Either way they’d be right. It’s all in the perspective.

Yesterday I suffered/enjoyed my own personal Boston Marathon Trifecta. Not sure if you heard but on April 16, 2012, between Hopkinton and Boston, Massachusetts, it was hot. Like 89 degrees Farenheit-hot. You may even have heard that my preparation for this race lasted a mere eight weeks. (I’d run 2-4 miles a half dozen times in the preceding five months before receiving the unexpected proposition to go the distance on Jan 28.) Very few of you have heard—the few folks and family I chatted with along the course—that Stumpie was in a bad way over the second half of this 26.2 mile run. Therein lies the trifecta: high temps, limited preparation and a socket full of stump pain, with the latter being the biggest problem. This led to a 4:26:56 finish time. Other than my rookie marathon in 1995—4:27 on a walking leg—this my slowest since I began marathoning. Not complaining, merely stating the facts.

The abridged story goes like this: The plan was slow and steady, looking to average 8:45s, and hydrate, hydrate, hydrate. I followed that plan closely right up until around Mile 10 where a blister formed in an area where the skin hasn’t failed in years, on the anterior aspect. The resultant pain was more of a discomfort early on and at Mile 13 I scored some Mole Skin from the medical tent to prevent further damage. Over the course of the race, however, Stumpie gradually become more and more fiery and another blister formed on the distal end. Combined with the oft-experienced compromised circulation—due to an occluded popliteal artery behind my knee–I was forced to stop and reboot at least 15 times to alleviate the pain. The last mile alone took 15 minutes.

So how could today’s transpirations be viewed as a win, you ask? Quite simple, I say: I ran my 6th Boston Marathon. (And caught my 6pm flight home.)

Thank you for your time and attention.

Paul

PS. I don’t actually know how much money we raised for Alexey’s orphanage, since this isn’t through one of those individual fundraising sites, but it seems to be between $2000 to $3000. Thank you so much for helping out.

PSS. Let’s make it $4000 shall we? www.alexeysdream.com.

My name is Doug Snyder, the regional key accounts manager for Precor Inc., a fitness company. I have been with Precor for over 16 years and during this time I have been privileged to hear many great speakers at our company events and those industry events we sponsor.

As soon as Paul was done—after the applause died down and he signed some of his books for our clients—I immediately offered to write him a letter of reference. Our problem at Precor for next year will be how do we top his presentation? Paul was that good.

Our staff and our 200 customers that attended were, quite frankly, blown away.

Thanks,
Doug Snyder

Luke’s bumming with his fat lip he received when he fell at school this week. But he’s pumped we signed up for T-ball and he said he’d be OK to play.

Sharon slept nary an hour on a OB shift last night, but she got a raise fatter than Luke’s lip.

I set out for a 20-mile run on Saturday and had to bail at 11—a week prior the last 3 miles of my 18-er were snail-pace tough.  Tuesday’s comfortable 20-miler more than made up for my heavy concern as I train for Boston Marathon just a few weeks away. Oh yeah, and I just received a brand-spanking new Precor commercial-grade treadmill. With a TV screen. Free of charge!

Jack… currently, he’s all good, so good he has been promoted to Level 4 gymnastics.
Ups, downs. Lows, highs. We’ve all had them. Some more glamorous than others—it’s all about appreciating the up stuff, putting the downs behind us and moving on.

Alexey Talai embodies that attitude. He’s the guy I wrote about recently. The guy who, at the age of 16, was running across his grandfather’s land in Belarus, chasing after his cousins before one of them errantly stepped onto one of the World War II land mines they’d been warned about—only to be the one who stepped on one first, losing both arms and both legs. He’s the guy who has decided to spend his time and energy helping others to live a better life by establishing a home for disabled children and orphans. With no help from the local government. He sees only possibilities.

Yesterday I met with a young man, age 25, similarly named, Alex. He lost his right leg below the knee just two days ago. I immediately felt a connection—I was his age when I had my accident and it took several days and multiple operations before the docs decided it was a lost cause.  I was asked to visit with him, to show him life that goes on, often better than you could have imagined before a significant part of you body is removed.

His was no land mine but caused by was the word my wife, the physician, doesn’t even like me to think: motorcycle!

Alex turned left on a yellow, cutting it close, but legal; the pickup truck coming the other way rolled right under his green light, timing it perfectly. Then his bumper met Alex’s right leg and suddenly things weren’t so perfect.

Alex has a world of emotional and physical pain to go through before he finds the beauty in his predicament. Yes, there’s beauty there. It’s up to him to find a way for his eyes to behold it.

