the long run : the story of matt long’s recovery

When I used to feel stress at the firehouse … I had the simple solution : Throw on a singlet, put on the shorts, lace up the running shoes and do a hard six miler in the park. Every run solved a problem or reduced its significance. I liked to say a run cleaned the chalkboard of life.

A big source of inspiration for me, as I was recovering from my bike accident in 2008 was New York City firefighter Matthew Long.  He’d been struck by a bus while riding to work.  He suffered extensive internal injuries.  Matt was initially given a 5% chance of survival.  Yet three years later, he lined up at the start of the New York City Marathon, to run the race of a lifetime.  His is an amazing story.

I survived because I had trained my heart to do the same. Becoming an Ironman had kept me from becoming a dead man.

Matt’s book The Long Run is available in paperback now.  It’s a worthwhile read – particularly for those dealing with life-altering injuries.  You can check out his interview with Jon Stewart, talking about what he was up against, and some of the things that made a big difference for him.

It seemed that with each conversation I had with a doctor, the longer my road to recovery became.

I’d first read Matt’s story in the New York Times, just before he ran the 2008 New York City Marathon.  I was nearly four months from my own adventure with a negligent driver.  Reading about Matt making it to the starting line again gave me a glimmer of hope that I might do the same.  Reading and seeing his path to the finish line in Runner’s World in early 2009 was a transformative experience for me.

While in my own recovery, one of the things I struggled with the most was setting my own expectations about when or whether I’d get back to where I’d been before the accident.  Recovery from a serious injury such as a Traumatic Brain Injury does not have a straight path.  There aren’t timelines you can count on.  In a situation like that, it’s hard to figure out what a reasonable baseline of expectations is – at work, running marathons, or with life in general. 

“Matt, come on.” she snapped. “Look how far you’ve come” But I didn’t want to look back. And I couldn’t look forward. I had always lived in the present. I used to wake up every morning expecting to make that day more fun than the day before … Then I got run over by a bus and I couldn’t do anything or see anything. I couldn’t see that last week I had walked 30 feet down a hallway, and this week I walked 60 feet, and next week I might walk 120 feet. I didn’t see that things were doubling. I just saw one thing. Me in a damn wheelchair with a damn colostomy bag hooked to my side.

Matt’s story illustrates this difficulty very clearly.  Prior to his accident, Matt had completed several marathons – including a personal-best (and Boston-qualifying) 3:13 weeks before the race.  He’d also completed Ironman Lake Placid in a very respectable 11:18:01.

Everything changed on the morning of December 22, 2005.  He had to retrain his body in order to become independent again.  In order to start running again, he needed to walk.  In order to walk he needed to stand up.  In order to stand up, he needed to convince himself that he could do it.

“I am very confused about how I feel about my accident.  I ask “Why?” knowing that is a question never to be answered.  I ask to have a full recovery, and that will only be answered in time.  I find myself negotiating with God day in and day out …”

Talking about what it took to stand up again only scratches the surface of the degree of challenge Matt faced.  Coming to terms with some of the consequences of suffering extensive muscular and nerve damage in his core took several years.  Matt’s ability to talk about this will ring true to anyone who’s faced an uphill recovery – focusing on rebuilding both body and your spirit takes incredible determination, and (as Matt tells us) – and incredible amount of support – family, friends, and faith.

[The physical therapist] finished by writing, “If you want to run, all the better.  I would never tell anyone they couldn’t do what they wanted to do”.

One thing to remember is that determination takes many forms.  Sometimes it’s digging deeper to run faster or longer than you thought you could.  Other times it’s dealing with setbacks and not giving up on yourself.  Knowing that if you can’t run today, you’ll try again tomorrow.

The power of Matt’s story for me is how he focused on “I Will” instead of feeling defined by what he couldn’t do.  It’s the gift of hope.

Check out his book The Long Run, or the Runner’s World profile of him.

three years and thankful

I nearly lost my life three years ago today.  You can read about that adventure here if you’d like.  Not a day goes by that I’m not reminded about what happened.  Not a day goes by that I don’t feel fortunate to be alive, and active.

For the past two July the firsts, I’ve visited the fire station that answered the call for my accident – Station #12 in Redmond.  Getting to thank people for saving your life is quite amazing. 

