Learning to Love Yourself; Again - A Talk with Amanda Sullivan

How many times can a person be knocked down and still get up? Can the human spirit weather storm after storm and remain dauntless in the face of continued adversity? Thirty-five year old New York City native Amanda Sullivan believes so. Actually, she knows it. Why? Because she has decided that it can.

During the final days of 2008, Amanda had just returned from Mexico to spend time with family for the holidays. She had been an aid worker for almost ten years throughout most of Latin America, and was helping to prepare the opening of a new shelter in the following months. She never expected to be the accidental victim in two separate accidents which would leave her with traumatic brain injury and permanent loss of the use of her right leg, along with with many other incidental injuries. She never expected to find herself surrounded once again by demons from the past that she had exorcised by helping others. She could either succumb to her emotional and physical battles, or rise above and conquer. To do this though she would have to learn to love herself all over again. It would begin by seeing her own smile.

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So how is the weather there this morning?

It’s gorgeous! The snow is melting and it feels like at least fifty degrees, maybe even warmer.

Nice! Where do you live in New York City?

Manhattan to be exact; Tribeca to be even more exact, [laughs] a few blocks from the World Trade Center.

How long have you lived there?

I was born in New York City and grew up between here and Jersey, about thirteen miles west of Manhattan.

Okay, so you're truly "home."

Yes!

What drew you to your earlier humanitarian pursuits?

When I was growing up, my Mom was the head of our local Red Cross Chapter. My father dressed up (and still dresses up) as Santa during the holidays and visits dozens of orphanages, shelters & nursing homes. We used to go with him to holiday parties and stay to hang out, especially with the children after the parties would end. I realized that the kids in those shelters were just like me, except for whatever reasons they had ended up with no home or family to love them. I wanted to do something to change that.

You sounded very grounded and insightful for such a young age. Not many people would have benefited from those experiences in the way that you did.

My dad was a big gun on Wall Street and was doing amazing things. He got caught up in "the scene", however, which was cocaine.

That's an odd twist I didn’t see coming...I know this was many years ago, but let me ask, is this public knowledge. I won’t print if it’s not…

You can print this. Most people don’t know, but now they will. His addiction took control, and it took everything superficial that we had. We wore donated clothes and thankfully came from a community which picked us up when we needed it the most. I saw the extreme disparity between the "haves" and "have-nots" at a very young age. I saw how people treated us differently and watched my Mom cry herself to sleep at night.

Observations dearly bought, and such a credit to you to be able to reflect upon those times in a positive light –definitely a tough transition for your family.

And unfortunately for me, all the parties brought less than admirable people to my house when I was little. I was sexually abused from about the age of seven until around the start of high school.

That is…horrible. I have difficulty comprehending situations like that. Were you able to turn to anyone? And I know you are very faith-based…did that come into play at all?

I used to pray to God at night to please get me out of this situation and out of this hell. I made a promise with Him that if he could help my heart to stay the same and help this to end, I would dedicate my life to ensuring that no other child would have to cry herself to sleep at night. Both of my grandmothers and my grandfather have always been spiritual rocks for me. I was extremely blessed to have my Nana, my mom’s mom, living with us since the day my twin brother and me were born.

That’s truly a blessing to have had that spiritual foundation.

When we were at rock bottom, economically, my Nana taught me life lessons that I will never forget. My Nana showed me through example that we can move mountains within a person's soul just by tapping into the wealth which exists within our hearts. She had a calendar filled up with the birthdays, anniversaries, and the important dates to remember of all of her widowed friends –little grannies who never received visits or calls from their own families, and who were in desperate need of love and attention. When my siblings and I finished our homework, my Nana would let us chose one of her friends off the calendar and then make cards, cakes, brownies, cookies, or just pick flowers for her. The joy and light this showered onto their souls made my own heart feel light and happy again. Who says that you need lots of time and money to change someone's day for the better? It didn't matter what had happened the night before, because I knew that the following afternoon would surely be filled with smiles. I began making cards for the little grandmas late at night when there was a fight erupting down stairs and began focusing on the positive blessings which surrounded my life. I found my escape and a true serenity through these simple things.

I’m speechless at how beautiful all of that is. And it is so beautifully ironic, to be able to bring comfort, forged out of your own tribulations. And again, especially at such a young age…

Every day I meet people who tell me that one person can't make a difference. Although that might sound cliché, I truly know that one person can make all the difference in a person's world. To this day, I can recall the faces of people who smiled at me, gave me twenty-five cents in front of the super market, or handed me a new-looking hand-me-down t-shirt.

You're absolutely right. Too many times we are all too ignorant of how much of an impact we can make on someone’s life from just a single interaction. Is your Nana still with you, or has she passed?

My Nana passed away when I was en route to study abroad in Costa Rica while in college. Even though she was in perfect health, she made me promise before I left for the airport that I wouldn't come home if anything happened to her. She insisted that she would “be with me every step of the way in Costa Rica.” I said, "I know, Nana! You'll be thinking of me, and we'll write letters and talk on the phone." And she said, "No, Mandy. I will be with you." Needless to say, my heart broke into a million pieces when she passed away. I have really felt her absence greatly in the last few years especially, but I know she is my guardian angel and protecting me in every way possible.

You spoke of your twin brother, and I was reading where he had been very protective of you leading up to the Mid-Atlantic Super Spartan. I assume you still have a very close relationship with him?

I am really close to all of my siblings. I have an older sister, Kelley, a twin brother, Ryan, and a baby brother, Teddy. We have a pseudo-brother named Phil who was never actually adopted but pretty much grew up in my house, and I love him just the same as any of my other brothers. Phil is the same age as Ryan and me.

Did everyone "make it out" relatively well, with all that happened in your household as children?

I was the only one who was abused, thankfully. It took many, many years of therapy to work through everything that happened to me. But, ultimately, these situations molded me into the person I am today. I learned lessons from adversity and realize how common sexual abuse is. I also realize how fortunate I am to come from a community with resources and loving neighbors, and most importantly, how fortunate I am to come from such a solid and loving family. My experiences growing up led me into the mission work I was doing in college and after graduation. Eventually, I became an aid worker, specifically working with orphans, refugees, and abused women and children. The shelters I ran were almost completely made up of children who had been sexually-trafficked, raped, tortured, and abused. I was so blessed to have parents who loved me and to have my Nana by my side. Most people do not have that. It was an honor to pass on the lessons I learned, and in turn, those children taught me lessons I would have otherwise never learned about life, love, hope and perseverance.

Can you tell me a little more about your father?

My Pops has been clean and sober since March of 1988, when I was in the fifth grade. In fact, he came out of rehab on Saint Patty's Day. If an Irish alcoholic/addict can stay sober in the streets of New York City on Saint Patrick's Day, then he can surely stay sober every other day of the year, too! [laughs] When my Pops came out of rehab he swallowed his pride and was willing to do whatever it took to pick my family back up. He started at rock bottom but was never too proud to do what had to be done to correct his wrongdoings. After a series of small jobs my father finally landed a job as a limo driver, taxiing around many of my friends' families. Presently, my father is more successful than ever before. He also saves lives with his success story against drugs and alcohol. My mom also struggled with her own addiction. We had an intervention on my mom during my senior year in high school, because she was drinking two bottles of wine every night. I am forever inspired by my mom for accepting her problem and doing everything she had to do to keep us together as a family. My mom was a warrior during my father's addiction, but even heroes need to take time for their selves every now and then. Both of my parents are healthier and happier than ever before, and I thank God daily for giving them the strength they needed to remain sober. Watching my Mom and Dad defeat the demons which were enslaving them taught me more life lessons than having grown up in another environment ever could have.