Alex’s sister, Jamie, was by his side in the ICU, telling me how they’ve already decided to run a marathon next year, telling me how their’s is an estranged family and the two of them have only spoken twice in the last 12 years before this week. She told me she already sees the blessing behind this tragedy.
I’m already excited about how many marathons Alex might run. I’ll try to keep you posted.

And maybe Alexey’s orphanage will help thousands of needy children. Maybe you can help me help him do just that.  Please take a moment and a couple dollars and donate through PayPal at his site, www.alexeysdream.com and click on “How to help.” If you’d rather donate via check, please contact me. (If any of you understand Belarussian check out one of the many videos on his YouTube link. Seriously.)

I wholeheartedly vouch for him. He spent the night at our house several months ago. Legit. My word.

Thank You. Enjoy your highs.

PS. That treadmill wasn’t really free.  I wrote this post while waiting on my flight to Houston where I’ll be addressing employees of the expansive Houston YMCA network tomorrow…in exchange for a treadmill from the fine folks at Precor! Thanks Chuck! Thanks Bill!

Alexey Talai spent a night in our home last year—he’s a friend of a friend—and in 24 hours taught my family and a couple friends that all people are capable of accomplishing great feats to benefit others. He has single-handedly created a home for both orphans and people with disabilities in his country of Belarus. Single-handedly isn’t a fair description…since Alexei, at age 16, lost both arms and legs to a decades-old World War II landmine buried on his grandfather’s farm.

Alexei has come upon hard times with funding, not only his orphanage, but also his personal home. He and his wife have recently split and she has custody of their two boys. (I know nothing of the circumstances.) Understandably, according to Belarus law Alexey is liable to provide a home for his boys; a man of his character would do nothing less. The struggles he faces—with his physical condition and immovable devotion to his foundation for the needy—are nearly incomprehensible.

I’ve decided to dedicate my Boston Marathon this April to Alexey’s Dream Foundation. alexeysdream.com and cafeindependence.webs.com

Would you please consider joining Sharon and me in assisting this man and his orphanage in Belarus with a financial contribution? I’ll run the 26.2. All you gotta do is visit cafeindependence.webs.com/forhelp.htm to donate via PayPal (see the yellow “Make a Donation” button on the right hand) or send a check payable to Robert Harris, CAE and indicate “for Cafe Independence” in memo line. Funds will promptly be wire to Belaus. Mail contribution to Alexey Talai c/o Robert Harris, 335 Beard Street, Tallahassee, FL 32303. Robert, Bob as he’s known, is a good friend of mine and has made it his personal mission to make Alexey’s Dream come true.

Again, please consider helping this brave and courageous man. You have my word that your contribution will be well spent. In doing so, for my own knowledge, please drop me a line and let me know you’ve chipped in (no need to disclose contribution).

With deep thanks,

Paul Martin

Following is a letter from Alex describing his circumstances:

Today I am at home with my sons. Outside sunny and frozen cold, water Freezes in a minutes! They play with the snow and have great fun. Vladik telling me if we can take some Juice and To put it outside to made fruit Ice. And I was starting to think, can we allow ourselves it because of the cost of juice? If their father have enough money to do that?

Please don’t worry for us. Anyway, I will survive. I just want you to know actual, real situation about me and around me.   I just want make sure you understand everything, all situations.

I do the best I can in very difficult situation.

I need driver; I need gas for the car, wherever I go I spend money for gas (1 gallon = $2,75) and small compensation for my friend driver or 100% for driver who is not my friend or Arthur for free if he is free - working for food.

The country is not rich and in very difficult economic situation. Very difficult earn extra money.

You helped me to visit USA to become great opportunity. It is Great opportunity! It was my decision to invest more my private time not for family but for social work, to help children in needs. I didn’t expect that the payment for this my decision will be so big – My Family, my Boys. I lost my family and should pay them indemnification for our apartment or buy house. It is my Responsibility as a father not as a husband.
I needed in more quantity of money than I expected one year ago for building and heating. Because of financial crisis the price have crazy jumped up for everything - Building materials, food and gas.

In this very difficult situation and very limited Financing from out, I have achieved some success.   I did some PR for Foundation and great USA people in nation media on TV and newspaper.   I start new website with 0% Readiness. Found webmaster and web designer who working almost for free.   25 January I have bought the house for my children and Maria for $10.000 because they don’t have a place to live.
I almost (98%) finished office building, building have heating, electricity and rebuild stone ladder.
And I try to fix all this problems alone, at the same time without help.