The first responders have a code they try to adhere to – called 7-7-7.  That means no longer than seven minutes to get to the scene, seven minutes readying a patient for transport, and then seven minutes to the hospital.  For Traumatic Brain Injury patients like me, time is of the essence.  Taking longer can jeopardize the patient’s life, or leave them vulnerable to sustaining brain damage.

Perhaps from their standpoint, the cyclist hit on Old Redmond Road near Grasslawn Park at 8:30 that morning posed no special challenge to them. Perhaps they simply did their job, making sure I was stabilized, and made it safely to the trauma center at Harborview Hospital in Seattle.

But it’s clear that what first responders like those that helped me, are true heroes.  What they do really matters – as it did to my family and I that morning three years ago.

They invited me back into the firehouse, and we talked for a while.  They asked how I felt, whether I remembered anything about the accident, and whether I’d spoken to the driver at all (I haven’t).

We talked about efforts to create stricter negligent driving laws, and I told them about some of the people who shared their stories in Olympia in support of the Vulnerable User Bill (signed into law by Washington Governor Christine Gregoire this past May 16).

And then we were interrupted by a call they needed to answer.  I stood by my bicycle and waved as they left, thinking about how they’d done this for me not too long ago.

In many ways, I’m happy to leave these memories behind me, and simply move on.  But remembering this anniversary by saying “thank you” is a reminder of just how blessed I am.

vulnerable user bill–signed into law

Just got back from a trip down to Olympia today, where Governor Christine Gregoire has signed SB 5326, the Vulnerable User Bill into law.  This is the culmination of three years of advocacy work by the Cascade Bicycle Club and others.  Having attended three Judiciary Committee hearings, and testified at two – I’m pleased to see this come to fruition.  SB 5326 was among the final bills signed from this legislative year. 

pictures snapped from tvw.org’s video feed

Shortly before four this afternoon, I got to shake the governor’s hand, and to tell her that my family and I appreciate this new law.  It will go into effect on July 1, 2012, four years to the day after my accident.

If you are interested, you can view the video of the bill signing here (the Vulnerable User Law signing occurs at time 33:25) :

http://tvw.org/media/mediaplayer.cfm?evid=2011050114&TYPE=V&CFID=5558792&CFTOKEN=26831267&bhcp=1

This experience was valuable for me in a number of ways.  First – it’s an education to see the legislative process in action.  Definitely not always pretty, but definitely good to understand.  Watching the Advocacy folks with Cascade work with the bill sponsors to help navigate the process was interesting.  Speaking with my legislators, as well as others about why it’s good to build awareness and accountability into our driving laws, was incredible.  Obviously, the opportunity to participate in positive change following my own brush with an inattentive driver was powerful too – good things from bad, and all that. 

The person I really have to thank for this is my wife Kris.  During my recovery back in late 2008, she and I were talking about the motorist vs. cyclist dynamic – how each seems to incite the other endlessly concerning road safety.  Kris pointed out that rather than complaining, it’s a far better use of energy to work to change the laws.  Naturally when the opportunity to participate arose a couple of months later, I couldn’t pass it up.

All in all, a good day.

recovery–time on my wheels

A couple of weeks back, I posted about having a LeFort 1 Orthognathic Osetotomy.  Basically, I had my Maxilla (upper jaw) rebroken, in order to better align it with the mandible (lower jaw).  Pretty straightforward procedure, but still not fun.

I’d known this was coming for about two years, ever since my first consultation with an orthodontist to address the alignment issues resulting from the bike accident.  And something about having that much time to think, or about it being a bit more ‘optional’ than my other four surgeries back in 2008 (the initial Decompressive Craniectomy for my TBI, an initial LeFort Osteotomy for my facial fractures, then two cranioplasties to reinsert bone, then bolster the left temporal area of my skull) – this latest one had me a bit nervous.  Part of me wondered why in the hell I’d invite someone to move my facial bones about again.

The surgery was about eight days ago.  It took about 90 minutes and according to the doctor, went quite well.  That first day, I felt far worse than I had after the cranioplasties (I don’t remember much about the others).  I was really out of it from the anesthesia, and there was a lot of blood back in my sinus cavities.  I’d sit up a bit and bleed all over myself (ick).  But the next day, I felt better.  And two days later I went for a nice long walk with my daughter, and felt even better.

Eating stuff that has the consistency of baby food isn’t fun, but not as bad or as hard as I’d worried it would be.

Two days ago, the doctor told me I could basically do anything short of running (too my jostling and impact), or chew food tougher than a ripe banana (need to allow the bone some initial healing time). 

