Archives
You are currently viewing archive for January 2010
|
January 15, 2010 07:22:03
Posted By gregwagner
|
I began training for the 2009 Boston Marathon in November or December 2008. I had been running 3-5 days a week for 3 years at this point. I could run 5 miles in my sleep, but suddenly I couldn’t finish my 5-mile run without being brought to a hobbling limp.
There is a ligament called the IT band that runs down the outside of your leg. It connects your quadriceps to your upper calf area. That band flexes due to the tension caused from running. Each stride works the IT band a little bit more. In my case, each stride worked my IT band on my left leg until it had tightened to the point that it pressed right into my kneecap and caused my entire leg to buckle. I couldn’t kick my leg back in my stride and I could barely even walk. I found myself limping home after barely running 3 or 4 miles. How was I supposed to run a full marathon if I was already finding myself paralyzed at mile 4?
After my orthopedic surgeon told me about how the IT band works like a rubber band, I realized why my left leg was tightening up so much. Remember, when I ran Boston, my left leg carried me through the run. It took the brunt of the force to compensate for my disabled right side. That extra force caused my left leg to tighten up, and my IT band never had the chance to unwind. It only got tighter and tighter until it buckled my knee.
As commendable as my consistent running regimen was, my disability could not meet up with the demand. I either had to run through it, and probably destroy my leg, or rest for an indefinite amount of time.
Needless to say, the 2009 Boston Marathon was out of the question. I stopped doing any leg work—running, lifting, everything—because any strength training I do will result in me exerting more force on my left leg to compensate for my right…and my priority for 2009 was to heal my IT band and not delay that process.
This was merely culminating the lesson I had learned in The Boston Marathon. The Boston Marathon taught me how my disability affects my body and how my body reacts to it. My IT band growing tighter and tighter is a more long-term ramification. It is what it is. It’s who I am and there’s nothing I can do about it. I didn’t know this before, but I can adjust my training for my next run now that I better know what I have to account for and how my body functions.
|
|
January 14, 2010 03:34:47
Posted By gregwagner
|
In 2008, I ran the Boston Marathon. Given the nerve damage across the right side of my body, running can become a very painful experience. All of that pain came to fruition when running Boston in 2008, but I am glad it did because now I understand exactly how my body reacts to my disability.
I struggle if I am on my feet for a long time. I would always complain about my feet hurting, but it wasn’t my feet that were in pain. It was only my left foot. My right side is weaker than my left. In an effort to balance my body, my left side naturally takes on more force and puts forth just as much more effort to compensate for my right side. My left side always fatigues before my disabled right side, but as soon as my left side fatigues it is only a matter of time until my right side follows suit.
My left leg was tensing up around mile 19, and even though the last 7 miles were going to be excruciating, I knew that I was going to finish the race just fine as long as nothing further happened to my leg. Not long after, a guy cuts in front of me sharply from my blind spot and I instinctively shorten my stride to avoid a collision.
That jarring sensation was all it took for my left leg to completely lock up. Right then and there, force and effort had to shift over to my right leg, which is never used to carrying the majority of the pressure. Before I knew it, my 3:24 marathon pace was slowed to a hobbling limp. And that’s exactly what I did…I hobbled the final 6 or 7 miles from medical station to medical station and finished in 4:07.
I finished the race, but I couldn’t help beating myself up. I was running a personal best pace and I would have crushed my goal time of 3:30 if I had only seen that man. I continually beat myself up about not hitting my time. The prestige with finishing The Boston Marathon didn’t even matter.
Friends called me and congratulated me, but I was still bummed. My friend Colleen repeatedly told me about how great I did even when I tried to deny it. Both of us knew I didn’t hit the time I wanted, but what I didn’t know is that my name appeared on the Boston Marathon website. I finished first in the mobility-impaired division. I may not have ran the time I wanted, but I finished faster than any other disabled athlete. I led the charge…for all of us. And in the process, I not only learned how my body functions, but the ramifications of trying to disprove the impossible.
|
|
January 12, 2010 10:08:32
Posted By gregwagner
|
As much as I talk about my disability, my disability impacts every aspect of my life. Obviously it’s incredible being able to overcome it, but it doesn’t discount the fact that I will live with it every day for the rest of my life.
