The notables started, as they often do, at the airport on the way out of Denver. I took advantage of the technology Expedia offered and downloaded my itinerary—which my prosthetics provider A Step Ahead of Hicksville, NY provided me—directly to my computer’s calendar. This made it so easy to keep track of my departure time and, hence, show up with plenty of time to spare. Nevertheless, I missed yet another flight.

Let it be a lesson to you all that despite a departure from the Mountain time zone, the downloaded version of your itinerary could be on Eastern time.

The nice lady behind the counter at check-in actually remembered me from my flight to South Africa a couple of months back. She kindly checked, free of charge, my bike and bag a healthy 14 hours before my newly scheduled 1:00AM flight, making it a breeze to head back home and cook up a delicious kale soup to enjoy with my family and neighbors in our driveway—the kids played on bikes and scooters while the day’s light dwindled. After dinner and toddler clean-up, I snuck in an hour of shut-eye before heading back to DIA for the red-eye.

Airline sleep is typically difficult to come-by so I did something completely novel for me: I brought my own pillow! And it worked perfectly. I had a whole row to myself, laid my head upon my personal bedding and slept so well they had to wake me up on the tarmac in NYC after everyone had already deplaned. Perfect.

It was then 6:30AM EST and the nice people at Delta ensured me that despite my luggage’s alternate route to Minneapolis, it would be in by 2pm and delivered to my hotel by 6pm. This would make my trip into the city so much smoother without having to lug that bike with me. Perfect.

At 6pm the nice lady at Delta’s baggage counter informed me that my stuff had been noted as “Departed,” but just to make sure she’d check it’s progress toward Manhattan. “Looks like it never left the deck. It’ll got out on the 8pm delivery, you’ll have it by 9.”  The mandatory bike check-in would close at 9PM. Wow. How perfect.

At 9PM, with the delivery remaining elusive, Delta assured my things would be at the hotel by the wee hours.

I slept well, perhaps as good as I’ve ever slept before a race, knowing that my machine would be with me when I awoke.

The wake-up call came at 4AM and I immediately proclaimed, as I’ve done many time before, “Rrrrrace Dayyyyyy!” I headed right downstairs to put my bike together so as to arrive at the race start no later than 5AM. But it wasn’t there…

I pulled out my iPhone to make a few calls, eager to come up a bike somehow. The first couple calls provided nothing; the third call was a winner: Justin Modell, a local triathlete and the organizer of the paratriathlon division, had a bike for me and, since he was already at the race, he made the call to his doorman to let me in. I cabbed it over, grabbed his bike and his right shoe and peddled my way to the race, arriving at 5:15AM, in the clothes I’d donned 36 hours prior.

(I would later learn that my bike and wetsuit arrived, in perfect timing, the moment I jumped in the water to start the race at 7:10AM, by a company aptly named, no joke, Perfect Delivery Service!)

Surprisingly, without the wetsuit, I swam one of my faster races there and exited under 17 minutes, ninety seconds ahead of the fastest one-legged triathlete out there: JP Theberge. That 90 seconds turned hard into a seven minute deficit. I had a tough time riding crunched up on a too-small road bike with my bike leg unable to clip in on the mismatched pedal/cleat combo, i.e., I was unable to pull up with the prosthesis or get out of the saddle—JP blazed by me about a third of the way through the ride.

Without my speed lace race shoe I was forced to sit and tie the lace of the race shoe I’d traveled in (probably doesn’t mean much to most of you) and stopped twice before exiting transition to stretch my aching crunched-up back, making for a very slow T2.

I knew I was at least seven to eight minutes off pace of JP when I saw him coming the other way from the 180 turnaround near the bike finish. So, with no hopes of winning, and with the thin skin from the recently-healed blister from the previous weekend’s race, I sucked it up and pre-emptively rebooted a few times on the run. This, I’m happy to say, resulted my first blister-free finish of seven there. More perfection.

(I must note that JP had a fantastic finish time of 2:19, edged only by the ageless and legendary One Arm Willie Stewart. Wingers Joel Rosinbum and Tommy Knapp also had great races and I wrapped up the top five. The top five on the women’s side were visually impaired Robin Caruso, below knee amp Meg Fisher, VI Yvonne Mosquera, wheel-bound Carly Waugh and in fifth was my very good friend and one of my worldwide favorite people, above-knee amp Sandy Dukat.)

So don’t let this photo fool you. I wasn’t stomping mad at Mile 1 as I ran straight at Erik Shaffer, my prosthetist and sponsor from A Step Ahead. I was, atypically, just having a little fun on the run.