You truly know what it is to be able to take the worst of situations and count your blessings. It’s amazing how healing can come about through such trials and tribulations –so incredibly proverbial.

Todd has always said, "I would much rather lose fifty percent of my blessings and be one hundred percent aware of them, than to have all of my blessings and never even know."

Yes! That is definitely golden! Now your involvement in sports when you were younger...do you look back and see it as a coping mechanism?

Yes, I come from a long-line of athletes and both of my parents were always very athletic. My father was actually running marathons during his addiction –which is pretty impressive now that I think about it. He was always a coach for our teams. When he was getting sober he lived in an apartment in New York City, while we were in Jersey, and we could only see him if we had a game. After a while we realized that if we got onto the traveling sports teams then we would have two games a week.

Thus seeing him more, right?

Right, and then it turned into wanting to be awesome when he saw us, so we could make him proud. So, between my brothers and sister and me, we had some good competitive drive. We all wanted to be the best and have the most assists or even score the game-winning goal, shot, or touchdown. We even used to dribble basketballs to school in the morning. [laughs]

That's pretty clever; I would dare say that otherwise purposed dedication ultimately molded all of your athleticism.  Sports seem to have been a huge part of your life...

During my senior year in high school, I was captain of Varsity field hockey, basketball and lacrosse and had been on a summer swim and tennis team since the age of five. I was also president of my church youth group, president of my high school Varsity Club, secretary of my senior class, secretary of the Irish Club, and involved in pretty much every kind of "helping hands" club that helped the less fortunate. Being a part of so many activities helped boost my self esteem while reminding me of all the goodness in the world. I felt like I had turned the tides on my own adversity. Looking back I realize how important these activities are to children and teens. They were my therapy and helped keep me strong and healthy in mind, body and soul.

After you began doing work in other countries, surely your athletic activities and pursuits diminished, but were you ever able to find time to get out and do anything?

Oh no, I was even more athletic in my travels [laughs]

Oh, really?

I was helping to build homes, always walking everywhere, teaching teams of little girls from the neighborhoods including the ones from my shelters how to play sports, I ran about six to nine miles a day, was always carrying heavy things, holding babies, and sometimes carrying people to where they needed to go. Then, when I lived near the ocean I would take every opportunity to swim, surf, build sandcastles, and run on the beach as the sun set.

That is such an ideal from another time and place –an athlete being an integral and functional part of a community. Sadly, it seems so culturally abstract in this country.

I truly loved what I was doing. I had healed from my own spiritual wounds and my mind, body and soul were in perfect harmony. My favorite time was the four years I spent in Yucatan, Mexico. I ran an orphanage for little girls, ages six through fourteen, and taught Spanish re-enforcement classes to children who speak Mayan in the villages. I also used to make money by schooling macho men on the basketball court. They saw me as a smiley, bubbling, ditzy Gringa, so I would just laugh and play along and challenge them to a shooting contest. Obviously the whole barrio would come out to see what was about to happen. Obviously those dudes had no idea that I was awesome at shooting contests [laughs], so I would beat them, get some pesos to buy my girls ice pops, and most importantly, show everyone that women can do just as many things as men, if not better. One thing that really crushes people when they get injured or very sick is the feeling that they didn't take full advantage of every opportunity to live fully. I was very fortunate to have been able to follow my heart and take the road less traveled. By living on less than a dollar a day in my travels, I was able to meet some of the most beautiful people in the world. I learned countless lessons about how to smile in the face of adversity from the very people who left their footprints on my heart. I was in a beautiful place spiritually and was extremely inspired, motivated, and driven when my first accident happened. I never wasted a day and knew that the light in our souls define us; not what we look like, how much money we make, or how we get from one place to another. I knew that a person can be disabled by chance, but you can be enabled by choice.

I love that last line. All too often when people are at their lowest, rather than rising up they wallow in their despair and want to point a finger at others. Do you want to get back to Central/South America?

Latin America is not an accessible place. I missed my loved ones in Mexico so much, but I didn't want to go back and visit and not be able to get from point A to point B. I also didn't want the children to worry about me or see me "broken" spiritually. They pay attention to the light in a person's smile and eyes, and I knew it would crush them if I went back to visit before I was one hundred percent whole again spiritually. It's crazy how life works. First I helped heal their wounds, and then they healed mine. Being able to go back to Mexico to visit and to be strong enough to pick up babies and bend down and hug people and to crutch or wheel through villages is the main driving point in all of my physical therapy.

By saying “visit”, do you intend to resume any sort of work there?

Todd and I want to go down to Mexico and visit disabled children in public orphanages. Down there if you are quote-unquote, disabled, often times you just get dumped in a shelter. If you're lucky, in many places you may sleep on a slab of cardboard. Mobility aids are non-existent. We are so fortunate in the U.S. to have access to the internet and to be able to see stories of people overcoming extreme adversity --whether it's a comeback from a life-threatening illness, or obesity, or an abusive relationship, or a terrible accident, we can find those stories and be inspired by their courage and light. In many countries, however, once you become disabled physically, you are deemed worthless and useless. So, Todd and I are going to visit all my favorite places in Mexico, and most importantly, visit these children who are all alone. We want them to see that just because bad things happen to you, doesn't mean that you still don't have worth. And, just because you may have some physical challenges, doesn't mean that you can't be epic and awesome in your own way. We want to see what the need is for mobility aids and then come back stateside and funnel resources and mobility aids to these children. Both Todd and I realize how fortunate we are to have access to the mobility aids, braces, and equipment that we need to be as mobile and badass as we dream to be, and we want to ensure that other children have this ability as well.

Are there charities that you can use to as a vehicle to funnel funds for mobility aids, or are you working at setting up your own? I'm sure the infrastructure and coordination would be unbelievable…

There are great charities around, but unfortunately, I learned while I was away that so many charities mismanage funds, and often times, very little of the actual donations make it to the intended recipients. Down the road, it will be much easier to actually be the ones in control of the funds, so we can ensure that one hundred percent of them are going to the right person or persons. Our own NGO is definitely something in the plans for the future.

How often do you do physical therapy right now?

I have been doing about four to six hours of physical therapy, about five days a week, for four years. I was still using a wheelchair when, in June of 2012, I joined the New York Sports Club, an able-bodied gym, and completely took my life and my recovery into my own hands. I felt really awkward when I first wheeled my way into the gym. It felt like the "oontz oontz" music stopped and everyone was looking at me, wondering what I was doing there. I knew that I could stand if I leaned on something, so I made my way to the treadmill. I had it on the lowest speed, and everyone was watching. I took a step with my good leg, my left leg and then picked up my body by holding onto the sidebars and swinging my hips as hard as I could, which in turn flung my right leg forward. I was putting all of my weight on my arms and shoulders, so my right leg flopped onto the treadmill, but I don't even know if it actually touched. Then, I took another solid step with my left leg and BOOM! I just took steps on a treadmill!

Wow! That's so awesome!

There were trainers helping me too. I stayed at that gym for hours that day. I think I may have walked two tenths of a mile, but you would have thought I had won an Olympic Gold Medal! It was a really unbelievably awesome accomplishment: I realized that I could go farther on a treadmill than on my crutches, because I didn't have the carpal tunnel problems, and it didn't hurt my back the way crutching on land does. I also started seeing me getting toned again. I realized that I would no longer remember the anniversaries of my accidents. So, the real “alive day” for me was the day I joined the gym, because that's the day I finally let my heart take the wheel. Inspiration became my motivation.