Now I do not have money for my living, even for food. Yesterday I paid €200 (EUR) for builder for the staircase. At Monday I need to pay him another $80 when the stairs will dry up and after he will tidied up there. I do not have this $80… I want you, another my US friends to know (I don’t know who necessary this to know(Your decision who is OK to know it)) about this very difficult situation in my life and how I struggle for it. If somebody can help some way it will be great. I have worked very hard to build the building where will be our foundation, I did PR in USA and Europe. I just need some more investment To continue successful development.
…

With Respect, Alexey Talai
Inspirational Speaker. Founder and Executive Director © Alexey’s Dream Foundation Help for Orphans Children and Children with disabilities 850 228 2222 USA phone
011 375 29 1255242 Belarus phone
www.alexeysdream.com

Something tangibly notable always comes from time spent on stage. In Wichita it was the 16 year old boy who accompanied his mother. He was suspended from school for some minor infraction she withheld, and, hence, “Take Your Son to Work for Three Days” suddenly fell upon each of them. She was headed out of town to a conference and I suspect he was less than happy to receive the invitation.

The woman approached me afterward and said “he was meant to hear you today.” Which, in turn, confirms that I, too, was meant to be in Wichita that day…

In the nation’s capitol, I was honored to speak at Anytime Fitness’s annual conference. The event was held at the Omni Shoreham, the same place Julia Robert’s filmed The Pelican Brief, where Frank Sinatra serenaded Nancy Reagan and where numerous presidential inaugural balls have been held. I took the stage feeling on top of my game and the 800 attendees in the audience bounced the energy back at me and left me feeling oh-so-good about my job. It’s always a thrill to have folks from the crowd introduced themselves afterward and tell me their own stories of attitude over adversity.

Mr. Ego was happy when a couple of business owners approached looking to fill keynote slots at their respective upcoming conferences. “Consider yourself booked!” never gets old!

In Indianapolis a couple days later the highlight would have to be meeting Amir from Pakistan. He told me how he’d emigrated to the United States in his early twenties, unable to speak English, yet earned an engineering degree. After 30 years with General Motors he felt he needed a change a deeper purpose. He then went back to school for a degree in social work so that he might be able to help others who wish to make it in America. He’s having trouble making ends meet these days since, somewhat obviously, there’s little money to be made in his new profession. After telling me his story, he said I inspired him to “find a way to make my challenges work for me instead of against me, like you did.”

Whether you’re born on American soil, a naturalized citizen or an immigrant looking to make a difference, may the blessings follow wherever your heart leads you and may your famines be followed by feasts.

It’s not like I haven’t been doing much: In August I traveled to Copenhagen, for the second time this

Finisher's medal!!!!

summer, both on the behalf of Ossur, my prosthetics sponsor. This time it was just a little sprint triathlon on a Thursday night—400m swim, 18k bike, 4k run. To warm up I swam the course, reverse direction, and midway through I floated on my back a bit and thought about my good fortune to be getting paid to float on my back.

One hour and two minutes later the race was over and in that short time two “for the first time ever”s transpired. I always always always pass more people on the bike than pass me; not this time (rented road bike vs the other aero bikes probably played a role). I always always always get passed by more people on the run than I  pass; not this time. Can’t really explain this one. I ran 7:01 min miles, nothing crazy.

This little race was part of a bigger weekend of racing: there’s a fairly new Ironman-distance series call the “Challenge Family,” with races in Europe and a few other places. I was asked to address the 2200 athletes at Challenge Copenhagen over the PA system while they buzzed around the swim/bike transition at 6:45am, minutes before they started their 140.6-mile day—226 kilometers in their world.

I pretty sure not a single athlete paid attention. I was told the the media would be listening… Here’s what I had to say.

It’s gonna be a great day people, a great day indeed. There shall be pain and you shall like it!

You know, there was once a time you’d be considered god-like for completing the marathon. That wasn’t very long ago. Well, the ante has been raised, my friends. The head table once reserved for marathoners now requires an Ironman finish: 226 is the new 42!

In your pursuit of this head table you have logged many, many hours in training. You have sacrificed your free time, your vacations and your kids’ soccer games. This year all of your Monday mornings have been spent in the pool, your Saturdays on the bike and your Sundays on the run. All for the sake of today’s finish line.

There are more than 2200 of you competing today and something like 1000 of you are first-timers. Bravo to you, marching off into this world of relative unknown.

You first-timers are very brave men and women. You are young and you are old and you may or may not be experienced in the swim or the bike or the run but you have yet to put them all together for 12….or maybe 17…straight hours, and yet you are not afraid. You are ready!

Each of you has a different goal today. Some of you will be earnestly racing each other while most will be competing against yourselves, aiming for a certain time goal that you, or maybe your coach, have chosen. And, undoubtedly, there are a few of you who will be racing the 17-hour cut-off itself.  You are the bravest of all. I commend you.