The last little bit of perfection relative to the race transpired a couple days later: my customer service experience with both the NYC Taxi and Limousine Commission and Yellow Cab was so much more satisfying than that with Delta. After a series of phone calls placed by myself and the lovely Dr Sharon Wetherall, FedEx delivered my iPhone I had dropped in the back of the cab at JFK!

(Regarding the photo, that was kinda how I felt sitting on the tarmac for two hours, waiting to depart, when I discovered the missing phone…)

We’ll start by talking about the really important stuff. Check out the latest Martin-in-waiting!  Can you believe the 3D images these days?!

This beautiful little thing is due to arrive on August 20, however, we expect he/she—as in “keeping it a surprise,” not as in, “hermaphrodite”—will be here a bit sooner. Sharon has a relatively benign condition called polyhydramnios, or too much amniotic fluid in the sac. This, of course, stretches her belly more than normal, which tricks her system into thinking delivery day is closer than it really is. She’s been having contractions since 30 weeks.

You may have heard—from me—that the new book, “Drinking from My Leg: Lessons from a Blistered Optimist,” launched on June 23. It reached #1 in Sports and Biographies and #36 Overall on Amazon.

Making that happen was quite the monumental time commitment over the last few months—lining up various partners to help promote the book on that one day. For the most part, it worked as planned and now I’m a #1 Bestseller!

Because of this status I’ve been contacted by both Korean and Polish publishers for translation rights. Chinese and Russian woulda been cool…

The day before the launch I keynoted a conference in Lake Placid, NY, then flew back to Colorado that night.

The day before that I traveled to said speaking engagement and for the Boston to Upstate NY segment we flew in a little 9-seater . . . and I got to ride shotgun! Yep, I sat in the in the co-pilot seat as we skimmed across the Adirondack’s at dusk. As I climbed over the others to grab my seat, I assured them they were safe, that I was a licensed Colorado driver, not to worry.

And that was on my 43rd birthday. I had been itching to post this photo, which was kiddie-corner from the house we rented in Boulder last winter, then I forgot about it until now.

The day before that I raced the Boulder Sprint Triathlon. I completed it without much preparation and, hence, was passed by more people on the bike than I’m used. Got what I deserved and I’m cool with that.

The day before that we had a birthday party for Jack at the local park. You know, burgers, dogs, Coors Light, cake, pinata—that sorta thing.

The four days (late evenings, to be specific) before that were spent building this gazillion piece swingset in the backyard. Well worth the time and money, I might add. The boys LOVE it!

A few days before that I was in New York City at the Waldorf Astoria, a guest of the Challenged Athletes Foundation’s Heroes, Hearts, and Hope Gala. The event, featuring Bruce Hornsby and Bill Walton, brought in $875,000 for the foundation and I had the pleasure of chatting a good long while with NHL/Olympic goaltender turned cyclist, Mike Richter.

Pulling a chronological 180, this pic was taken on Jack’s actual birthday, June 24, at his first every Major League Baseball Game. The Red Sox were in town to take on the Rockies. As this photo was being taken, Dustin Pedroia had just connected on his first of three home runs on the day, taking out the Rox in extra innings. We were long gone by that point. Jack’s four. He can’t hang.

Joined a new hockey team, the Ice Bumbs (yes, that’s how they—we—spell it) midway through the season at the local YMCA rink. We lost 3-2 on a shootout in my first game. I fell down several times for no reason.

Last weekend I raced, for the sixth or seventh time, the Boulder Peak Triathlon. It’s an Olympic Distance race with a couple extra kilometers on the bike that allows we competitors to ride up a 15% grade near the start of the bike. I only saw a half dozen or so walking up the hill. On the backside they’ve set up a new 35 mph “speed limit” to reduce the inevitable number of crashes on the steep descent. I was clocked at 49 . . . Appropos to the new book’s subtitle, my run was speed was limited, once again, by huge-0 mong0 Stumpy blister. Happy to say its healing amazingly fast. Must be the EPO. (That’s a blood-doping joke to those of you with quizzical brows.)

Spent the previous Monday at the Horsetooth Reservoir swim beach. DO NOT go there unless you like laying on a 45-degree clay-slickened bank that tends to send the less nimble into the rocks hidden beneath the murky water’s edge.

Also been getting some airtime on the radio sports shows lately, plugging the new book and child on Bob Babbit’s ” The Competitors” show and “The Simon Gowen Triathlon Show.”

To wrap things up it looks like I’m back on full-time daddy duty until the newbie arrives. A couple of months back we took in an au pair from Peru to help us out with the business of a hard-working wife (not to mention preggo) and an oft-traveling husband who needs to spend time working on the speaking business he’s been ignoring as of late. She didn’t quite work out as planned; we’re looking once again so if any of you have an au pair you can recommend, we welcome your input.