And this afternoon, I got a lesson in what recovery is about.  I’m back to work, and finding ways to stay active again.  I got the okay to ride my road bike.  Standard cautions – don’t overdo it, etc.  Today was beautiful – too nice to pass up a chance at getting a good ride in.  So I rode into work, and took a slightly longer than usual route.  I put in a good day at work, then took advantage of the sunshine, and aimed to take an hour-long ride home.

I’m still not 100%.  Definitely feeling fatigue a bit more than usual.  So I kept my perceived exertion rate modest on the uphill stretches, and just kept things steady on the flats.  Downhill was interesting.  I found myself nervous about picking up too much speed.  I was very conscious of not wanting to lose control, fall, and yes – break my face.  I’d felt some of this before, usually on long downhill stretches, but today’s apprehension was a lot more pronounced than usual.  Really bugged me too.  I’m no daredevil at the best of times, but I basically rode my brakes on most hills.  When I got home, I was really amazed at just how much tension I was carrying from the ride.

And therein lies the lesson.

There are few miracles in recovery.  Lots of good fortune – yes.  But the thing I don’t always remember from my experience of 2008 is that a lot of this is about just staying with it.  Time on your wheels, opening your heart and mind to fresh, positive experience gets rid of doubt and fear.

That’s what I’m telling myself now.  Need to spend more time on my wheels.

just a little off the top, please

In a few days, I’ll undergo surgery on my upper jaw to address some residual issues from my bike accident in 2008. 

One of the injuries I suffered was a LeFort Fracture, involving a number of facial bones – namely my orbitals (around the eyes), nose, and maxilla (upper jaw).  While still in Harborview, I had surgery to stabilize these bones, and gained a bit of titanium mesh and some screws along the way.  My mandible (lower jaw) was also broken, but the doctors opted to allow this to resolve itself rather than intervene.

As I healed, my maxilla and mandible were markedly offset from one another.  They’re visibly skewed. resulting in some facial asymmetry, and a serious bite misalignment.  I will undergo a LeFort 1 Orthognathic Osetotomy, addressing the larger alignment issues.  There’s also a small chance that the realignment will help address the tinnitus I’ve experienced since the accident.  Following this surgery, I’m probably looking at another 8 months with the braces.

The procedure is pretty straightforward.  They’ll make an incision above my upper gumline, peel the tissue back, and then cut a small segment of the maxilla out, in order to realign it with the mandible.  If you’re interested, you can check out an account of part of this procedure, written by a former patient observing the surgery.

For the first week after, I’ll be on a completely liquid diet, easing into soft foods for the two weeks after.  My jaw will not be wired shut, but rather rubber-banded together.  This will stabilize the bones, while affording me a bit of flexibility.

I’ll probably be off from work for two weeks, and not allowed to run for two weeks.  Healing time is the standard 4-6 weeks associated with most broken bones.

Although this is one of the simpler procedures I’ve had done, I’m feeling a bit nervous about it.  I think I’m looking forward to just being done with all of this.

an important note to the associated press about TBI

I appreciate the article this morning about the father and son who are both TBI survivors.  This story is important – people need to understand the risks and sacrifices our people in uniform face.  The following quote caught me by surprise :

Traumatic brain injury is a mysterious ailment that can cause mood swings, forgetfulness, paranoia and can strain any family. The mental wound afflicts an estimated 10 percent of troops returning from today’s wars.

The writer has mischaracterized Traumatic Brain Injuries as mental injuries.  According to the NHI it is “a form of acquired brain injury, occurs when a sudden trauma causes damage to the brain”.

http://www.ninds.nih.gov/disorders/tbi/tbi.htm

Naturally there are mental and/or emotional symptoms that can result from the physical injury. My concern is that calling it a “mental injury” allows people to believe it is addressable purely as a mental health issue. This is often not the case.  This might seem like a petty distinction, but it is not.  Omitting the physical root cause from the equation allows people to potentially dismiss this something requiring a simple round of psychotherapy.  Of worse – something that is beyond the realm of medical science.  In other words – it allows people to cop out.

So – AP – please be careful to check your facts before employing medical definitions such as this. The distinction is very important to TBI survivors such as myself.

more perspective on survival–living at stage four

Here, through the looking glass, in the back of the beyond, there is no normal. There is no certainty, but that’s true in the old world as well.