So you really came out of the accidents swinging then…

Well…I hit a really dark patch during from winter of 2009 into the summer of 2010.

So this was right after the accidents?

About a year after my accidents. I was hearing that I would never run again, that my days of being an aid worker were over with, I was in a wheelchair, trapped in lawsuits, and I thought I had worked through everything bad associated with being abused…but when you have traumatic brain injuries, you lose your ability to filter and sort through emotions…so, things that I had compartmentalized and were just lying dormant in the back of my mind, came out one hundred percent. It felt like a cruel joke, because I had been a good person and had risen above what happened to me when I was younger, and had been using it to help other people going through extreme adversity…but all of the sudden my body had been taken from me again. Men I didn't know came out of nowhere and crushed me in my accidents. I found myself back in the same exact room I had been abused in, on bed rest for months and months and months…

I hadn’t considered that side-effect of  brain injury. I can’t imagine the anguish of revisiting the abuse…

So many of the same emotions flooded out and engulfed me. I felt disgusting, dirty, and worthless. I couldn't even look at myself in the mirror.

Was it a "Why God? Why me?" situation? With the filter gone...how does one rationalize all of it? Who did you turn to?

Yes, I felt like, “What’s the point in living?” I felt like no matter what I did, I was going to be in that same room, voiceless, with no one to help me again, because even with therapy and surgeries, certain injuries may not heal. I felt that if I was back there all over again with everything that I had done and who I had become taken from me…then I just wanted to end my life. In the past, I could go for a run or a walk, but I was just trapped in my bed with emotions that felt like they were slicing my soul into pieces. I didn't want to talk about it because then it would be even more real and no one could help me. I couldn't even help me.

How did life progress after you those months of bed rest?

I dated a guy who, after meeting his parents and having dinner with them, told him that "he deserved better than a crippled girl" and that "he was obviously settling for someone who is going to be handicapped forever." I didn't know who the person was that everyone saw me as; what I did see I hated. It was confusing because I knew who I was, and I had done amazing things and lived a beautiful life in the years before my accidents –and then, all of the sudden in public people only saw my chair or crutches. I never imagined how cruel people could be.

How did you finally turn things around? Was it therapy?

I realized that I needed to focus on what made me happy and simply avoid anything that could hurt me. I went into survival mode and thought about all the things I would do when I was better. I made a Hope Board; a poster board filled with post-it notes. Each note had a dream or goal of mine written on it. The point of this was to always see what I was working towards, to always remember the bigger picture, and to keep my eyes on the prize. I started doing random acts of kindness for people, even from my bedside, and instantly felt better! I realized that even though my body was broken, my soul was intact. Doing nice things for other people removed me from my own situation and made me feel like the old me. After awhile, I realized that if I started learning lessons every day, even if it was a bad day, then I was blessed. I started to thank the universe for both the good and the bad. I started to tap into the warrior inside of me. I started to fight as hard for my own recovery as I would for someone else’s. I started to love myself again.

So after time, were you finally just able to reflect on your own and realize that it was the traumatic brain injury that had broken down your coping mechanisms and had brought the emotional trauma back?

I was seeing a neuropsychologist who so happened to specialize in dual traumas. I actually didn't see him until about a year later when I had pulled myself out of the hole. The suicide percent rate is in the upper nineties experts think for victims of sexual abuse who have Traumatic Brain Injury.

That’s a frightening statistic…

He told me he wants me to travel to conferences with him with my testimony to try to help people who are trapped in that dark place. I had tried to find resources online, but it was only victims of sexual abuse or TBI. I started meeting women who had been abused and now have breast cancer and their feelings were the same as mine were in that dark place.

Is it possible to say that you've recovered from your brain injury? Or does is affect you on a day to day basis?

No, I am not recovered from my TBI. That's what affects me the most. I get migraines every day, I lose my sight, I throw up from the vertigo –it’s really the worst. I wouldn't wish it upon anyone.

I learned something really important over the last few years. At the end of our lives, I believe that all of our pain is the same. If you were to look at my life five years ago I was on top of the world. You would never know what I had been through or what I would go through. Or if you saw my friend Matty on Sept 10th, 2001, he was on top of the world and had everything going for him. Matty worked for Cantor Fitz and didn't make it out of the towers on 9/11. If you looked at Todd four years ago, he was also on top of the world. If you were to visit him three years ago in the hospital after he stepped on an IED and lost both legs and part of one arm, you would think his life was over. Now if you look at Todd, he is back on top of the world and so am I. The difference is that most people's biggest wounds cannot be seen because they only scar the soul. What differentiates one life from another however is what you do with that pain? Do you use it to belittle, hurt, and put down others? Or, do you use it to uplift, inspire and better others?

Oh most definitely. I believe that emotional pain is energy that can be harnessed and used positively…

Exactly! I think this life is simply a graduate school for our souls. We are all tested in various ways, every day, and as long as we continually learn lessons from adversity…

Unbreakable, right?

Then NOTHING can break you…

Aha!

YES! Jinx! [laughs]

That was coincidental!

Nothing is coincidental!

Very true!

By recognizing that everyone is fighting their own battle on any given day, we should learn to treat others with kindness, compassion, and love. Use your pain to lessen someone else's even if you don't know what their battle is. I believe we are all here to teach and to learn.

Your ideals are very transcendental, and as I look around in our society, sadly, they seem very foreign. However, they are in your case long-learned…

Well, my biggest battle was one of forgiveness. I started by forgiving the people who abused me and by forgiving anyone who maybe didn't help me when I needed it back then. There is a quote: "Hate is too big of a burden to bear.” Then I forgave the elderly man who ran me over. I realized that I cannot truly heal if I am holding onto darkness and negative energy. Then I forgave the guy from my first accident, which was a lot harder to do than forgiving the man who ran me over. Finally, and perhaps the most difficult, was forgiving the wife of the man who ran me over.

The wife?

She was there that day and tried to stuff me into her car and pay me twenty dollars to not call the police. He was overly medicated and should never have been behind the wheel. she was younger than him, in her sixties perhaps, and just not ideal in any way. I learned about her character, because I was trapped in lawsuits with her and read all of the witness reports. I felt sick to my stomach every time someone asked me about my accidents, not because of the accidents so much as that I had to think of her. Letting go of that anger and hurt was liberating. In fact, I actually finally let go of all of that darkness while in the mountains of Wintergreen, during the Virginia Super Spartan in August.

I read your blog about that day. You clearly seemed to emerge from a spiritual chrysalis…

I do not want any negative situation to define me. I define me. Baggage is not cool. Plus, how the heck am I supposed to dominate the tractor pull with additional baggage from a lifetime of hurts?? The answer is simple: I could not.

The lawsuits are over now?

Yes. There were two huge lawsuits. I didn't give up even though the defense dragged them out for as long as possible –which felt violating in every way. It made healing very difficult, because you are constantly being pulled back into the past and into the darkness. But, I won big-time, which was therapeutic for my old wounds from the past, because for the first time ever someone had hurt me and had to own up to it.

Good. Good for you. Is that part then over for you? I mean...do you finally have a sense of resolve?

I learned to accept the apologies I will never receive; a massive life lesson I’ve learned from all of this.

That's an interesting statement...how does one do that?

I would say that…people hold onto pain, because they want answers…they want revenge. They want to know that the person made a mistake and is sorry, for cheating romantically, or in a work setting, or in a friendship. The truth is, for most of us those apologies will never come. We are all on different journeys and alternate life paths.