Each of you has also had your own unique challenges in preparing for today, some of these challenges have been monumental!

Many of you have struggled just to find the time. That…is…by…far the biggest obstacle age-groupers face, finding those extra 20 hours in the week. Extra really doesn’t define those hours, does it? I mean, there’s really no such thing as extra time. It really does boil down to sacrificing something, or, more accurately, sacrificing lots of things. The sacrifices you must make present an enormous challenge. And, again, I commend you.

Many of you have battled through injuries during your preparation. The pain your backside feels on your long rides is nothing compared to the problems your knee or your back or your shoulder has been giving you. You’ve spent more time with your physiotherapist than your spouse!

And therein lies another major obstacle. Maintaining healthy relationships is a notoriously huge and very real challenge Ironman triathletes face. I ask you: what’s more important that your loved-ones? That’s right: nothing! And yet we chose, and they allow, time apart for you to complete this very important goal. I commend them, also.

Many of you have doubted yourselves and felt an on-going concern for not training as much as you feel you should have, for whatever multitude of reasons there are for not finding the time. That’s very typical and that’s nothing to feel guilty about; life gets in the way of training. That’s the way it is. And yet you’re here to race. That’s just awesome.

And all of you have subjected yourselves to these rigors because you crave the experience—whether it’s your first or your 21st Ironman—you crave the glory of the finish line and all the wonders it brings with it. The emotions, the pride and the message it sends to those around you. The limitless feelings of accomplishment that will overwhelm you are only achieved through this effort: you can’t buy them, you can’t borrow them, nor can you win them in the lottery. You must pay your dues to sit at this table. That is why we compete in extreme endurance events: because it is the only way to know our limits. It’s the only way to eliminate the self-doubt. It’s the only way to know who we really are.

Show me an Ironman triathlete and I’ll show you a person of integrity. Show me all those who dare complete this distance and I’ll show you the world’s finest individuals. They know no excuses. Their beauty lies in their willingness to push beyond the pain to find the beauty in the pain itself. This is where we discover ourselves and nothing in this world is more comforting that knowing our mental fortitude.

To those of you who reach the finish line today, it will be an honor to have you at our table. I am extremely proud of the Ironman badges that I wear and I’m confident that you will be also.

So, I wish you good luck today in your pursuit of this finish line…226 kilometers away.

And remember:

I har fortjent smerten I dag. Nyd den.
(EE har forCHENT SMERTin ee day. NOO den.)
[You have earned your pain today. Enjoy.]

Not sure how many understood my Danish either…

A couple weeks later I headed back to Oregon to run the Hood to Coast on behalf of The Hartford, that fabulous company that’s been so good not only to me, but also to every US Paralympian. A bit to write about here, I suppose.

Hood to Coast is a 197-mile, 12-person relay run. The team splits up into two “vans” of six; we were Van 2, I was the first leg of Van 2, which meant I was first to run after the Van 1 runners each completed their first legs. One-legged stud Jeff Glasbrenner handed me the baton.

I ran my 6 miles then got in a van with six other soon-to-be-smelly men. After our assignments we dispatched to a hotel room in downtown Portland where we all showered and then (despite telling myself I wouldn’t) ate way too much food at the fancy steak house they sent us to for dinner.

A few hours later I ran with a still-bloated belly at 11pm in pitch-darkness with a broken headlamp up and down steep hills that were lit up only by the support vehicles that would come by every 30 seconds or so. (Frankly, since I’m always focused on where my feet are striking—stiff ankle lends to hyperextension of the knee if I step on something funny—it was both liberating and exhilarating to run blindly downhill!). The downside of running sub-6s on a steep downhill is that the leg turnover is fast, the impact is violent, the prosthesis gets sloppy and I tore a large, deep blister into Stumpie, which rendered the remaining two miles a difficult charge. When I pulled over to the van to first view the damage, a teammate said he’d take over the rest of my run.  I said, “Shut the f**k up!” Then I said, “Sorry…just a bit amped up right now.”  He said, “I’d have said the same thing.”
(Well, maybe I do have a few things to say.)

Then back in the van for a little off-and-on shut eye while my vanmates ran their designated sections. Many hours later, as my last leg (that’s what the segments are called, not my fault) approached, I told the others there was a very slim chance I’d be able to run. Of course, everyone volunteered to share the duty. Yet, when my number was up, I felt I should at least give it a go.

It began with the hop-skip technique—hop on the good leg and swing the blistered one forward—it’s all about not bending the knee and reducing the impact as much as possible. Soon I was in a little groove, Stumpie stop complaining quite so much and I was able to run leg-over-leg, normal style, albeit very slowly. The uphill sections were easier and the downhill sections were tough, but, thankfully, it was a fairly flat leg. Those final four miles took 45 minutes. Like most things in life, the tough ones are the ones we’re proud of.