Katherine Russell Rich, from “Turning a Death Sentence into a Passport for Life”

Several weeks back, while preparing for a talk on survival, I had the good fortune to read Laurence Gonzales’ fine book Deep Survival.  His distillation of what helps people survive was fascinating.  Each time I revisit my recovery, I learn something new about it.

A week later while down in San Francisco, I was visiting with a good friend of mine from our days at Cal Poly.  We’d fallen out of touch for a while, and have enjoyed reconnecting.  I’ve really enjoyed swapping stories about our adventures and our kids.

Last summer, she was diagnosed with stage four breast cancer.  The cancer is into her bones.  She’s into her second course of treatment now, and is facing some daunting odds.  The American Cancer Society gives five-year survival rates of about 20% for stage four breast cancer patients.  At stage four, the focus seems to be more about extending life rather than curing the cancer.

As we walked, my friend talked about the paradox of feeling fine now.  She’s taking care of herself, and is active.  She talked about spending time with her kids, and taking on some projects for work.  But at the same time, she doesn’t know what tomorrow will bring.  It’s difficult to tell how she will respond to treatment, difficult to anticipate whether or not she’ll be physically able to fulfill professional commitments, or to do volunteer work at the kids’ school.  It’s difficult to live beyond the present.

As we spoke, I found myself offering clumsy optimism.  Despite my good intentions, it’s difficult to be optimistic sometimes.  My frame of reference on survival is limited to my own experience – which is different from my friend’s situation.  Dealing with the basic conflicts of currently feeling pretty good, the probability that things will get worse, the desire to be positive, and the frustration of feeling in limbo has got to be incredibly hard.

A couple of weeks back, there was a segment on NPR’s This American Life with Katherine Russell Rich, who has lived with cancer for twenty-three years, eighteen of these at Stage Four.  She has written an excellent memoir of her life with cancer – The Red Devil : To Hell with Cancer and Back.  I’m most of the way though this now, and hearing her perspectives on life is very powerful.  Her experiences with doctors, treatment, work, and everyday life have been an education. 

Beyond the the fact she’s defied the odds so much, the thing that caught my ears and eyes about Russell’s story is that she tells us that it took her fourteen years to come to terms with the fact that she’s still here.  In her words – she finally feels “like there’s not plexiglass between her and the world”.  I would highly recommend listening to the This American Life segment on Kathy.  It begins 44:30 into the program and is definitely a worthwhile twelve minutes.

January 15th is anniversary of her stage four diagnosis.  On that day this year, she posted the note below to a discussion board on breastcancer.org, saying “I’m still here”.  Despite the daunting odds that people living at stage four face, she wants them to know that it’s possible to live.  Each year, she debates whether or not doing this will have the intended positive impact, or whether it simply draws attention to Rich being a statistical anomaly.  In reading some of the threads on Kathy’s posts, I have to believe that hope makes a difference.

 

 

I’m writing from India to say that as of today, I’ve been alive 18 years with Stage 4. If someone had told me then that I’d be in India–or anywhere–18 years down the road, I’d have thought they were deluded or being cruel. As I’ve mentioned before, there was no hope when I was rediagnosed, and then somehow there was. Just as cancer can take some unexpected  bad turns, it can take some unexpectedly good ones too.

This computer’s going to go down any minute, so I’ll end here, but not before saying I wish everyone the most unexpected year, in the best way.

Much love,

Kathy

a post from kathy36 on the discussion board of breastcancer.org

reflections on survival

This past Sunday I had the good fortune to share my story and my thoughts on survival with the good people of Northlake Unitarian Universalist Church.  Rev. Marian Stewart was doing her sermon on what helps people survive in life-critical situations, and invited me speak as part of this sermon.  Marian introduced me to a fascinating book on the subject, Deep Survival by Laurence Gonzales.

The basic question posed by Gonzales is what things make the difference between people who survive verses those who don’t.  He cites examples of people in situations such as plane crashes, climbing accidents, getting lost in the wilderness.  The survivors he writes about include some people who manage to defy the odds in very unlikely ways. 

Some of the situations involve sudden turns of events, such as reacting to roped climbers tumbling down Mount Hood, people in rafting accidents, or pilots in trouble.  Some of the situations involve people getting lost – in several senses of the word.  They get lost geographically, as well as losing their mental map of where they are.

Preparing for this talk was an opportunity for me to consider my own situation in July of 2008.  In my case, the question was less about instantaneous response (like the climbers, rafters, or pilots), and more similar to someone getting lost.