As much of my book is about my disability, the true essence of the book focuses around living a normal life with a disability. How I’ve been treated, how I associate experiences and how I interact with people are each based on how my disability affects me. Situations as mundane as carrying a bowl of cereal or as intricate as love. Social interaction itself is such a unique phenomenon and the way our individual experiences and culture frame our lives is fascinating.
More often than not, each of us recognizes our flaws before we see our good qualities. No matter how much improvement we make, all we focus on is what hasn’t been accounted for. Perhaps if we can shift our perspective and see how far we have actually come, we won’t beat ourselves up so badly.
I have always been hard on myself because of the constant disadvantage I feel I have had to naturally surmount, but knowing how far you want to come is the best part. As arduous as working towards “normal” is for anyone, but it feels so impossibly daunting because we are working towards a sensation or a lifestyle we have never actually felt or known. It isn’t tangible, and when something is only fathomable we find ourselves lavishing in our dreams. After all, without a precedent, who can say that I will ever be able to snap my fingers on my right hand or clip my fingernails on my left?
I will always know what is left to improve and where I am falling short, but I choose to be my own precedent. The only reason something is impossible is because we say that it is. The one reason that precedents are not made and progressions stop is because doubt deflates our faith. Without belief and confidence, impossibility is right in front of our face. It’s a barrier we need to overcome, and just as I said before, it is our passion and confidence that separate us from the side of the barrier we are currently on and the side we continually dream about being on.
I’ve found my confidence, and amazingly enough, the way you uphold yourself reflects in how those around you perceive you. I never found my confidence until after I lost weight. That was when I was comfortable with myself. Sure enough, that was when I truly realized whom my friends were and when I finally figured out what I had been looking for in love.
It’s very difficult to know what we want out of life before we know who we are individually. You can’t just say that I’m going to figure out who I am…boy, I wish it were that easy. Life works in mysterious, but always revealing, ways. Baseball wound up teaching me my life ambition, and by trying to better myself for baseball, I wound up finding myself and discovering who I am by losing weight.
Self-discovery is an amazing adventure. The trick is to keep your mind open and always recognize what opportunities lie ahead, or what you are learning as you are working towards your dream. Those goals give you reason to live tomorrow, but it’s often the desire that is fueling the dreams that reveal your future. The dream is simply guiding the way to the potential of an aspired life.
|
|
January 12, 2010 05:59:37
Posted By gregwagner
|
My ability to play baseball was never about the possible fame or the notoriety that our society places on sports, and pop culture in general. Yes, being able to play baseball would have given me a high quality life, and playing baseball for as long as I did gave me just that.
The strides and gains I have made since finding baseball have been exponential. Growing up, I always believed that my disability dictated the life I live because I hadn’t known any other way. All I had known was how my disability held me back. I could not keep up with my friends and my peers were always above me. That’s how I felt, but baseball showed me how strong I am and how strong I can be.
I am one of the 5 strongest people in my gym. I max out machines and am nearly able to do so with my stroke-effected right arm, as well. I did that the same way that I prepared for my marathon. Running 26.2 miles simply meant putting one foot in front of the other. I started by running a quarter-mile, but one step at a time that quarter-mile grew to 5 miles, which suddenly turned into my being able to run a full marathon in record setting time. I never dreamed that my right side could match the strength of my left, or that I would be able to leg press 1170 pounds…but I can. I got there one brick at a time.
My quality of life did not stop with my ability to play baseball. In fact, my ability to play baseball opened my eyes to my full ability and potential. Realizing that is when I realized I needed to write a book.