That’s very interesting...so it’s a cognitive actualization of unique life paths. That’s pretty spiritual…yet it’s also a difficult pill to swallow, because people want that "closure" and you're saying it’s okay never getting it...

Yes. It’s accepting that the apology won’t come and maybe the people who hurt us will breathe their last breath and not feel remorse; it is very healing, because you stop wishing for it, and waiting for it, and working towards it, and basing your happiness off of it. When you accept the apology you may never receive, you take control back. Your serenity or happiness no longer depends on them --it depends on you. When you start realizing that no one else is to blame for your unhappiness, you start taking solid steps to fix that. You start living and breathing to better and uplift your soul. Our pain prevents us from fully loving others, and more importantly, ourselves. Each wound is a brick that eventually forms a wall around our hearts.

Loving oneself...THAT can be tough. Let me ask, because self-image is a HUGE issue with all of us; when did you look in the mirror and start loving yourself again? Getting past the cruelty around you...

My teeth were not scathed in either accident. I took this as a direct sign from the Universe to smile no matter what. So, for starters, I stopped surrounding myself by people who made me feel bad about myself; people who only talked about themselves and complained and were negative. I also realized that certain TV shows made me feel badly. I started becoming very aware of what my regular daily routines did for my soul. If they didn't uplift or inspire me and brought me down at all, I cut them out. Watching inspiring YouTube videos or an amazing documentary did wonders for my soul, so I did more of that.

That is something lacking in most people’s lives: true soul food. They don't understand how they consume a constant diet of poison from television and other negative sources.

Right, and speaking of food, I wasn't eating well. I realized that I was fueling my mind, body and soul with processed junk.

During the bed rest period from the winter of 2009 to the summer of 2010?

Yes. No one brings you steamed veggies when you're injured. They send cupcakes and cookies. I started realizing that sugary foods fuel depression and also induce migraines. I didn't want to take all the prescription stuff my doctors thought would heal me. I thought of all the elderly people in the rainforest who were healthy and happy and glowing, and they fueled themselves with all natural medicine. I started eating clean and controlling what I could control. Desperation happens when we feel like we have lost total control. Happiness comes from controlling what we can and accepting what we cannot. And, it turned out I could still control a lot. I could take steps in a positive direction even if I was in a wheelchair and not actually stepping at all. You see, as a society, we place our happiness in other people's hands. We blame everyone for our unhappiness…so…how about you just clear the slate? Wipe that bad boy clean and start over. Reboot your soul.

I love it! That’s an excellent way to say it…

You will never find happiness or love in something outside of yourself. You need to light that fire within your own soul and then you can share the flames with others, and the more you share, the more you have. I’ve learned that it takes the same amount of energy to be positive and happy, as it does to be negative and mean. When I began to focus on the good in the world and in others, I felt so much better about life in general. When I removed the negative influences in my life, it left room for unlimited awesome people, and since then, nothing but incredible things have happened and continue to happen. I guarantee if others did the same, they would have the same results. I promise.

Amanda, I can’t thank you enough for this time that we’ve spent talking this morning. Everything you've said is quite profound. I can’t wait to speak with you in the near future about your recent re-emergence as an athlete and what is in store for you for in 2014.

You are amazing! Thank you for talking with me!

Is there anything else you’d like to add?

I would like to end by saying this: people always ask me if I will be how I was before I got injured. And, the truth is, I will not. I will be even better. I already am. BOOM.

You can read more about Amanda's accidents and her recent journeys through racing in her words at this Spartan Race Journal and this Be Epic! blog post.

From Major Knee Surgery to Quadruple Spartan Trifecta - Interview with Missy Morris

More than half a million people finished a Spartan Race in 2013. If you were one of those proud Spartans, chances are you may have seen some crazed OCR junkies in red and black jerseys screaming, “CORN FED!” If the Corn Fed Spartans were in fact at that race, then chances are they were being proudly represented by Wisconsin native Missy Morris. She would have been the one with “Cheesehead” printed on the back of her jersey and a huge smile gracing her face. Now residing in northern Illinois, Missy is an event coordinator at a large Harley Davidson dealer, who also spent the better part of 2013 travelling all over the United States to compete in forty different races and even spending time atop Spartan Race’s Open Class leader board. What makes this all the more amazing is that she was able to this just one year after major knee surgery. Missy is a superb and determined athlete that will never be told that she cannot do something, because she will find a way with that smile on her face, and will probably help whoever is around her while she’s doing it.

I met Missy in April of this year during the Hurricane Heat the night before the Indiana Spartan Sprint. Then with only the briefest of hellos and high-fives at the Midwest Super Spartan, I was excited to briefly run alongside her at the beginning of the Carolinas Spartan Beast, exchanging small conversation about how her season was wrapping up. Now just one week after completing the Texas Spartan Beast, at which she earned her Quadruple Spartan Trifecta, I was able to sit down and talk with her to find out more about this incredible athlete.
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So I just saw a picture you posted of your right knee that looks twice the size of your left?

Yep. I had major knee surgery, bilateral microfracture, in October 2011, just three days after I did my first Spartan Race, the Midwest Sprint. I was non-load bearing and on crutches for three months and spent a year on limited activities while I recovered.

So the knee injury was a resultant of your first Spartan??

Actually, the surgery was preplanned. I injured my knee playing softball back in the fall of 2010. I was originally slated to have surgery in August of 2011 but pushed it back, so I could do the Spartan Race.

You're in your thirties now, correct? Have you always been a softball player?

I am thirty-six and have been playing softball since I was six. I played softball through high school and originally went on to college thinking about playing as well but instead ended up playing on the collegiate golf team and then was also a part of the basketball team.

So sports related injuries are nothing new to you I'm sure, as well as the conditioning and training that goes along with being an athlete. Is the training you do now any different than what you did as a collegiate athlete?

Honestly, back when I was in high school and college I didn't do a whole lot of training. We had weight room days and cardio days, but it wasn't nearly as intense as what I've been doing recently. I found a great gym, Undisputed Strength Company, about a year ago. They incorporate elements of strength and CrossFit. I also try to incorporate some runs into my training, but I really hate just running.

Are you looking for that perfect recipe of running, like as in the whole Zen running thing, or do you just see running as the necessary evil?

For me running just sucks! (laughs) It's definitely a necessary evil. I've tried to find a way to love it, but I think for me it's just boring. I find myself wanting to jump over things, splash in mud puddles, climb trees, do cartwheels - basically do anything I can to take my mind off the actual running.

If your schedule, health, and the weather are perfect, what is the ideal week of training for you?

If it's an in-season, non-race weekend, I'm in the gym Monday and Wednesday doing strength training and WODs. On Tuesday I work with a personal coach on physical therapy for my knee. Thursdays are full mobility. Then Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays I usually find a fun activity to do on at least one of those days –hiking, trail running, OCR specific training: rope climbs, sand bag carries, rucks, etc. As I go into my offseason I'll be increasing my time in the gym to Monday through Thursday.

Will the physical therapy always be ongoing?

Because my activities were limited for an entire year, I suffered from a lot of atrophy. My right leg was seriously lacking in muscle compared to my left. Because of overcompensation, I've had to deal with whole body issues. I have been working with my trainer for the past year to try to build those muscles back up and fix the other problem areas. I have come a long way from where I was but it's definitely still a work in progress.

So the injury occurred at the end of 2011, and you had an incredible 2013; I'm sure that throughout 2012 you were fighting a lot of fights, physically and mentally. On this date, one year ago, did you see yourself where you are now, with this year's accomplishments behind you? Was the goal even there, or did you just start playing it by ear, signing up for races, gaining momentum?