In a number of cases, the people who survived were not the ones you’d expect to have.  They don’t necessarily have much training to prepare them, nor did they necessarily have essential equipment.  So what makes the difference?  It seems to come down to a couple of different factors. 

• There’s the element of luck.  These are circumstances you have no control over.  How did I survive rolling under the truck’s wheel?  Why wasn’t damage caused by my TBI worse?  How was it that the fracture in my c5 vertebrae didn’t cause damage to my spinal cord (causing death or quadriplegia)?
• The type of response from the subject often has a large bearing.  Gonzales cites examples of people taking their fate into their own hands, rather than waiting to be rescued.  This response can be determined not by the subject’s logical response (from the brain), but rather the ability of their primary emotional response (fear or despair) to be managed by their secondary emotional response.  These are the connections that allow you to govern a primary response with a subconscious, trained, logical response.

The feeling of losing your mental map is very frightening.  I’d never imagined feeling completely helpless and dependent, and I could not have imagined what having a seizure-type episode would be like.  Perhaps more profoundly, not having a clear sense of what a true prognosis was for my cognitive recovery or even my true ‘baseline’ for comparison (to measure my recovery) filled me with fear and despair.

The factor that I cited as making a huge difference for me was the gift of hope I received from those around me.  The degree of love and support I received was truly amazing, and it had the effect of redirecting my mind from fear, and towards recovery.

The miracle of hope allowed me to construct what Viktor Frankl refers to as the “will to meaning”.  In his excellent book Man’s Search for Meaning, Frankl describes how discovering one’s “will to meaning” helps them navigate from any current circumstance to their goal.  Frankl explains this as a tension that drives our search for meaning, which can be discovered in three basic ways :

"We can discover this meaning in life in three different ways: (1) by creating a work or doing a deed; (2) by experiencing something or encountering someone; and (3) by the attitude we take toward unavoidable suffering."

Viktor Frankl – Man’s Search for Meaning

My “will to meaning” required understanding who I was and what was most important to me.  As I lay in bed for those first months after my accident, more than anything else I wished to be a father to my children, a partner to my wife, and a strong and active person again.  Given how distant these things felt, the gift of hope was essential to me. 

I’d read and been very inspired by Frankl some years back.  It’s fair to say that I did not actively contemplate his work while laying in my hospital bed.  As I thought about the contributing factors in my recovery, “will to meaning” was best means I found to explain my motivations at that time.

For me part of this is continuing to share thoughts about this with others.  From time to time a fellow trauma survivor will stumble across one of these blog entries, and drop me a note about their experiences.  We’ll swap some thoughts and reflections, which seems to help both of us a bit – there’s definitely power in discovering commonality – particularly since trauma can make you feel very isolated.

I’m still reading through the Gonzales book, but as I progress though, it’s becoming more interesting.  In the middle chapters he talks about what’s “inside the right stuff” – what motivates people in bad situations to proactively pursue survival, to expend your valuable energy very consciously, and he talks about things that cause you to get outside of yourself.

This is where he believes things like faith and helping others come into the picture.  And consistent with Frankl’s work, this seems to fuel people’s “will to meaning”.

A thought transfixed me: for the first time in my life I saw the truth as it is set into song by so many poets, proclaimed as the final wisdom by so many thinkers. The truth — that love is the ultimate and the highest goal to which man can aspire. Then I grasped the meaning of the greatest secret that human poetry and human thought and belief have to impart: The salvation of man is through love and in love. I understood how a man who has nothing left in this world still may know bliss, be it only for a brief moment, in the contemplation of his beloved. In a position of utter desolation, when man cannot express himself in positive action, when his only achievement may consist in enduring his sufferings in the right way—an honorable way—in such a position man can, through loving contemplation of the image he carries of his beloved, achieve fulfillment. For the first time in my life I was able to understand the meaning of the words, "The angels are lost in perpetual contemplation of an infinite glory…."

Viktor Frankl – Man’s Search for Meaning

saying thank you

This afternoon, Kris and I visited the Neuro-ICU at Harborview Medical Center in Seattle.  Harborview is the premier trauma center in the Northwest.  I spent some quality time there two and a half years ago, following my bicycle accident.

I’ve done this a couple of times before.  There’s something very powerful about literally thanking someone “for everything”.  Too many of their patients don’t make it.  Others are airlifted to Seattle from miles away.  We live less than fifteen miles away, and it’s a great way for me to continue my own healing.  According to the staff members we spoke to today, it helps them a great deal as well to hear some success stories.