Every aspect of this race lived up to it’s reputation, a reputation mostly hidden from Americans, even the vast majority of our marathoners. South Africans, particularly the host Durbanites, tell you the race will pull you back for another crack, despite how good or bad you felt on race day. I found it hard to believe that the famed Heartbreak Hill in Boston hardly showed up on the superimposed course profile…until I ran it. The yet-to-be-released documentary we watched the day before instilled a concern not yet realized in these bones.

Even the flight from Atlanta to Johannesburg was special. President Jimmy Carter walked up and down the aisles shaking hands and asking the children their names. (I managed to squeeze a photo in with him as he rushed through the final rows.)

Without question, what made our trip extraordinary was not meeting a President, it was meeting the children we sponsor. “We” being members of Team World Vision—I wouldn’t have experienced the most transformational two weeks of my life had I not received a phone call asking if I’d be interested in joining the team to run 56 miles and commit to generating 100 sponsorships of needy children through the world’s largest program of its kind. (Sharon and I are new to sponsorship, as are most others on the team, at least of the children we visited on the trip.)

Tabi King, a long-time friend and well-connected former employee of both Ossur prosthetics and the Challenged Athletes Foundation, called me last December saying she was contacted by Andy Baldwin—you might know him from “The Bachelor” or as a Navy doctor (I’m proud to say we were roommies for most of the trip and I believe a long-lasting friendship has begun)—asking if she knew of an amputee who might be up to the task. Tabi has a tendency to ring me on such occasions.

My first reaction was a big, fat “No.” That night, after discussing the proposition with Sharon, it was clearly the next great challenge I was meant to face. I called Tabi the next morning asking her “Where do I sign?”

That signature went to Michael Chitwood, the tireless, focused leader and founder of Team World Vision. His recently formed friendship with Josh Cox, the American 50k record holder, led to the birth of the Comrades Marathon mission. Together with Andy, those three assembled the largest “team” from America to sign up for the event. Michael welcomed me to the fold. The next day I ran 12 miles.

You may have gathered through earlier postings that I embarked on a running regiment over the next four months that included a 10- to 15-mile Saturday followed by a 25- to 30-mile Sunday.  I stayed committed to those long runs and the training paid off with a completely unexpected transpiration on May 30. I was prepared for a lot of pain on race day. I’m happy to say the only real pain I experienced was in Stumpy; the rest of me held up quite well.

More importantly, a half dozen of us had the honor of meeting the children we sponsor the day before the race. At a boys’ boarding school 1.5k from the race start in Pietermartitzburg, where Team WV was provided accommodations (ten of us slept in each room, side-by-side!), the staff of World Vision South Africa brought the kids out of their villages for the first time ever for an afternoon lunch filled with photographs, soccer balls and smiling faces on both sides of the aisle. And lots of singing. The staff and kids treated us to closing entertainment, which was just a taste of the truckload of beautiful a cappella songs we heard over the next seven days.

When I met our sponsored child, Sibongakonke—Zulu for “thank you everyone”—and looked deep into those soulful eyes, I saw an ocean on innocence mixed with hope. Sibonga, as they call him, was born to a 13-yr old mother whose partner left them when he saw his son’s physical imperfection. This boy was brought into the world with no arms whatsoever and one leg a bit shorter than the other. This boy has ample reason to be angry. I saw no such sign.

What I did see was a rather timid, beautiful being brought into our lives to help make Sharon and I better people. To help us to understand the most ancient of cliches: it’s better to give than to receive. Not long after meeting him I was so overwhelmed with gratitude for having been picked for this particular mission that I had to walk away from the excitement to gather myself. For a few minutes I stood solo, laying witness to this wonderful life I lead, feeling extremely blessed to look into those deep brown eyes and see the thankfulness reflected in them. I knew then that the next day’s effort would be merely a start to the commitment we’ve made to seeing this boy through the years to come…

Historically, I’ve been a great pre-race sleeper, save a few memorable all-night random thought fests. The night before Comrades fell into the latter category; we went to bed at 10PM and for the next five hours I flipped and flopped and flipped some more. The last time I checked my watch it was 3:05AM. Somewhere in the next eighteen minutes I fell asleep and dreamt about getting to the race having forgotten to put on my run leg. En route back to my room to get it I met a mounted police officer with a special horse-riding prosthesis (non-descript, but specific for the activity for some reason). I asked for galloping assistance but he couldn’t leave his post guarding a trailer-truck full of who-knows-what. Then the lights went on, someone said “Time to get up!” and the big day had begun.

