddenly realized all of the things that I couldn't just simply do any more, and it dawned on me just how restricted I was going to be with the wheelchair for a bit, and I had a rough few days. But for the most part I'm past that now too, and I've started going out in public for brief trips to the store, or to eat, but that's taking some getting used to as well.I'm not sure what's worse--the kids who won't stop starting at my leg or the adults who are a little too nice and who often hold doors or talk to me while avoiding making eye contact. But this too shall pass when I get my new foot. And it won't be long. It also got better when Lagniappe came back the next day after I'd gotten home. I'd missed him terribly while in the hospital and it was good to have him back. He was a bit standoffish at first when he got out of the car and he didn't come over to see me like I'd expected. He just went to his favorite spot on the landing and lay down. He was probably miffed that he'd been sent away for a few weeks and he took it out on me by deliberately ignoring me for a bit, but that night he came up to me as I lay on the couch and handed my his most treasured stuffed whale--a toy that before this, neither I nor any other person had ever been allowed to touch. He put it on my stomach and backed away and I took it as a sign that all was good between us again.

The saga continued

Being in the hospital as a new amputee was tough. I had to learn so much again--even how to sit up. You have no idea how important a foot and lower leg is to overall balance until suddenly one's not there. And of course there was all of the other pain associated with being hit broadside by a car and crashing into it's windshield enroute to the pavement. There wasn't a part of me that didn't ache, and I was on heavy meds--initailly a demand pump that would let me hit myself with the drugs but no more than once every ten minutes. And I was wearing that button out the first few days. The first day that a therapist came in and worked with me, all we did was sit up and put my legs over the edge of the bed. Doing that and laying back down was enough to have me shaking and wringing with sweat and I know that they heard me well down the hall. But the next day I did something new and the stuff that had nearly killed me the day before wasn't as hard to repeat.

When not surrounded by visitors or asleep from the drugs, I had time to contemplate and my thoughts turned to why this happened, what could have happened, and what was going to happen from here on. I realized that God had kept me from being killed instantly in what I knew should have been a fatality accident. I'd seen the results of enough accidents like mine as a police officer and former paramedic to know that. The fact that I was still alive told me that God had some use for me yet--a reason for keeping me alive. I have no idea what, but there's got to be a reason. And I prayed and told Him that I understood this and I asked Him to guide me in the right direction when I got out of the hospital. And my faith in God's watchfulness and His plan for me really kept me from getting depressed and losing myself in self-pity. It was a comfort even there in the hospital to know that He was there. Some of you might find this crazy, but others who know God will know what I'm talking about.

Aside from family and cops, I had a couple of visitors who really helped me out. The first was a Marine named Adam. A year ago he'd been badly injured in Iraq by a roadside bomb, resulting in the loss of his foot similar to my own, serious damage to his other leg, and the loss of his arm at the shoulder. Now here it was a year later and he was moving around great on a prosthetic foot--just back from a waterskiing trip and having another foot made for downhill skiing. His was the first prosthetic I'd ever really had a chance to see and he made it look so simple to put on and use. And he told me that compared to losing the arm, the foot was nothing. It really helped put things in perspective, and it was good for me to hear how well I could expect to come back from another amputee. Until this time, everyone who had been telling me about how well I'd walk with a new floor were people who had two real feet.

I also had a visit from Bill, a former local cop who'd lost his leg above the knee while on duty. He'd not only returned to his job but made it back onto the SWAT team in 7 months. This really bouyed my, but not as much as hearing how he'd retired from the police department later and become a minister at a DC church. His faith was strong and it suggested that I was on the right track with my own. The visits from both of these guys did wonders for me.