Oh yeah, one more thing. Sharon and I teamed up for an off-road duathlon in Tabernash, CO, a couple weekends back and took first in the relay division, beating the men’s teams!  Full disclosure: I think there were 5 teams…

Like I said earlier, I don’t have much to say so I’ll wrap it up with this: Last month I received a call from the US Paralymipcs. They were in need of filling a spot on the US Olympic Committee’s Athlete Advisory board. It was an honor to be asked and I’m now the AAC’s Paralympic Cycling representative, a volunteer position. My first meeting was this past weekend in Colorado Springs at the Olympic and Paralympic Assembly. (It was a thrill to spend time with athlete reps from every Olympic Sport. I shared the dinner table with speed walking, speed skating, team handball, figure skating, bowling and curling; what a diverse crew!)  I walked in on Friday knowing next to nothing and left on Saturday night with some direction, feeling not only incredibly blessed to represent my fellow athletes, but motivated to advocate on their behalf.

Perhaps not having anything to say is good… As always, thanks for taking the time.

“When the student is ready, the teach will appear.” This old saying appeared near the end of the book I just finished titled “The Hero’s Choice,” by Roger K. Allen. This book was my teacher—apparently I was ready.

Two weeks past, in Colorado Springs, I presented a short dialogue of my personal history to a group of insurance folks while representing a long-time sponsor of both myself and the US Paralympics, The Hartford. In the audience that day was a local broker named Ivan. In the parking lot just outside the “West Wing” of the US Olympic Training Center, he thanked me for sharing my story before handing me a copy of “The Hero’s Choice.” He’d received a signed copy from the author at a leadership conference the author had directed. In thanking Ivan, I mentioned the timing was perfect because the day before I’d wrapped up reading Andre Agazzi’s “Open”—highly recommended, which I read on the tails of closing Keith Richard’s “Life,” another fascinating tale—and was in need of another read. I was less than sincere in this statement, not intending to crack this gift before giving attention to a couple of other books I had in line. But something urged me to grab it at the last second as I scrambled to get myself to the airport, two days ago, en route to Pensacola Beach, FL, to present to the closing breakfast attendees of the Louisiana Oil Marketers and Convenience Store Association’s (LOMCSA) annual meeting.

I’m now sitting on the plane back to Denver, moments ago enjoying the closing pages of the divinely-received publication.

On stage yesterday I told the audience, as I sincerely state during the majority of my engagements, that I look forward to every unsavory experience in my life because nearly each is followed by something sweet. I won’t bore you with the long list, however they come in all shapes and sizes. Tuesday’s scramble to get out of the house resulted in my wallet failing to make the trip with me. This dawned on me 20 minutes into my already tight drive to the airport. The quick turnaround to retrieve it and get back on the road wasn’t quick enough: I arrived at the ticket counter 28 minutes before scheduled departure, two minutes past cut-off. The resulting sweetness came in the form of an extra four hours at the airport—plenty of time to catch up on stuff…and to read. (Since July 2, I’ve been working incessantly on a 47′x12′ deck, 10 feet off

the ground, off the back of the house. The venture has been mostly solo but a few wonderful neighbors and friends have provided helping hands on the heavy stuff—the kids have been enjoying the TV time!).

I reached my hotel bed in Florida at nearly half past midnight. Before falling off to sleep, I phoned the front desk to delay my wake-up call from 5:45 to 6:45—the morning swim in the crystal clear waters of the Gulf, lapping upon the white sand beaches, would have to wait until my next visit.

The morning’s presentation went well, the folks who brought me in gave my ego just what it yearns for: high praise. However, those kind words paled in comparison to the words from Jack, a man who’s face, fitness—and hair!—made it hard to believe he’s already reached his 50th year. “I’ve been feeling quite depressed lately and your words were exactly what I needed to hear. Thank you so much.” Jack fought back some tears as his beautiful wife and handsome children made their way toward the door. One can only guess what a man of his blessings has to be depressed about, but, nevertheless, the suffering is real and all I could do was be thankful we shared the same space that morning.