Since we were “close” to the start, we were subject to—treated to, might be more appropriate—an energetic 25-minute walk to the corrals. Most of the team was in the “A” corral, but Thad and I were designated to “D,” pretty much right in the middle of things. At about 5:20 the crowd of 17,500 who made it to the start line busted out in the unofficial national song “Shosholoza.” This kind of national pride stuff we don’t get back in the states. It was a very special moment. Then the rooster crowed, signifying the gun would follow moments later. (The race is unofficially started by the speaker-blasted recording of a man cock-a-doodle-doing—I was told along the pre-race walk that some guy started cockling just for fun and did do for something like 30 years and so it became a customary legend. His performance had been recorded in the process before he passed away some number of years ago. The organizers have honored him with the recording ever since.)

As one might expect, it’s dark in South Africa at 5:30AM and remained so for the first 20-30 minutes of the run that had me shuffling along at 11-minute miles for the first 10k of the 89.28k that was our charge. This pace I chose was not so much dictated by the masses but by the heeding of the advice of our team captain, Josh Cox: “When you feel ready to go, don’t. Then when you feel ready to go again, don’t. And when you feel ready to go again, don’t…until you get to the mid-point of the race.” So, for the most part, that’s what I did.

Thad and I parted ways after about an hour and a half when I was first forced to pull over to give Stumpy his first break of many on the day. On just my second such break, I asked a man to lend me his shoulder for support. He obliged, mentioning that there was another amputee just 20 meters in front attending to his own maintenance needs. I figured this had to be Tom Davis, whom I’d met in our hotel lobby a couple days before. Like me, Tom is a left leg below-knee amputee from Colorado! He and I had never met or even heard of each other and there we were, running neck-and-neck, at the oldest ultramarathon in the world on the other side it!  He and I ran together for a spell before I slowly peeled away from him up one of the many hills. I’d see him soon thereafter when I pulled over for a reboot and watched him scamper by. This scene repeated itself several more times as I’d do that thing where I play leap frog with the masses: rebooting, re-passing, rebooting, re-passing… In mid-leap we would run together for a spell when more than once a fellow runner would comment “What are the chances that I’d be running Comrades between two amputees?” (Sadly, Tom developed a race-stopping blister that limited him to 50k.)

The kilometers clicked by rather comfortably for the next, oh, 30 miles or so. In the process I had run up and down hills, the steeper downhills I ran backward. Yes, backward. I seldom do so on race day, but I’ve been running backward on down steep hills in training ever since I first struggled with the landscape back in New Jersey, 1995. I remember it well,…

[Fade into blurry-edged daydream.]

…on a training run, descending from the Palisades near my home in Weehawken down to the docks by the Chart House Restaurant, I turned around and began walking backward to alleviate the awkward leverage torqued onto my dear, short little Stumpy and the out-of-balance pounding my sound, right leg encountered. In this reversed, perversed orientation, I broke into a focused gallop to keep the pace, only able to hold it for 30-40 feet that day. I repeated this maneuver each time I ran that hill in preparation for the New York City Marathon later that year and soon I could run a couple of hundred feet in this manner. Over time I became perhaps the GREATEST BACKWARD RUNNER THE WORLD HAS EVER KNOWN!!!!!!

[Fade back to reality.]

My backward pace matched that of the other runners, each performance accompanied by eye-contact and commentary and smiles and a break from the quad-pounding. Later in the race, after the 60k mark, knowing that I’d banked some speed with those easy miles early on—and, ultimately, knowing that neither of my legs were going to fall off, I ran the downhills in the traditional manner—in my traditional let-it-fly manner—and picked off literally thousands of runners over the next 30k.

(The World Vision staff brought all the kids to the race at about the 60k mark. An extra spark of energy was provided when I saw Sibonga and stopped for some chit-chat and a photo.)

I would have passed even more had Stumpy not screamed for relief more and more frequently as the kilometers trailed me. Over the course of the run I suspect it was a linear progression: that first reboot at 90 minutes, then every couple miles about the half way point, and finally they came less than every kilometer.

It’s a general rule-of-thumb to aim for an even- to negative-split race. That is to say you want the second half of the race to take no more time, preferably less time, than the first half. I evenly split the course. The vast majority of runners walked many of the latter miles and hence, I picked off hordes of them as the finish line approached. (Because I’ve become so very accustomed to my inability to hold the pace due to stump pain, I no longer harbor the feelings of old: “If only I could keep running, just think how much better I would do.” I can state with sincerity, primarily due to the notion that my fastest days are behind me, that I’ve moved on to “I’m so glad I can still run.”)

