Category Archives: bike crash

the luckiest man on the planet …

That’d be me.


Ten years ago, I almost lost my life.  I had a run-in with a Ford F150, while riding my bike to work.  I woke up a week later in the Neuro ICU at Harborview, learning just how fortunate I was.  The next few months were really difficult, especially for my family.  Never once did I lack for love and support.  And the most powerful gift someone can give you is  the gift of hope.

I deal with some minor reminders of the accident.  I lost vision in my left eye, have nerve damage, which hinder movement on the upper left side of my face.  I’ve got some minor pain in my ribs and my scalp’s a bit tender where the scars from my surgeries are.  None of these things limits me from doing the things I love.

I carry this gift of hope with me every day.  In the past ten years, I’ve gotten to see my daughters grow and shine.

Got to see the elder one open a couple of plays singing a-cappela.  Saw her graduate from high school, and head off to university.  We’ve traveled to Israel and China together.  Last year,she taught me how to lay brick while we built a house together in Sichaun.  Last week, we celebrated her 21st together.

My younger daughter’s poem was chosen as the theme for a class dance performance a couple of years ago.  She’d not told me ahead of time … just imagine my surprise and wonder at seeing the class perform to her words.  We’ve traveled abroad to Israel and Europe, creating memories and stories we’ll share for the rest of our lives.

I’ve gotten to celebrate several milestone birthdays with my parents, as well as their 50th anniversary.  My brother and I have spent many weekends together with his husband Patrick at their place near the beach in California.

I’ve run about 84 marathon and ultras since then, getting to visit new places, often with friends.  I’d never imagined this were possible for me, but this is what the gift of hope brings you.

Life’s definitely brought its challenges too.  Our family has dealt with some hard stuff and some transitions.  On balance though, I’m possibly the luckiest man on the planet.

Today, I might fit in a short run in a nearby state park.  I’ll enjoy a nice lunch with my parents.  Then, it’s off to a concert in a park – where it hopefully won’t rain.  But – rain or not, I’ll enjoy each of these moment as best I can, for what they are – gifts.

seven years


One second. That’s how quickly it happened.

Seven years ago this morning, I was riding my bike to work. A driver who was lost and late for a job interview, turned his F150 right in front of me. I hit the side of the truck and rolled under his rear wheel. Many injuries – most seriously a Traumatic Brain Injury (TBI) that threatened my life and livelihood.


by the outline the police drew of my bike, 10 weeks after the accident.

A week in the Neuro ICU – much of it in an induced coma, a month in the hospital, and nearly six months away from work. I had people with me 24/7 for the scary and difficult first few weeks. All that love and support from family and friends helped me focus forward, one small step at a time.

I’m probably the luckiest person you’ll ever meet. I’m able to do the things I love, with the people I love, and am very grateful.

Going from running marathons and earning my living with my brain, to requiring full-time care in the space of a second forces perspective on things. I learned a lot about what it means to be human in the space of those months. And I try to remember these lessons every day.

Hug the people you love this morning. You’ll be happy you did.


our kids visiting me in the hospital, three weeks after the accident

six years past …

On July 7, 2008 I woke up in Harborview Hospital in Seattle.  I’d been in an induced coma for six days, after being in a bad bicycle accident

I reflect on this each July, marking the anniversary of the accident itself on the first by riding my bike into work.  I take the same route I took that morning six years ago.  The first time I visited the site after it happened, you could still see my bike’s outline painted on the road.  That’s long since faded.  

Each time I ride towards the site, I hold my breath a bit, like I’m diving into water.  When I pass, it’s relief.  Strange ritual –but I do this each year to show myself that I can. 

When the accident comes up in conversation now, I’m struck by a sense of distance from it.  That’s good.  Over time our scars fade – even if they never quite completely disappear.

When I reflect on those days in 2008, I feel appreciation for the love and support from my family and friends that pulled me through this.  My strange ritual is a reminder to appreciate these things every day.

I wouldn’t have chosen this particular adventure, but I’ve been given a great opportunity with it.