I wanted people to realize how my life motivated me and why I live as I do. People deserve to understand that a disability, or any setback in life, is simply an obstacle to be overcome. It’s a barrier that separates those who dream of something from those who truly deserve it. You deserve it because you strive for it. Your confidence drives you towards something and it’s following through on that passion and never giving up on it is how each of us earns what we are striving for. It validates our desire, and any desire that burns deep enough will mold a dream into reality.
That is ultimately what I have learned in living with and overcoming my disability, but there are so many lessons that have marked the life I have been able to live. That is what I wanted to share in my book. My life is uncharted because as long as I have confidence in myself, there is no limit to how far I can reach.
This is my journey though that I have experienced through my disability. Each of us has limitations that we must account for, but they are individual. That is why I say that my disability is no less debilitating than someone with seasonal allergies. It’s an individual battle. Both of us operate and thrive just fine, but if we were to switch bodies I guarantee each of us would be paralyzed by the sensations and limitations that another individual has to overcome daily, instinctively.
That’s a real reason why I love the book that I have written. My disability is an individual sensation, which I constantly describe and explain using terms and experiences that everyone who does not live with my disability experiences daily. Even though you may have no idea what a brain aneurysm feels like, you know exactly how I feel because I have related the sensations with experiences you instinctively, and repeatedly, know.
|
|
January 11, 2010 08:12:03
Posted By gregwagner
|
I stopped playing baseball when I was 22—not because of my talent, but because no coach ever helped me develop. The reason I played is because I could and my disability did not prohibit my ability to play. I was independent, but playing baseball helped me find independence in all aspects of my life.
Baseball motivated me to succeed in physical therapy, baseball motivated me to start going to the gym and excel in my gym workouts and baseball motivated me to start losing weight and being healthy. Baseball gave me a full life and helped me develop an incredible future.
I never wanted to give up on baseball, but leaving the game taught me why I pursued it so passionately. I never would have played baseball if not for my disability. I was 6 foot since I was 12 and my larger frame fit perfectly for football, but my disability prohibited me from playing any contact sport so I excelled at the one sport I could play.
Living with and overcoming my disability played a part in the choices I made across my life. While my passion for lifting at the gym is obvious, my disability is also a huge reason for why I don’t drink alcohol. My nerves are already damaged, so why do I want to impair my brain any further?
Baseball taught me a way of life—a belief that anything is possible and that something is only impossible because we believe it to be so. I learned that my right side can be strengthened, that my dexterity can be regained. That’s why I started isolating my right side in workouts at the gym. I realized there is no reason why my right side can’t gain strength.
My disability also affects my balance, but that same realization spurred my motivation to begin studying taekwondo. Each day at taekwondo is a new revelation for me because I am challenged to do techniques and moves that I could never do even two years ago. I get stronger each and every day, but I never would have realized this without playing baseball.
So, let’s think this through. I lost over 60 pounds. I can leg press 1170 pounds at the gym. The right half of my body nearly equals my left half. I am a blue belt in taekwondo. I can jump repeatedly on my right foot and even balance on my right foot. I’ve run 4 marathons. I finished first in the mobility-impaired division at The Boston Marathon in 2008 and am currently training to defend that title. I’m planning to run the 114th Boston Marathon this April in 3 hours 30 minutes.
Most importantly, though, I have realized that each day I live is the healthiest and strongest I have ever known my body to be. Fact is, I do not remember before my aneurysm. Today is the strongest I have ever known my right side to be. None of that would be possible if I hadn’t played baseball.
Yes, I would have loved to play Major League baseball. However, my reason for playing was never for the money or for fame, it was because I could play. I continue to challenge myself across my life. I challenge myself because I can. That’s what baseball taught me: not what I want or what I hope for, not what I dream about. Baseball taught me that I can. And it’s that mindset that drives me in my life and my career each and every day.
|
|
|
|