And I’m so glad that I never really needed to heed the advice of every single Comrades veteran I’d spoken with prior to the gun (and what I’ve experienced in many Ironmans): the bad patches will pass, you must persevere. There was no real “hard” part of the race, just a gradual increase in stump pain and general decrease in energy. I was kept afloat with proper pacing, proper nutrition (PowerBars and Gel Bites) proper hydration (I was one of very few runners opting for the hydration back-pack, which carried my PowerBar Endurance drink I had trained those many miles with, and which also carried bags of powder that, twice, I mixed with 24 ounces of water from the aid stations).

My pace deteriorated some in the final 10k and the reboot respites lasted a bit longer. There was a point where I thought ten hours was a outside possibility, but that didn’t last long. As you might expect, the kilometer markers were deeply welcomed in the final stretch, a stretch that didn’t really stretch at all but continued to be uphill/downhill until the last 2k.

I entered the stadium—after one final dangle just outside the gates—feeling strong, excited and proud. With the Flip video recorder I carried throughout the race (another reason I opted for the back-pack) I captured my own finish as the announcer announced my crossing at ten hours and thirty minutes. (I couldn’t have split it much better as I crossed the mid-point mats at 5:11.) Just before crossing I turned to the crowd, doffed the leg and pumped it in the air sans commentary. I turned to the line to proceed when the PA man continued “…he’s gonna hop across the finish line folks!”

Fat chance buddy! I popped it back on and strode proudly across the line, reaffirming that anything is possible and that I’m blessed to know so.

In the end every member of Team World Vision—18 Comrades first-timers—crossed the finish line before the 12-hour cut-off time.

1500 kids are glad we did.

The fact is our team is now only half way to the goal. With 750 more kids to sponsor, please visit www.theultimatecause.org and choose the child that will change YOUR life.

Until a few months ago, I would not have imagined that I’d be lining up with 21,000 others doing what most other Earthlings have trouble comprehending. But somehow fate stepped in and set me upon yet another wonderful path of opportunity and self-discovery. (There’s something about running marathons eight out of ten weekends, mostly by yourself, that confirms you’ve been blessed with physical health and opportunities some others aren’t so fortunate to enjoy.)

Last December I was lining up a late entry to Ironman Canada when my wife, the lovely Dr. Sharon Wetherall, busted out the good news: she’s pregnant with our third child and it’s due on August 20…which happens to be a week before the big race in Penticton, BC. And like that, Ironman was out. Then the phone call came from the Challenged Athletes Foundation; “I just got a call from Andy Baldwin, he’s looking for a leg amputee to run this big huge race in Africa, are you in?” My gut reaction—and immediate answer—was “No.” Eighteen hours later, after a little time to digest and discuss with Sharon, I was in. Thirty-six hours later I got in a 12 mile run. A few days later I toughed out a 17-miler. Next thing you know I’m running a 34-miler in Moab…through a foot of snow!…for like a mile…but still.

Now I’m on a continent I’ve never stepped foot on before preparing for something I might never repeat. Heck, I might not even finish—there’s no guarantees. I’m hoping, in no particular order, that might back, my right knee (the “good” side”) and my stump can tough it out.

The one thing I have in my favor, other than lots of Ironman experience, is the knowledge that I’ve made a personal pledge—as did Andy, Josh Cox and 14 other runners—to generate 100 sponsorships for needy African children running as a member of Team World Vision. And to those sponsors (most of which I have yet to generate) I’ve pledged that I’ll finish the race to help provide a better life experience to those not as fortunate as me. So when the pain sets it, I’ll fall back on the knowledge that this suffering is brief and voluntary and that reaching the finish line—in less that 12 hours—is why I signed up and is truly the only option.

To support our teams efforts and sponsor a child so that he or she may receive immunizations, clean water, education and more, please visit www.theultimatecause.org.

Last New Years Eve/Day, she ran 130.04 miles in a “how far can you run in 24 hours” race and beat the nearest competitor—the nearest able-bodied competitor, male or female—by 15 miles! This qualified her for the 24-Hour World Championships, to be contested in France sometime in May, as part of Team USA! YEAH AMY!!!  Read all about her at www.seeamyrun.com.

Earlier today, I completed something a bit more mainstream. The Boston Marathon. I did, however, run six miles beforehand and squeezed in a difficult extra mile after crossing the finish line. I was staying with a friend 1.4 miles from said finish line and had a plane to catch (on which I now type).

The extra miles and the 26.2 in between were all part of my own ultramarathon ambitions. You might have read about my commitment to run the 56-mile Comrades Marathon on May 30 in South Africa. Today’s race doubled as both a training day my official qualifier for next month’s run. I needed only finish under five hours—a goal I’d have bet large money on. What I was truly hoping for was to get in under four hours, so my 3:58:47—my slowest Boston finish of five—was warmly welcomed.