Reflect, hold your breath, then dive in. 

five years

Five years ago, we’d just gotten back from a nice trip to Minnesota, where we’d spent a week visiting Kris’ family.  We’d spent time with our friends just east of the Twin Cities, and the kids played together a bunch.  Our younger daughter learned to ride a bike on this trip.  We celebrated our eldest daughter’s 11th birthday.  We took a family picture outside Kris’ parents’ cabin that I have up on my office wall. 


visiting the northern woods of Wisconsin, the week before our lives changed.

Memories are funny things.  I remember these things very well five years on, probably because of what happened next.

At about 8:30 on the morning of July 1, 2008,  I was hit by a pickup truck while riding my bicycle to workReading the police report tells me that I’m probably the luckiest person on the planet.


two days after the accident – it would be another four or five days before I’d wake up.

Not a day goes by that I don’t think about what happened five years ago.  The first few months were very tough.  Beyond the physical pain, it was very hard to reset my own goals and expectations.  Within a few seconds, I’d gone from being a marathoner who earned his living (with his brain) as a software engineer, to needing help doing the most basic of tasks.  With recovery, there’s often no clear roadmap.  That’s hard to wrap your mind around.

Taking one step at a time, so much is possible.  I had the benefit of good health and a runner’s mindset before the accident.  Most importantly, I have family and friends who gave me the great gift of hope.  They seemed to believe in me – which made it much easier to believe in myself.  This gift of hope is the most powerful thing we can give each other.


visiting Harborview’s Neuro ICU in December of 2009

Last week I was at Harborview Hospital, visiting a friend  who had been hit a car up in Woodinville last week while commuting on bicycle to work.  While I was there, I dropped by the Neuro ICU, where I’d been taken immediately after my accident.  I told these people working at the premier trauma center in the Pacific Northwest just how much it meant to me that I’m around to see my kids’ cello recitals, and school musicals.


visiting Redmond Fire Station #12 back in 2010

And on July 1st I stopped by Redmond Fire Station #12, the first responders who answered the call.  I rode the same bicycle, along the same route I’d taken five years before.  I thanked all of them for what they do.  I told them how blessed I feel to be able watch my kids grow.  The lieutenant looked up the accident report from 2008.  The language was succinct : “bicycle v. pickup truck”.  He was thoughtful enough to look up the crew members who answered the call, and let them know that I’d come by.

The quick response and care I received saved my life, and prevented more profound damage to my brain.  It’s an amazing experience to visit these people, and say “thanks for everything” and to really mean everything.

four years …

Four years ago this week, I nearly lost my life.  I reflect a bit on this every day.   And when the first week in July comes around I think about just how fortunate I’ve been. 

When I was looking for something in our garage last week, I came across the the bicycle helmet I was wearing. It was not designed to withstand a run-in with that red Ford F150 truck. Yet somehow it did.

Here’s the journal entry Kris wrote about that first day :

Written Jul 2, 2008 8:56am

Paul was hit by a car while riding to work yesterday. He sustained severe damage to his head. He had some internal bleeding in the area over his left eye, so they performed an operation to relieve the pressure on his brain. He currently has a piece of his skull removed and the brain has expanded into the opening. They are keeping him sedated and monitoring him to watch for more swelling. They will be putting an IV into a main artery into which they will put a 3% saline solution. This will help draw the fluids away from his head and into the rest of his body where they can be flushed by his kidneys. The next 48-72 hours are a critical time where the primary focus is to reduce the swelling. After that, we will be able to start assessing whether there is any brain damage.

The most helpful thing you can do right now is send all your thoughts and prayers to Paul.



And here’s the journal entry from six days later when woke up (I remember many of the things Kris writes about) :

Written Jul 7, 2008 10:06pm

Wow, what difference a day makes!

In the morning, Paul was able to tell the doctors his name, and respond to commands in a more definitive manner. When the doctor told Paul that Hal was on his left, he turned to look at him. And when the doctors asked if it would be okay to put an intravenous line in, he said no. At one point, he said “Out!”, which is what Kayla used to say when she wanted out of the jogging stroller 😉

When I arrived around noon, he was once again awake and the nurse was asking questions. He was able to say his name, where he was, and the year. He also was able to put up 2 fingers on each hand, wiggle toes, and squeeze the nurses hand.

