June 18, 1995

Twelve years ago.....how does the time pass so quickly? Yet I remember the day like it was yesterday. That was the day of my spinal cord injury. We all have dates in our life that stand out. Defining moments, turning points, epiphanies. My life has never been the same since.

Sunday's motocross race was in Uniontown, a small town Southeast of Seymour. I recall sitting on my Honda CR250 in the staging area before practice feeling confident. My Honda was running great and I always enjoyed the track layout at Uniontown. As the flagman waved us onto the track for practice, I quickly noticed the track had been watered heavily due to the extremely hot and dry condtions we were experiencing. The water quickly pooled in various areas of the track due to the high clay content.

One section of the track had a high speed jump followed by a quick right turn. After the turn was a downhill straight. Water had collected at the bottom of the hill creating quite a mudhole that slowed many riders. I saw the hazard as a possible opportunity to pass riders come race time. There was a bump just before the bottom of the hill that I thought if I carried enough speed down the hill, I could use the bump to jump over the mudhole.

On the next practice lap I attempted to make the jump. It was timed almost perfectly, but I didn't have quite enough speed to clear the mudhole. More speed.....that's the answer. On the next approach I twisted the throttle a little further to gain the extra speed. What I didn't anticipate was the extra rebound from the rear suspension the speed would cause. The upward force of the suspension rebounding kicked the seat into my butt, my feet off the pegs and all of my weight over the front wheel. The front wheel planted firmly into the clay mudhole stopping the motorcycle's forward momentum. My body's momentum carried on. I knew I was crashing. Survival mode kicked in.....protect myself. Realizing I was going over the handlebars I ducked my head, putting my chin to my chest, in an attempt to roll once I hit the ground. I don't remember much about the actual moment of impact. I remember it hurt and knocked the wind out of me. It didn't take long until I was able to get my breath back. Phewwww.....I survived.

Crashing is not something foreign to a motocross racer. After a hard crash, you slowly assess the damage on your body. Right hand, right arm.....check. Left hand, left arm.....check. Right leg, left leg.....right leg, left leg.....RIGHT LEG, LEFT LEG.....nothing.....strange. Still lying flat on my back, I reached down with my right hand to feel my leg.....strange.....I thought I felt someone elses leg.....then realized it was my leg. I could feel my leg with my hand, but couldn't feel my hand with my leg. I began to cry.....

This race was a sanctioned American Motorcycle Association (AMA) event. The AMA has strict guidelines for their events. One rule requires all events to have an ambulance with paramedics present. Another requires flagmen to be positioned at various locations around the track. The job of a flagman is to watch for downed riders, notify other riders that someone is down ahead and to notify officials if medical assistance is required.

My wreck was right in front of a flagman. Still lying flat on my back, he came over to me and asked if I was ok. Because the wind was knocked out of me, I couldn't speak very loudly. I told him I was not ok. He asked what was wrong and through my tears I told him I couldn't feel my legs. I clearly remember him squinting his eyes, bending over to get closer and saying, "What? I didn't hear you." I repeated that I could not feel or move my legs. A shocked look came over his face. I'm sure it was only a few seconds, but it seemed like he stared at me for several minutes. He then got on the radio saying he needed the paramedics.....quick. I have no idea who that flagman was, but I wonder if he remembers that day as vividly as I do.

Lying there waiting for help, I started praying. I don't remember exactly what I prayed, but I remember being filled with peace. I can't honestly say I heard a clear, audible voice of the Lord, but I do remember being filled with this indescribeable peace and knowing that everything was going to be ok.

I could go on and on with the details from that day. This blog could turn into a book. I was rushed by ambulance to a hospital in Seymour. X-rays revealed a fractured back. Lifeline was called to fly me to Methodist Hospital in Indianapolis. I spent a month at Methodist. Then I spent two months at Rehabilitation Hospital of Indiana as an inpatient and the next six months as an outpatient.

Of all the details I remember, it's strange that I don't really remember the first time I saw Janay. I know it was at Methodist because I didn't see any family until I got there. The single most important person in my life and I don't remember. By the time I reached Methodist I had been given pain medication, so maybe the memories are blurred because of that. What I do remember is still having that peaceful feeling that only God could give during a difficult time such as this.

People have often asked if I wished I could go back and change that day. First of all, it's a pretty stupid question because that's not possible. I'm sure every one of us has something we wish we could go back and do over again.....but we can't. My answer to that question is, I would only go back and change things if I could retain the life lessons I've learned from the experience. Probably an equally stupid statement as the original question because it's not possible either, but it's how I truly feel.

Obviously this story goes much deeper than June 18, 1995. This is the date my new journey in life began. I never want people to look at me and just see someone who is disabled. I want people to see an overcomer in Christ Jesus.