I finished personalizing the copies my books the organizers had bought for all in attendance before grabbing a cab back to the airport. (Including sleep, 12 hours at a luxury Hilton isn’t enough!) We boarded on time, yet sat on the tarmac for a good 45 minutes due to a back-up at my connecting airport in Charlotte, NC—nasty lightning storm. Upon our approach to Charlotte, we were put in a holding pattern as the captain waited out the storm. Thirty minutes of this had burned up the fuel; we would now have to land at the nearby Greensboro/Spartansburg airport. In the end our connections were canceled and four hours after our scheduled landing time in Charlotte, they put us on a bus and drove us there, 90 minutes away.  All of these delays, of course, gave me plenty of time to read…

The protagonist in the book is a guy by the name of Hal. In short, Hal gets fired from his job as managing partner of a $60 million real estate company he founded. Not surprisingly, he’s furious about his perceived “railroading” by the board of directors—his partners—but discovers, through his newly-found friendship with an elderly man, that he’s created his own reality and it’s up to him to own up to it and to choose the appropriate response.

Why did this book impact me so? Primarily because Hal’s tendency to blame other’s and to retreat from conflict traces back to his relationship with his father, a man whom Hal always “perceived” as cold and heartless; a man Hal was always trying to impress but failed to meet his father’s expectations of him…or so he thought. Through out his life, Hal made assumptions regarding his father’s motivations and also falsely assumed his father new what Hal was feeling.

And those experiences run parallel to mine. Thoughts of my father have consistently brought resentment for as long as I can remember. And not necessarily for any great fault of his. I truly believe I’ve let certain comments fester beyond their worth. I can’t tell you how many hard-charging training miles on my bike have been fueled by anger, by the toxicity I’ve allowed myself to wallow in. Much of my own creation.

I’m quite certain my dad will not actually read this entry. But I could be wrong. And for this latter reason, I’m putting this in writing. To him, on occasion, I’ve alluded to the root of what I consider our tenuous relationship, but have yet to make a “hero’s choice” of meeting it head-on, sharing my perceptions of him, asking him to do the same. He needs to hear this from me, not read it. So now I must make the call.

Wish me luck.

Paul

PS.  A couple days later I made the call. Sparring the details, what a tremendous relief to open up the door to healthier relationship…

I tell my wife, Sharon, of the offer and she immediately has the solution (I’m ever-so-thankful that she always does!): “You go run your marathon, I’ll pick up your mother from the airport…and I’ll go to the show with Cathy!”

Other than missing what would be sure to be one of the greatest shows I’d ever get a chance to experience, the plan had no holes.

At seven the next morning I ran a 12-miler before joining the family at Jack’s 9am Saturday morning soccer game. Had they kept score, it would’ve been like 10-1.

The following Saturday I knocked off a 14-miler (between long runs were managed one 50-minute treadmill run, one lunchtime pick-up game of hockey, one late-night league game, and one 75-minute bike ride with Hawk and Luke asleep in the Burley), ending at the soccer field to witness Jack’s 10 o’clock team schooling.

Saturday #3 witnessed a relatively successful 17-mile run en route to soccer (maybe a total of three goals in three games). The next day I had the beginnings of a boil on Stumpy.

MRSA (known as “mersa”)—that haunting SOB who’s taken up residence in my immune system for the last five years—decided to make another showing atop my fibular head (the bony prominence at the top of the fibula, just below the knee to the outside). In my case, MRSA manifests itself as boils. These topical infections of this skin are extremely tender and when you are forced to bear 162 pounds on them with every step, they’re simply agonizing. I walked for the next few days since the nastiness wasn’t full blown nasty just yet, and even managed to play hockey Wednesday night with the help of a couple pain killers. Then I spent some days on crutches.

What? You advise that maybe I should’ve taken up the crutches earlier? Save it. I’m really, truly not interested in your opinion. (Is it obvious that nearly 20 years of unwarranted advice has worn on me?)

I was cool with crutching it for a few days before the weekend’s long run. Saturday came and I was still on crutches. Sunday, no crutch, but no can run either. Moving right along, I couldn’t manage more that 30 minutes on the treadmill, nor the road, nor the itty-bitty indoor track at the gym for the next three weeks. The boil didn’t hang out for too long but the residual hole took much longer than anticipated to heal and even when the skin completely covered it, I was left with a needling sensation that just wouldn’t quit. Six days before the race I had to bail after a quarter mile…

When I first accepted the offer, I figured with five or six long runs and some good mid-week training I’d be able to muster a 3:45 marathon, maybe a 3:30 if the stars aligned. Due to the lack of training I resolved to a hopeful sub-four—that is, if that needle was gone. Assuringly, one thing I’ve learned racing for the last 17 years: Stumpy always comes through on Race Day!

(I should note that cycling was still quite painful, but hockey only hurt mildly when I sat on the bench! I maintained some level of fitness by skating my ass off twice a week.)

Yesterday, May 22, 2011, Stumpy shined once again!