When I woke up after my surgery and was told that the damage in my knee was worse than originally thought, I was devastated. My mind immediately went back three days earlier when I was crossing the finish line at my second Spartan Race. It was then that I knew my goal was to get healthy enough to run the next Midwest Spartan Race. I had a lot of ups and downs during my year-long recovery. I remember one visit to my surgeon's office back in July of 2012 when we couldn't keep the swelling down in my knee. I had an MRI done and was told there would be a chance I would never run again. I wouldn't accept that. I followed the doctor’s orders of no activity for six weeks, besides therapy. It killed me not to be able to do anything, but I worked my way back, and two weeks after being fully released from my surgeon I competed in the 2012 Midwest Super Spartan.

I know that even out of the small select group that is the Corn Fed Spartans, there are individuals battling bad news from doctors even as we speak. So you definitely have always followed medical advice, but have stayed determined to beat the odds...

I had seven races planned for 2013. I ended up finishing the year with forty races and eighteen Spartan Races. I don't like anyone to tell me I can't do something. To me that is enough motivation for me to prove them and others who may be thinking the same thing wrong.

When did you first get involved with the Corn Fed Spartans?

Shortly after they were established. CFS was started after the original Midwest Spartan race, which was a Sprint back in 2011. The goal of CFS was to bring a Spartan Race to Indiana. In order to make that happen, Spartan Race requested so many preregistrations. I knew I wouldn't be able to run in 2012, but I still wanted to be a part of the movement.

Ahhh, the Founder’s Race –the race that Spartan Race didn't think enough people would be interested in. I like to look back on that one as being tougher than the subsequent Sprints.

It was SO hard for me to be sitting on the couch that weekend reading all the updates, hearing all the stories, and seeing all the pictures. I was close to driving down there just to take it all in, but knowing me, if I would have done that I would have attempted to run the race.

I'm sure you would have…and finished! So, with forty races this year, eighteen of them Spartan, is there any one race that stands out in your mind as the most difficult, or is it like comparing apples to oranges?

It's funny, I've been reminiscing a lot about this year and all the races. Each race was so unique that it's hard to compare. Physically I would have to say that this past weekend's Texas Beast was the most difficult, but that was because I went into the race beat up with a bad back, a twisted ankle, and no training for about two months, because I was too busy racing every weekend. Followed by that one, it would have to be the North Carolina Sprint. That race was the coldest race I have ever done, and the only race that I was close to quitting. Mentally, the hardest race was without a doubt the Virginia Super. One week before the race I lost a really good friend of mine to a freak accident. I attended his funeral on a Thursday, and that night I hit the road to travel to the race.

I would have guessed the Virginia Super, but my reasoning would've been wrong…

Physically the Virginia Super wasn't too bad. I did the Hurricane Heat that morning and still managed to get through the race fairly easily.

I was going to ask if the heat or cold had ever been a negative factor. How cold was it last week at the Texas Beast?

I absolutely HATE racing when it's cold. I would take 100 degrees and humid over cold any day. I did Texas on Sunday; it was cold --upper 40s/low 50s at the start, but the sun was out.

The sun being out is nice. When it clouded over at the Carolinas, I noticed a huge difference with all of the runners. It was like a huge weight of despair hit everyone, especially after the rolling mud.

Absolutely!

So, you spoke of doing a Hurricane Heat and then running the Virginia Super. I know you did the Hurricane Heat in Indiana –how many did you do this year?

Four: Indiana, Midwest, Virginia, and Nebraska.

I forget: when was Nebraska? Wasn't that just in the past several weeks? That sounds cold...

Nebraska was the middle of October. The Hurricane Heat started Saturday morning in the dark, and it was freezing. I pushed back my start time, because I spent an hour in my Jeep trying to get warm afterward. The race itself wasn't too bad --again the sun came out, and it warmed up.

Wow! That is crazy, but it's also part of the fun as crazy as that may sound; having to monitor what's going on with your body and taking steps to salvage what you've got. I also don't think a lot of people realize how much work and effort some of the volunteers put into a Spartan. Take us back to the Midwest in July. How many laps and total mileage did you do that weekend?

For the Midwest I did the Hurricane Heat Friday, ran Saturday morning, did the Sweeper heat Saturday afternoon, volunteered at the finish line Sunday morning, and Pulled the course Sunday afternoon. I think the total mileage was somewhere around thirty-six miles.

And those are thirty-six hard miles. Absolutely amazing. And explain to us what sweeping and pulling are...

The Sweeper heat basically follows the last group around the course. It's a time to fix any markings that may have been disturbed during the race day, picking up trash and discarded clothing, and most importantly help the last racers to the finish line. Pulling the course is pretty much the same thing, but instead of fixing the markings, all marking tape and signs are pulled from the course.

That's work that no one considers. I really hope that readers take note of this, if not for the purpose of reconsidering how and where they discard trash on the course. I find it hard to believe that they openly litter, but every race when you look at the course there are GU wrappers everywhere. It's a shame.

It really is. We usually have a team of two to four people doing sweeping and pulling. It is one of the most rewarding volunteer spots, but also one of the hardest.

We spoke briefly at the start of the Carolinas race about shoes. What is your favorite shoe right now?

The past three races I have worn a trial pair Solomon Fellraisers and have been pleasantly surprised with them. I would say it's a toss up between those and the INOV8 Mudclaws.

What do you pack in your hydration pack for longer races –besides White Castles?

I use a Platypus 2.0 hydration pack. I carry two waterproof bags; one for nutrition and one for gear. Nutrition-wise I usually have margarita flavored Bloks, salted caramel GU, elk jerky, granola bars, and trail mix. I also have salt tabs and Nuun. Gear-wise I carry a headlamp, a pair of gloves, ibuprofen, an extra pair of contacts, and Kleenex. Inside my hydration bladder is a combination of Pedialite and Smart Water. I probably carry more than I need to, but I would rather be prepared. I usually end up handing stuff out throughout the race.

I know you said that your work schedule may be heavier this coming year, affecting your weekends, but withstanding that, what are your goals for 2014?

That's a great question. It will be near impossible to match 2013. I have a number of things in the works, so my race schedule is really up in the air. I will definitely be doing the Indiana Sprint, the Midwest Super, and Vermont Beast. Other than that, I'm really not sure. I have a 2014 season pass, so I'll be jumping into races last minute when I can.

Didn't you have a race change dates on you when you already had your flight and hotel booked?

At one point Spartan Race had switched the Texas Beast from a Saturday/Sunday race to just a Saturday race. Because of a work conflict I could not get to Texas until Saturday afternoon, so I would have been out my flight and hotel. Luckily there was enough demand to keep it a two day race.

I remember a bit of panic and scramble on the Corn Fed Spartan facebook group page…

I understand things come up, and I would have accepted it if need be, but I'm glad it all worked out.

For 2013 you ended up extremely high on the Spartan Race Open Class standings, and as I recall coming into the Carolinas you were on top…

From the start of the 2014 race season points which began with the Sunday Vermont Beast and then up until this past weekend I was 1st overall. After this weekend's Texas Beast, I dropped to 3rd overall, 1st in my age, and 1st in gender –so for about 2 months I was in 1st.

That’s incredible! Now this past year you raced all over the country: Boston, Florida, Colorado, Texas, Nebraska...just to quickly define a crazy swathe of geography --even up to Toronto! I know you said that you're definitely doing Indiana, Midwest [Illinois] and Vermont, but are there some locations further west, or even out of the country that you'd really like to do?