I’ve preached the following outlook on many stages in many cities over the years: I look forward to life’s adversity’s because nearly each and every one brings me a gift. Today’s challenge began last night when my host, Christine—one of my wife Sharon’s best friends who happens to inhabit 10th floor apartment with a killer view overlooking the River Charles!—injured her lower back at her nephew’s birthday party…in the bouncy house!  She shuffled through the door at 8PM in miserable pain and this morning, about the time she was to drive me to the start, she nearly passed out, right after she nearly vomited… Suffice to say I had to find another way to Hopkinton.

Her apartment isn’t too far from where the buses were loading up adjacent Boston Common and I had 30 minutes to spare, so jumped in a cab and put myself in line with thousands of other runners. Some say this is a quintessential part of the Boston Marathon experience and one I had yet to partake in. That was the first silver lining. The second was when the guy sitting next to me on the bus offered to sponsor a World Vision child in Africa in support of our team’s mission with the running of Comrades Marathon! My heart goes out to Christine—who was the first person to support me by sponsoring a child—and her suffering, but because of this challenge, which barely splashed on to me, a child and his or her community will have a better life. Some things are just meant to be.

(Please visit www.theultimatecause.org and sponsor a child. You’ll be glad you did.)

That was today’s excitement. Last week’s excitement went down in DC where I met Lord Stanley’s Cup! The vast majority of you just said “Cool!” To those of you who just said “What’s that?” it’s the coolest trophy in sports: the 100-plus year old championship trophy of the National Hockey League. It was in DC to celebrate the National Disabled Hockey Festival.  The weekend was filled with hockey players who don’t have all their “normal” parts. I played with the National Amputee Team. There were also deaf players, players with intellectual disabilities (special hockey), and sled hockey players. These guys and gals are mostly double amputees, above knee amps or paraplegics. The sleds are essentially seats set low to the ice, mounted on skate blades. They propel themselves across the ice with modified sticks that are shorter, have a more obtuse angle at the blade, and have spikes at the butt-end to push with. The US Team just won the gold medal at the Vancouver Paralympics!

I hadn’t played with the national team since the World Championships in Prague, 2004. The team’s president and co-founder, Dr. Dave Crandell, phoned me several weeks ago asking if I’d like to return to the squad for the weekend in DC—the team needs more “leg guys”. (In amputee hockey, teams are allowed only so many arm amputees—typically below elbow—on the ice at one time to maintain a fair balance of skating ability, and Team USA is loaded up with “arm guys.”) With Jack and Luke and an extremely hardworking-in-a-stressful-job pregnant wife (I love you Sharon!!!!), I limit my travel to business, i.e., money-making, and so declined the offer. Then he held out the carrot …

President Barrack Obama had personally requested a meeting with the team!  How could I pass up a chance to meet the President of the United States!?  Regardless of what side of the aisle you sit, it’s an extreme honor.

Of course, I said yes.

As of late, I’ve been playing drop-in hockey once a week, then bumped it up to twice in preparation for the trip. This cut into some of my mid-week training runs for Comrades, but I still stuck to my two-hour Saturday runs, followed by four to five hour Sunday runs.

Ever so sadly, with the White House visit schedule changing constantly in the waning hours or trip, we were granted an phenomenal tour of the White House, but the President had to bail; apparently signing nuclear disarmament treaties in Europe is more important than shaking the left hands of hockey players who have no rights.

While there wasn’t a ton of time to play, I did spent some quality hours with my very good friend Joel Sampson and his family. Joel—a congenital right foot amputee—and I met at the Gimpy Triathlon World Champs in 1998; we’ve been thick as thieves ever since. We kinda look alike, too, and ten years back when a woman approached us at a night club and asked if we were brothers, we each yanked up our respective pant legs and said we were Siamese twins attached at the foot. She swallowed it…clearly after swallowing a lotta liquor. Sh then professed to being intimate once with an amputee “and it was allllllright.”

Dropping it back into third…

I spoke to a group of insurance brokers at The Hartford office on Thursday, then to the entire staff at ProService, a local payroll company, on Friday morning. The focus of the trip was a Friday afternoon talk with the National Association of Social Workers Assurance Services, Inc: NASW-ASI. This final presentation was a great fun and ended with wonderful questions along with an invitation to visit some women transitioning out of prison; I had to decline due to other plans, regretfully missing what I would expect to be some seriously stimulating conversation.