I’ll give just a bit more backstory before moving on. Last Tuesday I flew to Boston and due to a delay in Dallas got to bed around 2am…in a hotel room that had yet to be serviced since the last visitor. The only room available, of course. Luckily this was a double and the other bed hadn’t been touched. Just bring me a clean towel!

Up at seven for a 9am presentation at The Bostonian Group, a sizable insurance brokerage just steps away from the Boston Marathon finish line. The CEO claimed it a successful delivery which left me feeling back on track. I delivered another talk that night to the employees of Athol Savings Bank, a small bank in North Central Mass.

The next day was my sister’s graduation ceremony and she had by far the biggest smile of the three hundred plus graduates in attendance! So proud of you, Elaine Woodward!!!!

The next night (after a relatively painless 30-minute run) was Elaine’s “pinning ceremony” and with her last name falling alphabetically where it does, she was second to last in this ritual. I stayed right up until the big moment, 7:30pm, then promptly leapt into the rented Suburban for my hasty trek back to Logan Airport. I arrived at the gate of my 10:55pm flight to Copenhagen 10 minutes before boarding. Slept an hour, maybe, on the flight to Denmark, via Paris. Arrived at 3pm and would be back on a plane in 34 hours! Bedded by 10pm Copenhagen time, Skyped my family and talked with my mom who was now in Colorado holding Hawk, our youngest, before getting a solid seven hours.

The Race: the plan was to go out easy—maybe 9:00-9:30 pace and see how it goes. (Let me add here that Scout Bassett, an above knee amp, was also brought in to run. She’s the coolest 4′8”, 74 pound 22-yr old UCLA Anthropology major I know! She and I started together at the gun as she set out to set a new PR.) By Mile 8 I was still feeling well in Body, Mind, and Stump. At the half-marathon point I felt I could pick it up some. By then I had stopped two, maybe three times to reboot and a couple times to dangle.

I checked my watch: elapsed time, 1:50.

It began to rain.

A few more miles, the rain had subsided, the clouds remained and the temps were back to high 60s/low 70s. A little sweat, but overall quite a comfortable conditions, on, as you may have presumed, a very flat course. Nary a hill in all of Denmark!

As is always the case, as the race progressed the dangles and reboots came with increasing frequency, but nothing terrible and nothing I haven’t experienced a thousand times (that might not be an exaggeration). With 7 miles to go I felt quite good, really started to pick it up and began passing more and more runners. With 4 miles to go I felt far better than expected and turned it up another notch. My Garmin 205 GPS noted a sub-seven minute pace, 6:45 at one glance. Couple more dangles/reboots…

Before I hit the finish line I started to fade a bit, yet I was all fired up knowing that my system could pull-off a respectable performance with such little training. As the line approached and I was about to notch a 3:49:55 marathon, I smiled and gave a little shout-out to the sweet spirit that allows such moments to transpire.

For years I put miles in the bank. Thankfully, I was able to withdraw a few on a rainy day in Denmark.

Twenty or so men and women of various disabilities (many below-knee amps, aka trans-tibial or BK like me) took up the offer for the all-expense paid trip to the white sandy beaches to learn from certified triathlon coaches and several of us who have already put in thousands of miles. Several from the group were injured in the conflicts overseas, and, as I’ve mentioned before, that’s where the true reward is: being able to help those who’ve sacrificed so much for the rest of us. “Wounded Warriors” has become the popular moniker. (Can’t tell you how often I’m asked if I’m an injured vet!)

The accommodations couldn’t have been better than that of The Portofino at Pensacola Beach. My 14th floor condo overlooking the ocean was a real surprise—we’re typically housed on more of a budget, but I suppose these condos were sponsored to some degree by the management.  A fabulous dinner started things off on Thursday night along with introductions of staff, mentors and campers. Breakfast was served 6am sharp and by 8am, after building our bikes and going over bike fitting and prosthetic issues, the BKs were on the treadmill for gate analysis and the other groups were either in the pool or on the bikes.

I was not there so much to coach as to be the example of how to it should be done, or as close to ideal as I could manage. Even my bad habits have improved over the years! One of the coaches, Sorgio Borges of X Training, put me on the treadmill first to demonstrate proper form: slight lean forward, not bent at waist; loose shoulders and arms, latter in tight; quick, light foot strikes; head looking 8-10 feet ahead; etc. Many of the others had great running strides already, some of whom were still running on walking legs—no Ossur Run-Flex feet (C-shaped carbon) most of us are now on. They still ran great and have nowhere to go but faster and smoother.

It didn’t take long to take a liking to Kent Solheim, an Army Green Beret who lost his lower leg to a close-quartered fire-fight in Iraq. I hope I am at liberty to quote him: “I’d shot one guy from about 10 ft, then stood over him and capped him, just then his buddy came from another room and put four bullets though my legs.” Man…hard to even comprehend.