I would love to do some races out west. Right now both Arizona and Vegas are very good possibilities. I would definitely like to do a Mexico race. From the stories I have heard, some of those races are pretty amazing.

Are there any miracle foods that you're swearing by these days? If not for just practicality sake...the bang for the buck...

For most of the winter and spring, I followed the clean eating guidelines. I tried to eat healthy as much as possible. Once I started getting busy with work and racing, that all went down the toilet. Right now I pretty much eat whatever I want.

What's your favorite beer right now?

Believe it or not, I grew up in Wisconsin and don't drink beer. My adult beverage of choice is Angry Orchard Hard Cider.

Really? That’s pretty interesting. I forgot you're quite the proud Cheesehead.

I am definitely a proud Cheesehead!

To wrap things up, I know a lot of ladies that are new to the whole concept of obstacle course racing. Their experience ranges from 5K to marathon distances, but they’re still anxious about signing up for their first OCR, and even more specifically, a Spartan Race. What advice would you give them considering all that we've discussed this morning?

I would recommend starting with one of the smaller, fun mud runs - Dirty Girl, Warrior Dash, etc. My first mud run was the 2009 Muddy Buddy. It was fun because it was a partner race, so you had that added support. Also enlist friends and family or find a team to run with. These events are so much more than the races, they are about the incredible people you meet along the way –the inspirational stories. Don't be afraid to try something new. As far as training goes, I would recommend continuing to run, but also incorporate some body weight exercises; these can be easily done at a local playground; burpees, monkey bars, push-ups, pull-ups, etc. Also the Spartan Race workouts of the day are a great place to get ideas for workouts. And finally, find someone who has done one or two of these races before and pick their brains. I'm someone who loves talking about OCRs, and I love to see new people getting involved. I'm always available to help!

Missy, thank you so much for taking the time to talk. I know that others have and continue to inspire you, but realize that you're doing the same for me and other athletes. I look forward to racing with you in 2014! Hope you have a great holiday!

Thank you so much! I am surrounded by some of the most amazing and inspiring people I have ever met. My accomplishments would be nothing if it wasn't for everyone in my life!

You can read more about Missy's journey back from microfracture surgery in her own words at this Patient Experience blog.

The 2013 Bank of America Chicago Marathon

I'm running in a marathon. I'm surrounded by a pack of runners with synchronized foot falls --it's as though we are a river of colors caught up in our own current with embankments rushing by in a blur, full of a cacophony of cheers and ringing cowbells. Within the pure moment I keep hearing music invade my senses. It presses in on me from all around and doesn't belong. Struggling to understand what is happening while paying attention to the runners around me, my world quickly fades and in a sudden vacuum it disappears. Only the music remains. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness around me, and I realize that I'm in my bed listening to a remix of Lisztomania by Phoenix that I have set for my alarm. It takes several moments for the fog of deep sleep to dissipate, leaving me saddened that the marathon in which I was running was a dream. Still hearing the echo of small blue cowbells rung by spectators, my only comfort is knowing that it'll soon be time for me to truly awake and get ready for an early morning run.

It is October 12th, 2013, and I'm at McCormick Place in Chicago, Illinois at the 2013 Bank of America Chicago Marathon Expo with my good friend and Chicago Marathon veteran Elizabeth Schroeder. We've just journeyed from atop the parking garage through a behemoth of a building. Even walking at an exuberant pace, it takes us quite some time to find the expo hall. Granted, with every opportunity to take an elevator, we choose the stairs, because we're Corn Fed Spartans. Every moment holds the opportunity for a workout, right?

Eventually after following the greater concentrated stream of dry fit and neon we enter into a bustling hive of activity that is the expo. Aisle upon aisle of banner capped vendor booths seem almost unapproachable amid the constant traffic of hunters and gatherers hauling their bounty in expo bags. Brightly colored corporate castles crowned with high tech product displays are adorned with the unmistakable logos of the giants like Nike, Brooks, New Balance, and Asics. After several minutes of walking aimlessly around Elizabeth remembers that Scott Jurek is supposed to be at the Brooks kiosk. We quickly find the back of the line, and I hold the place while she runs off to find something for him to sign as she regretfully left her copy of "Born to Run" at home. She returns with the official marathon poster, a breathtaking image of the Chicago skyline with a bit of poetic verse in large white font, and we soon find ourselves face to face with the legendary running phenom. Even larger than life in person, Scott heartily greets us and happily signs the poster for Elizabeth. After a brief exchange of encouraging words, he takes several photographs with us, and as we walk away it hits me that in a once in a lifetime moment I have just stood next to running royalty.

It is May of 2012. I have just ran my first 5K, eeking in at just under 23 minutes, two weeks after completing my first Spartan Race, and about a month and half after going on my first run. I am proud to finally be running in actual running shoes, when my good friend Dustin Vinson suggests running without shoes. He has just read a book called "Born to Run" by a runner named Scott Jurek that he has downloaded to his iPhone. I am more fascinated by his purchase and download experience with his phone, but he won't stop talking about Jurek's experiences as a runner. I am new to the sport, so I refocus and listen to his stories as we're both standing in the parking lot behind the restaurant where we work. That same evening he convinces me to sign up for the Bernheim Trail Half Marathon, my very first half. A couple weeks later after a phone argument with my ex wife I run over 13 miles for the first time in my life. I finish after dark in 2:13. I'm not sure where that time even stacks up in the running world. I wonder if Scott Jurek remembers his first 13 mile run. I wonder if he ever ran when he was angry...

Elizabeth finds the Chicago Monster Half Marathon booth and settles in at the mammoth task of collecting race packets for her and about a dozen other friends for the following weekend. The race will take place one day after she will run a 50 mile trail run. In constant admiration, I am not shy to ask her questions about her choice in gear, supplements, and training. As she meticulously works from a checklist, I wander around the expo looking at all of the vendor's offerings. Shoes, compression wear, ear buds, head gear, energy drinks, gels, bars, all-weather gear, medal displays, socks, tank-tops, tees, even skin cream --if you can think of it, it's here...and all with hefty price tags. After Elizabeth finishes her duties, we take a large box of collected race packets and shirts back to her car, then we briskly make the trek back to the expo hall. There is still too much to see and there is still much time before the expo closes. With no more obligations or celebrity autographs to collect (we had missed Hal Higdon) we work our way back and forth down each aisle, chatting with vendors and collecting free swag --brochures, magnets, and of course the official small blue cowbells with the Chicago Marathon logo that we will ring during the race the next day. We even manage to score free washing machine cleaning tablets with accompanying head bands. The tablets I can use, while the headbands will make my children happy. Finally to my delight, we refuel at an oasis that is Connie's Pizza; I am in carb heaven with no concern as to how the rest of the evening will play out.