I talked up going on a long trail run the following morning; I was fortunate that the president of ProService was a runner and he pointed me in the direction of a gorgeous, fairly technical, muddy, duck-under-humongous-ferns trail that weaved along side of whatever mountains backdrop Honolulu.

Round trip was 3.5 hours and 15 miles. I’ll need to keep not only keep training hard, but race hard at least once more in the next few weeks—I discovered while on this trip that last weekend’s 50 plus kilometer trail race wasn’t fast enough to qualify me for Comrades Marathon. Looks like I’ll be marathoning somewhere soon…

(Speaking of the run, if you’re the least bit into fitness—or reading—you gotta read Born to Run by Christopher McDougall. I finished it on the flight home and was so fired up when I got home that I ran 20 miles yesterday at a pace 20 seconds faster than any of my recent long runs.)

Joel came to get me and we headed back to Waikiki Beach, just across from the Hyatt Regency where I was staying.

I made a solemn attempt to paddle board with limited success. After 30 minutes the paddle was dropped back at the beach in hopes of surfing-surfing but the lack of waves turned my quest into a float fest. Joel and his kids, Lauren and Carter, were also out there floating around in the sunshine so there was little to complain about.

Until dinner … when it finally became clear why my hands felt so naked: my wedding ring now resides in the same waters where Sharon and I honeymooned and where we lost our surfing virginity …

In the end, with the theme I drilled into the audiences over and over again in the previous days—”Make your adversities work for you, not against you”—Sharon and I have already agreed to renew our vows a scant five years into marriage with the diamond I’ve yet to buy her and the replacement ring the fine folks at J. Albrecht Jewelers in Boulder will be happy to sell me. They’re cool like that.

I signed up to use this event as booth an introduction to ultra-marathoning and as a qualifier to complete my official registration in the 56-mile Comrades Marathon this coming May in South Africa.

Many of Saturday’s runners were surprised at the difficulty of the course conditions, primarily due to the snow—8-12 inches of it from miles 11-12—and lots of slush and mud throughout.

Most of the runners were probably well aware of the technical difficulty of the course without the snow cover, but yours truly was completely ignorant. I naively assumed that when they make a race 34-mile running race competitors are going to able to run nearly all of it … or at least almost all of it.

My five hour and fifteen minute goal was completely blown out of the water and would have been in even the driest conditions. Those of you who’ve read any of my ramblings will know that this prosthetic leg of mine might not be much of an advantage, but rarely, if ever, has it been such a disadvantage.

The combination of the steep descents on slick rock and off-kilter footing throughout reduced me to a shuffle and a quick march for much of the event. (In retrospect I would have been well-served to use more of a walking type leg than a “C” shaped runner, particularly in 12 inches of snow!)

Things started out well with a long climb on snow-pack then leveled out for a nine-minute-mile followed by a couple of eights on a gentle downhill. Then we began climbing again things started getting technical: up and over and down rocky formations … some covered in snow. On occasion the obstacles were big enough that you had to reach for hand holds and much of it unrunnable for the early pack I was racing with.

When I was able to run I got in a few more nine minute miles, which was the goal pace, but 14-15 minute miles was the average. I even clocked a 28 minute mile!

Within that long mile came the highlight of the run: the view over the edge of a 1000 foot cliff. As I was marching up a hill I saw two women staring out behind me so I joined them to take in the view.

“This is nothing, go up to the edge over there and take a look over the canyon.” Since I wasn’t in it to win it, I made some fresh tracks through the snow 50 feet off course to take in on of the most amazing views I’ve ever seen with my feet on the ground (flying over NYC on a clear night might be the coolest).

The ground just disappeared below me.  Highway 191 sliced through the redness of the valley toward the town of Moab 10 miles to the south. Arches National Park was to the northeast and the 12,ooo foot snow-capped La Sal mountain range popped out of the rocks to the southwest. This is the stuff that makes getting out of the house worthwhile and was well worth the few minutes tacked on to my finish time.

That delight came a couple of miles after checkpoint and aid station #4 at mile 18. Runners had the option to drop off special needs bags at the start of the race to be brought by the blessed volunteers to any of the several aid stations throughout the course. I opted for a PowerBar and a 20-ounce PowerBar Endurance drink—sure glad I did because they ran out of water just as I arrived. I stopped to reboot Stumpie—as I had several times along the way—reloaded my CamelBak (a beverage bladder you wear like a backpack with a hose to sip from) and headed out.

The course was so slick in places that the trucks who brought the aid failed to reach the next aid station at mile 25—the poor runners who didn’t get a chance to rehydrate at #4 would have to go a long way without water. I was so glad I’d packed that extra drink! I depleted that store before the final station at mile 30 and ate some snow to hydrate in the meantime. I imagine lots of folks were doing that.