Later that day were in the pool for swim-stroke analysis. This was good stuff for me too. As of late, with a return to the water after not spending much time at all in there in the past few years, one of the Boulder YMCA coaches has been helping me to slow down my stroke and stretch out a little more. In the pool this week was Mike Garlan from Asphalt Green in NYC and Coach John Murray from the Multisport Performance Institute in Pensacola. Each were fabulous instructors whose tips will surely benefit my future competitions. Mike put my middle fingers “on rails” (unbeknownst to me I’ve been S-stroking) and John got me “reaching over the barrel” to grab more water. Each of these theories of proper technique I am familiar with, but little did I know I wasn’t executing them properly. These faults were proven in the underwater video clips they provided me on DVD, which I watched earlier on this flight back to Denver. (And my single leg kick has been grossly inefficient, bending nearly 30 degrees creating massive drag!)

That night myself and Eric Averill, a Boston resident, fellow Boston Bruins fan, and VP at USA Triathlon headed down to the local sports bar with a gazillion TVs to watch the Bs complete their sweep of the Philadelphia Flyers and move on to the Eastern Conference Finals!  GO Bs!!!!!!!!!!!!

Our training grounds at Pensacola Beach were a 200 meter wide strip of land that extends east of Pensacola with the Gulf of Mexico to the south and Pensacola Bay to the north. On Saturday morning we were on the bay side practicing open water swim technique. Several of the campers had never swam in open water. One camper, Earl Barnes, a firefighter who’d lost his leg on a murdercycle, is a former college swimmer and showed me the line around the buoys and back. I later found out he could ride a bike too!

From there we went straight to a local middle school track to work on run form drills and knock off descending 200s. My first track workout in forever! Felt good. Loyal Pyczynski, A 25ish-year old congenital hand amputee—built like a runner—ran away with the “fastest guy at camp” award.

After the Subway sponsored lunch and some lectures from the MPI staff, we headed out for out ride, broken up into groups based on ability. The more experienced guys and gals rode 13.5 miles out to the end of the peninsula and back. Things had started to wind up toward the half way point and it was soon made clear that Kent had also ridden before. Turns out before joint the army, putting on lots of muscle mass and becoming a member of the Special Forces, he was a Cat 1 cyclist!

On the return trip, into the wind, two of the guys—understandably, the two above-knee amputees—had gotten dropped from the pace. Since I was there as a mentor, I wouldn’t have been much of one had I left them out to dry, so I hung back and began pulling them back to the hotel. Soon thereafter Coach John came back and helped with the work. Then the bottomless pit of energy and chatter known as Peter Harsch—prosthetist at the San Diego Navy Medical facility, builder of several of these boys’ legs, and tremendously talented Ironman athlete—came back to us along with Coach Mike Sortino of MPI to help get everyone home. Shortly thereafter Peter, Mike and John lit it up off the back and began hammering it home. I hesitated, feeling I must hang with the other two, then it occurred to me that these two grown men behind me could ride a few miles home by themselves; I took off on chase. I’d waited too long and couldn’t catch them (as much as assumed I would!) but did get in 12 minutes of max time trial training!

That was pretty much the end of the program for me but one matter remained: I had to get to the beach mere steps away from my hotel and swim in the gulf. After an unexpected cat-nap, I crossed the road and was both reminded and amazed at how clear and beautiful and perfect the water is there! I swam for spell, then hurried back to grab a quick shower and catch the boat to dinner.

Up at 4:30 on Sunday morning for my return to Colorado and Mother’s Day brunch at the fabulous Green Briar Restaurant at the bottom of Left hand Canyon, a few miles north of Boulder, just down the road from where my dad built a house in 1972.

I think you might agree, life is what you make of it.

I have put three segments up on YouTube under the titles Comrades 1, Comrades 2 and Comrades 3. The last one is only 6 minutes and where you’ll get the most entertainment via suffering!  Please forgive the low-rate editing.  I hope you enjoy.

While much of my time as of late has been spent taking care of the boys (Jack 4, Luke 3, and Hawk 8 months), I have managed to find some time to swim, bike and run. Motivation has come directly from the recent inclusion of paratriathlon into the Paralympics in Rio 2016. I’m back on the National Team and will race in London in August for Paralympic promotion and, most likely, at the London 2012 Paralympics as an exhibition—non-medal event.

I’ve also been playing hockey 2-3 times a week. Our bush league team plays tonight for the Championship trophy! Wish us luck. We’re the Parking Lot Hackers!

Wishing you the best,

Paul Martin