I'm at home yesterday feeling a rare head cold coming on. I felt it in my throat after I had awakened from a long night of bartending and having drinks later with two of my best friends from work. I am exhausted on my day off from running and working out. I know I need to spend the day resting if I am to wake early and run the next morning. After I go out for Chinese take-out I decide to settle into the couch and watch a movie that Elizabeth gave to me during my trip to Chicago called "The Spirit of the Marathon" while I mindlessly eat my house fried rice. Knowing the effect that the Chicago Marathon had on me, I am little surprised that I keep getting emotional at every turn during the movie that follows five different runners of different ages and running abilities training for the 2005 Chicago Marathon. I quickly inhale my dinner, because weeping over a box of Chinese take-out doesn't make for the most enjoyable eating experience. I find myself on my feet near the end of the film as the elites are nearing the finish line. I wonder to myself, was Daniel Njenga one of the Kenyan racers that I saw at the Chicago Marathon only three weeks ago? Was this individual one of the super humans that I witnessed flying in front of me with my very own eyes? I finish the movie, even watching all of the DVD extras and decide to call it a night. I figure that even though it's only 9:30 p.m. I need to get as much sleep as possible. After closing down the house and getting ready for bed, I ring my small blue cowbell from the marathon. It has become my ritual to remind myself of my ultimate goal for the coming year. My thoughts are all over the place, thinking about the upcoming Carolinas Spartan Beast, different people coming and going in my life, and the movie I've just watched. Finally, after tossing and turning for over an hour I enter into a restless sleep.

I have just finished the Bernheim Trail Half Marathon. I finished in a strong surge at the end, because that seems to be what all of the runners do in the articles that I have read in Runner's World. Finish strong! Finish strong! Even though I got lost and ended up running 14.5 miles, I am proud of my 2:53 time. I change out of my compression long sleeve top and into a t-shirt, donning athletic pants over my shorts. I walk barefoot through the grass back to the small festival area and eat several freshly grilled hamburgers while waiting for my friend Phillip North to cross the finish line. I even indulge in a Sprite. I am most eagerly awaiting any sign of Dustin as he decided to run the full trail marathon. Dustin has only recently ran the Nashville Rock and Roll marathon and talks about running a 50K ultra marathon in the coming weeks to qualify for something he calls a Marathon Maniac. For the first time I consider that we are becoming part of something bigger than ourselves...a sport much different than any that I've ever known. I reflect on the shouts of encouragement and congratulations after I crossed the finish line only minutes before. Rather than think about what I have just accomplished, I consider my own self doubts...could I have run the full trail marathon with Dustin? Shouldn't I be capable of 26.2 miles? Did Scott Jurek ever have these doubts, or did he just go out and run for miles right out of the gate?

Elizabeth and I sit at a McDonald's on the corner of Wells Street and North Avenue before daybreak on Sunday morning, October 13th. In an hour's time the 2013 Bank of America Chicago Marathon will begin. It's an incredible morning in the mid-40's with only a slight breeze. There is a chance it will get into the mid-60's...in other words: a perfect day to run. We have already made a couple trips back and forth from her car, because we had forgotten a couple things, including the sign she made to hold that says, "In my mind, you're a Kenyan." As I am enjoying my first hot kiss of caffeine goodness, Elizabeth is busy texting her friend Andé about where we parked the car and where we are going to meet to watch the marathon. There is talk about first watching at Mile 5 and then cutting several blocks to the west to watch at Mile 10. A brief time later we take off to go meet Andé and her boyfriend Rick who have actually found a place to park not too far from our own on Euginie Street. Andé says they would rather watch from Mile 10 on Sedgwick, because that is where the sister marathon group from Osaka, Japan will be setting up a ceremonial drum line. We meet them and are quickly introduced to the Osaka group who gives us all ceremonial head bands to wear. Anxiety is in the air as Elizabeth, Andé, and Rick all talk about their fellow running group friends from Kankakee who are running in the marathon, some of which are first timers. The greater excitement is about twin brothers, one of whom is shooting for a PR, well into sub-3 hour territory. I begin to think about what time I would try for in a marathon. I remember that Dustin's first marathon goal was to run it in under 5 hours. Surely, I could do that, right? Maybe even shoot for four hours? Someone then shouts that the marathon is under way. There are cheers all around, and we know that even 10 miles from the starting line it won't be long until we see our first athletes. And very soon indeed, they do appear...

It's April 26th, 2013, a little over five months before the Chicago Marathon. Dustin, Brice Lazaro, and I are participating the evening before our second Indiana Spartan Sprint in what is called the Hurricane Heat. It seems as though four out of every five runners around us are wearing similar red and black jerseys, and hailing themselves as the Corn Fed Spartans. We are told to split into teams of fifteen, and failure to do so quickly will result in a penalty of multiple burpees. We find ourselves the only non-Corn Feds on our team. For the next five hours of pain and misery we are adopted into the Corn Fed family. After it is all over, while everyone changes out of their cold muddy clothes in the parking lot, we exchange hugs and handshakes, are given t-shirts and wristbands, and look forward to running the next day with other Corn Feds. Three months later the same smiles greet me and three other friends from southern Illinois as we run the Super Spartan in Joliet, IL. More friends are made and through participating through the Corn Fed facebook group, I eventually make friends with a runner named Elizabeth Schroeder. She tells me that she has friends running in the Chicago Marathon in October, and I should possibly consider coming up and joining in supporting them. The Chicago Marathon; it's not so foreign to me...but I don't know what to expect. I once witnessed the start of the marathon while standing above the runners on a bridge about six years ago when I was married, and we took a vacation weekend in early October to visit in Chicago. My brother also once trained for the marathon, but was a DNF, while his then fiance went on to finish. I also had tracked a friend last year as she ran the marathon. A trip to Chicago to support other runners while I finally get to see this marathon first hand? Why not?

The first athletes to appear are the wheelchair racers. I honestly have not considered them. The first group that we see coming down Sedgwick are being escorted by police officers on motorcycles. Flashing blue lights from the cycles start sending waves of cheers rolling down the street toward us. The Osaka group begins pounding madly on their drums. We begin shouting, shaking our small blue cowbells. The racers fly past us in a blur, shoulder muscles rippling, arms pumping up and down, propelling them quickly out of view. The feeling of energy passes like unrestrained electricity throughout all of the spectators. Then another group flies by us, and then another. Andé and Elizabeth start receiving automatic texts alerting them of their friends' progress along the course. Quick estimation is done and we know that very soon the elites will be passing by.

Within a short time someone shouts, "Here they come!"

Another quick shout of, "The Kenyans are coming!"

A short convoy of official marathon vehicles passes by, soon followed by another police escort, and then we see them. It is the most magical thing I have ever seen in my entire life outside of the birth of my children. The elite runners seem other worldly...running in a tight group, all in the same stride, feet seemingly not touching the ground. They are so beautiful. They are like something out of another time and place...some other world. This is a purity that I am too impure to even witness. All I can do is stand, ringing my small blue cowbell, yelling at the top of my lungs as though I'm at a rock concert thinking that the sheer force of my own lungs will bring the beleaguered rockers out for another encore. And in a matter of seconds...the elite male runners are gone.

Very soon another elite group passes us, and then another police escort for the elite female runners who are no less magical as they streak past us. Another wave of awe passes over us as we collectively realize what we are actually witnessing: super beings that are part of a sport that embraces even us mere mortals. Then before we know it, wave after wave of runners start flying past us. 45,000 runners of all shapes, ages, nationalities, and sizes. Some in compression gear, some in only running shorts; some in tank tops, some in hooded sweat shirts; some in creative costumes, others in modest unmarked clothing. Most runners have their names printed in some fashion above their bib numbers, so we can cheer them on, and cheer them on we do --with as much conviction and passion as we can muster for the next six hours. I am slowly aware that I am wearing a blister into my right forefinger from ringing my small blue cowbell. The Osaka group never stops beating the drums. Elizabeth never puts down her sign. All of us never stop shouting. The runners never stop coming.