Less than a mile from the finish, at the top of ridge we were to descend via a steep four-switchback plunge, I heard the familiar “Cooooo-wee!” call of my wife Sharon down below. I looked down and saw her pink fleece and waving arms and that told me I was certainly about to finish. She ran the final few hundred feet with me where I met Jack and Luke and snatched them up before crossing the finish line.

My goal late in the race was to finish before the awards ceremony at 3:30. Not four seconds after I crossed the line the winners were announced.

Victory often comes in the form of stretching your limits despite crossing the finish line after everyone else.

Regarding the shoulder issue I told you about recently: Six weeks of physical therapy proved remarkably helpful in reducing pain and returning my ability to make it through a swim workout. Yet an occasion ache remains and certain movements continue to hurt. This prompted my orthopedist, Dr. Michael Repine, to schedule an MRI. That test showed a two centimeter tear in my labrum, the topmost tendon of the rotator cuff.

The good news is that it can be fixed. The only option to do so, as supported by Dr. Sharon Wetherall, is a complete detachment and reattachment of the labrum.

The bad news is that recovery time is four to six months for normal daily activity function. A year before full strength is returned.

The second piece of medical news started off a positive note. Since I began running on a prosthesis sixteen years ago, Stumpie has suffered from what I’ve come to consider a circulation issue, causing me to stop and dangle and/or reboot to subdue the pain and restore blood-flow. Though four different prosthetists have built me run legs over the years, the pain has been relatively consistent and I’ve always presumed the problem was some sort of fit issue; perhaps Stumpie is oddly shaped or constructed and, hence, a difficult fit…or something.

My current prosthetist, Erik Shaffer of A Step Ahead Prosthetics and Orthotics, proposed the problem could be vascular insufficiency. No one, professional or otherwise, had ever mentioned this possibility, nor had the thought ever crossed my mind.

Sharon highly recommended Dr. Nelson Mozia for a consult. He prescribed a CT angiogram to inspect the integrity the veins and arteries in Stumpie. The initial results were just what I was hoping for: both the veins and arteries are severely occluded. This is good news because we’ve finally found the cause, which means we can do something about it!

Well, after Dr. Mozio consulted with an interventional radiologist and a CT radiologist, they concluded that the occlusions were so severe and widespread that a fix was out of the question. Angioplasty will not work due to the severity and a surgical procedure could result in an above knee amputation if it were to go awry. I ruled that one out immediately.

The one non-surgical option is a blood-thinning medication called Plavix which might help much needed oxygen reach those little Stumpie muscles. In the short term I’ve opted to give this a go. I’m told it takes ten days for full effect—on Sunday’s 23 mile run, day 7 of the medication, I dangled and rebooted many times. Guess we’ll just have to wait and see…

In the meantime, I’ll be getting a second opinion.

The final trip to the doc was not for me but for the family doctor—Sharon. The ultrasound showed that there is indeed an embryo growing in her womb! Unquestionably the biggest challenge of the three.

I was asked to be part of a team of athletes headed to South Africa to partake in a staggering fund-raising effort to benefit African children. I would be expected to generate 100 sponsors willing to commit to a child for the next five years. To prove I was serious about the whole thing, I’d have to run the world’s oldest and greatest ultra-marathon, The Comrades Marathon: a 56-mile jaunt started 80 years ago to honor the fallen comrades of World War I.

My initial response was an emphatic “no,” the whole “run 56-miles” thing was a bit of a turn-off. Eighteen hours later something had shifted around in the cranium and all of a sudden I was anxious to start training and called back to commit.

It must have something to do with the enticement of a challenge, one I can’t say I was expecting anytime soon. Not surprisingly, such a task requires some serious training for most of us mortals. So on Saturday I ran 13 miles then ran another 20 on Sunday. Looks like I can expect similar workouts—just longer—for the next five months.

And you can expect that I’ll be looking at all avenues to gather the sponsors I’ve committed to generate. On that note, if you’re reading this, please consider. I’ll have more information available soon, but it’s something to the affect of $35/month to help an African child get an education, some food and clean water, and some clothes on his or her back.

Perhaps you can get a group together willing to sponsor as a team. Perhaps you can get your company, your fraternity brothers, your family or your basketball team to pool funds and commit with me.

Please come back to this site in the next few weeks for more information about how you can help. I know that the suffering I’ll experience on May 30 (not to mention the many, many miles and the many, many hours of preparation) will pale in comparison to living without the means necessary to live the lives we’ve been blessed with.

Still more info can be found at www.comrades4thekids.com and www.worldvision.org.