I brought along a letter to them, with some pictures – of me unconscious in the NICU bed in July of 2008, as well as more recent ones of my family and I having fun and living life. 

My name is Paul David, and I was a patient in the Harborview ICU in July of 2008. While riding my bicycle to work, I had been hit by a pickup truck.

My injuries included a collapsed lung, many broken facial bones, broken ribs, broken scapula and collarbone, and lost vision in my left eye.  More seriously, I’d incurred a Traumatic Brain Injury.  In addition to fractures in my skull, I’d damaged an artery on the left side of my head, which bled into the gap between my skull and dura.  I required an immediate craniotomy to stop the bleeding and save my life.  A portion of my skull was removed to permit my injured brain to swell and then heal.  I was placed into a medically-induced coma for about a week to permit this healing to take place. I spent a month in your care, and in your hands I began the process of healing.

I’m very lucky to be here.  Through an amazing combination of excellent medical care, good fortune, and wonderful love and support, I’ve been able to recover a good deal from this.  The folks at Harborview were a very big part of this. From the time the EMT’s brought me in, I received excellent medical care and was treated with great dignity. My family was kept well-informed and treated with caring, honesty, and respect.

Today, I’m able to work, swim, run, drive, and to be an active, engaged parent and spouse.  Each day I wake up knowing that I’m one of the most fortunate people on the planet to be here, and to be doing what I love, with the people I love. Please know that what you do makes a huge difference – and I am one story of many.

Thank you – quite literally – for everything from my family and I.

signed – the solem-david family

		harborview NICU thank-you 2010 VIEW SLIDE SHOW DOWNLOAD ALL

 

My intent was to illustrate to them that what they do matters to lots of people, including the patient’s family members.  I got to tell them how much I appreciated being able to watch my kids grow up, seeing them perform in a recent holiday play, and to do the things I love, with the people I love. 

Having family members along with me makes the visit that much more significant too.  Seeing Kris swap stories with the nurses was great.

This time of the year, medical folks and first responders alike tend to answer more calls, and to see more patients.  The hope is that by hearing how their great work matters, it will help them work through some of the tougher times.

telling my story

Recently I had the opportunity to speak with a local high school cross-country team about how running related to, and helped in my recovery from the bike accident.

This turned out to be an interesting experience for me in a number of ways.  First of all, the audience was a a group of high school students.  I needed to think about how my story might be interesting to them, and which points might resonate.  Their coach asked me to emphasize the following key points :

We like to emphasize determination, perseverance, and the power of the mind over the body. To believe that you are capable of more than you think.

And so off I went.  Having to distill your own thoughts down so that they’re interesting and relevant to others forces you to think hard about your main points, and what you want your audience to come away with.

I started out by asking some of them why they love running.  Good thoughtful answers – very focused on the mental/emotional side of challenge.  I told the story of the bike accident, and then threw out several rhetorical questions :

• What would you do if everything changed for you overnight?  This is what happened to me in the space of one second.  Lots of good stuff going on, and lots of dreams put on hold.
• What are the things that matter the most to you?  When big bad things happen to you, these are your sources of motivation.
• What drives you to get the best effort from yourselves?  Tapping into this will help you push through a perceived ceiling.

The other key that I talked about was the interdependence of one’s own determination and the support they get from others.  I’ve been thinking about this for over two years, and cannot come up with any way to separate these things from one another.  I talked about how the huge wellspring of support helped me to work through fears and doubt.  And then I talked about how I used running marathons to prove to myself that I hadn’t been defined by what happened to me on that July morning in 2008.

It turned out to be lots of fun, and according to the coach, the runners enjoyed it as well.  The following weekend, the team went down to Portland to participate in the Nike Pre-Nationals.  The girls took 10th overall, and the boys took 4th.  Some of these kids are running 16 minute 5k times – wow!

They work a lot harder at running than I do.  I’ve long thought that concentrating on shorter distance means much more focus on speed.  More pressure, so more focus required.  What I do simply requires that I keep moving, and don’t let my mind ever tell me that I can’t.  It’s easier than having to do that in the face of real competitive pressure.

In any case, it was a great opportunity doing this.  Trying to explain to others what works for you, forces you to think about it, and winnow it down to the essentials.  The powerful part of this is that it’s not really just about running.  It could be about anything we pour heart and soul into.