My eyes pop open. My alarm hasn't gone off, but maybe it's close to being 5:30 a.m. when I'm set to wake and go for my run. I know it will be cold out so I've already set aside all of my cold weather gear, so I can dress quickly and get out the door. I roll over and check the time on my phone. In a glimpse I'm instantly irritated at my internal clock --it's only 12:30 a.m. Most evenings I go to bed around this time. I readjust in my bed, hoping that I've found just the right position to fall back asleep. I start to think about the movie I watched earlier in the evening. I think about the weeks and weeks of training that the runners all went through. I think about the training Elizabeth was doing leading up to her 50 mile trail run. The small doubts she had about finishing, but the determination and self-affirmation she displayed in the days leading up to her successful finish of both the ultra and subsequent half marathon. I think about my goals for 2014...possibly two Spartan Trifectas...several marathons...and ultimately running the Chicago Marathon. I fall back asleep as I am pondering the latter.

The four of us decide to leave the Osaka base camp and catch a cab to find a new spot somewhere near the end of the marathon route. Andé, Elizabeth, and I squeeze into the backseat, while Rick takes front passenger to discuss the best options with the cab driver as most of the roads are closed and a direct route is rather difficult. After about ten minutes of driving, we disembark fairly close to Mile 25. We see a small gap in the spectators across Michigan Avenue and quickly dash through a break in the runners to claim our spot. We start to see some of the same runners from Mile 10, but now obviously in different spirits. Some seem energized to be so close to the finish line while others seem to be on the verge of breaking down emotionally and physically after all they have put their bodies through. They know how close they are to the finish which should be their lighthouse, but it is the crushing weight of the thought of the cumulative miles that has become their albatross. Even the spectators around us seem exhausted. Once again we take up our cheers of people's printed names as they run in front of us. It becomes a natural act to search out a collection of names as they are far off, so we can recite them in a litany of rousing encouragement. We scream and ring our small blue cowbells. Elizabeth holds up her sign high into the air which now has one of the letters scribbled in ball point pen as the original has taken up permanent residence on Sedgwick. Our enthusiasm is only briefly halted when an angry spectator challenges Elizabeth for her spot where she is cheering. After conveying several negative comments he pushes past her which triggers the inner Spartan in Rick. Before Rick can do anything that might be interpreted by some as undue force, Andé intervenes and in a no less intimidating presence manages to get the guy to submit and calm down. Where he finally goes we fail to notice, or rather fail to care. The only thing that matters is playing our small role in motivating the constant flow of runners pounding their way toward the finish line.

The frequency of marathoners actually still running begins to wane while the majority of runners passing us have compromised with their fatigued bodies and are walking. In the midst of all of this one lone wheelchair racer appears out of nowhere. I had forgotten all about them. Surely they had all passed before we arrived on Michigan Avenue? He is obviously struggling. Every bit of strength seems to have been long since spent in the previous miles and by sheer determination alone is he still pushing toward the finish line. A knot instantly forms in my throat and tears well in my eyes. Is this man any less of a super being as I thought of the elite runners? Does he have any less drive than when Scott Jurek runs a 250 mile ultra marathon? Does he have any less strength and spirit than what we boast about at our Spartan races? Then I turn to see Elizabeth, and she is standing there crying, still holding her sign. "In my mind, you're a Kenyan." In that brief moment I am ashamed for any pride that I've ever had as a runner. In so many profane words I curse myself and walk away from my friends to follow this profound athlete as he makes his way painfully down Michigan Avenue toward the 25 mile marker. He is still almost a mile from the turn onto Roosevelt Avenue that will lead up to a harsh uphill battle to the finish line in Grant Park. The number on his wheelchair says 229. As I walk I intermittently start up the chant among other spectators, "Two-Two-Nine! Two-Two-Nine!" I shout anything encouraging that I can. I'm not sure if he can even hear me, and I wonder if he can, or...would he have me not cheer at all? Is it really just a distraction? After all of these miles what is he feeling? Would he rather the world be silent around him, or are our cheers driving him toward his goal? Are we spectators there for the racers, or for our own gratification? Are we the lighthouse or the albatross?

Very soon I cannot travel any further down Michigan Avenue due to the sidewalk on our side of the street being closed to pedestrian traffic. If I have encouraged Two-Twenty-Nine at all, I'll never know. He slowly disappears from my sight, and I can only pray that he finishes. I decide that it doesn't matter if he heard me at all. I have been fortunate enough to be graced with his spirit and determination. I know I will think of him if ever I am at my own breaking point in the future...during a race or not. I jog the three quarters of a mile back to where my friends are still standing. Several of their friends that they have been waiting for pass by. There is a frenzy of hugs and tears as they are about to realize the end of their amazing journey. The end of the marathon's 26.2 miles is very near.

We break back across to the other side of the road and pass through the long shadows of the afternoon to work our way toward Grant Park. Everywhere we walk thermal-blanketed marathoners adorned with finisher's medals cross our paths. Young and old, shivering and tired with steeled looks of pride in their eyes, they bustle on their way to some one or some place. Their race is done. We pass through a security check point and into the marathon festival area where prerecorded instructions are being heralded to the finishers over the public address system about the 27th Mile Post-Race Party where "runners can collect a free cup of Goose Island Three-One-Two Wheat Ale if you're over twenty-one." Elizabeth and Andé spot their friends as Rick and I walk behind them discussing the upcoming Spartan Beast in South Carolina. He teases me because I and my small group of friends will be flying down while he and Andé suffer the long trip from northern Illinois by car. Introductions are made between strangers and congratulatory hugs are exchanged between friends. The tear-streaked faces are host to nothing but smiles, and jokes are made about the mythical free beer and if it really exists. Some of them talk of going to eat in the city while our group decides to say goodbye to the victorious marathoners and make our way back to Michigan Avenue in search of a cab. The shadows are growing longer, and well over six hours after the start of the marathon, runners are still making their way across the finish line in Grant Park.

We find where we parked Elizabeth's car on Euginie. We're thankful that it's still there and quickly set off to leave the city to rejoin Andé and Rick, along with Elizabeth's son back in Kankakee for dinner before I eventually hit the road for my four hour drive back to southern Illinois. We are exhausted and conversation is brief during our short commute. I have time to reflect upon all that I have witnessed --all that I thought I knew about running; why I do it and why others do it. I think about my friends with whom I shared this experience. When will I see them again? Will I ever race a marathon with them? Will I in fact have the opportunity to race the Chicago Marathon with them next year? All of these thoughts and more run through my mind. I think of Elizabeth's upcoming ultra trail marathon. I think of my friends back home. I think of my children. I think of the movies that Elizabeth has given me. One is called "The Spirit of the Marathon." I hope that I can watch it soon.

I finally roll out of bed. I turn the lights on and do some quick simple stretches and push-ups to wake myself up. I suddenly remember that I had been dreaming about running a marathon. Like every dream, as soon as I start recall the details, the memory of it quickly turns into a fog and blows away. I don't think any of my friends were with me, nor anyone recognizable. Was I truly by myself? No. I was with other runners. We all ran together as one. We were the elite runners. We were the wheelchair racers. We were the spirit of the marathon. I think all of this as I put on my running gear. Before I walk out the door I read the lines on the poster I have that now hangs over my bed. Mine is the one without Scott Jurek's signature, but every day I read the poetic lines:

Before it all sank in at the finish.

Before rallying in Pilsen,

Cramping up in Old Town,

And flying through Streeterville.

Before the goose bumps in Grant Park,

And the butterflies at dawn.

There was a will that found a way

Through 29 neighborhoods,

And connected with the heart

Of a city.

I ring the small blue cowbell I keep on my dresser, and I walk out of my small house to go find myself.