When the nurse was done, I went to his side and started talking to him. He told me he couldn’t hear me, so I talked louder. At one point, he asked me to kiss him, so I knew he was feeling a lot better!

Throughout the day, he continued to engage in conversation in between periods of rest. He was shocked when I told him he’d been there for 6 days, then asked me what was broken. After I listed all of his broken bones, he said something that can’t be repeated in this forum 😉

At around 3pm, I asked him if he’d like to see the girls, and he gave me an emphatic YES! I immediately called the people who had picked them up from camp, and they brought the kids to the house so that Matt could bring them to the hospital. They arrived around 4:30pm, and I showed them a picture of Paul and talked about what they would see.

The girls were shy at first, but they both talked with him a bit, and they we let him rest. While he rested, the girls filled out a “About My Family and Me” chart that the hospital gave us, and then we went to dinner.

When we came back to say goodbye, Rachel told Paul and old family joke about a duck in a bar. Paul’s face lit up and he gave us a huge lopsided grin!

I remember nothing between the first and seventh of July 2008.  The journal Kris kept has helped me understand more about what those first days were like for me medically, and for my family as well.  She included notes sent by people who stayed with me too.  Some of these entries are inspiring.  Some of these are scary.  And some of them are amusing. 

In the two months following my accident, I was completely dependent on others for care.  I required help standing, eating and everything else.  To say the least, it’s humbling to go from running marathons to requiring help getting to the bathroom.  As humbling as this felt sometimes, having someone with me all the time proved to be a source of hope as well. 

I cannot express how much it meant to see familiar faces and to hear familiar voices. I laugh when I think about some of the conversations that happened while I was drifting in and out of a medicated dream-like state. And I smile when I think about how many of these visits helped me redirect my fears about what might lie ahead and instead focus on enjoying the moments we shared, and on the things I could do. I still read about them sometimes.

In addition to spending time with me, our community brought food to my family, took care of our children, and offered rides when they were needed. 

Later this week I will visit the first responders at Redmond FD Station #12 (I’ve done this several times before).  I’ll also go by the Neuro ICU at Harborview Hospital (have also done this several times before).  I’ve had the good fortune to have met some of the people who treated me that morning.  It’s important to me that these folks know that what they do matters so much. 

These powerful gifts of hope I received four years ago were absolutely essential to my recovery.  And I think about this every day as well.  And for this, I say “thanks for everything”.

The original version of this post included a a reference to my helmet and head passing under the rear wheel of the truck that hit me.  Witnesses to the accident told the police that this is what they saw – it is included in the police report.  It seems more plausible that my head injuries were the result of my collision with the truck or with the ground.  I’ve revised my post to reflect that.

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.

end or beginning?

I returned to work today.  That’s one of many steps necessary for things to get back to ‘normal’ again.

I had a physical therapy appointment this morning, and wanted to get some walking in.  The problem was that I had two backpacks worth of stuff to carry, some of it needing to get to my office.  We arranged it so that I could leave a bit early, take a bus to work, and then walk the nearly four miles to PT.

At PT, I ran three miles on the underwater treadmill, underwent some stretching and manipulation, and then finished with some uphill walking (sidewise too) on the conventional treadmill.

Then it was time to relax at work :).

Actually it felt great getting into some of the work discussions again.  I felt a bit rusty in spots, but expect that won’t last long.  I’ll spend the next several weeks reconnecting with my team members, and probably working on some concentrated technical tasks as well.

Four hours later, it was time to get home.  I got a ride from my manager.  As we we chatting in the car, we drove past the accident site.  I pointed it out, but it felt odd that I’d brought it up.  That relates to my next point …

As with many transitions, it’s hard to classify this as the end of something.  What would that be anyway – my era of short-term disability?  It feels much more like a new beginning.  And for that reason, I’m not going to use the ‘bike crash’ category much in this blog anymore.  I’ll reserve it for things that relate only to the crash itself.  I’ve created a new category called ‘recovery’ for items that relate primarily to recovery for my family and I. 

I’m doing this because I think it’s definitely time to put some more distance between me and the accident. 

I still think about it many times a day, but never want what happened on July 1st to define me.