New Perspectives Show a Path to Personal Freedom
On a long run as a young Army officer, my body told me to quit, but an encounter with a wheelchair-bound man changed my view on resilience forever
As I was wrapping up my basic branch training as a new Army Second Lieutenant, I received orders for my first real assignment with an active unit. In April 2009, I reported to Fort Hood (now called Fort Cavazos), Texas, and eventually found myself assigned to the 1st Attack Reconnaissance Battalion, 4th Combat Aviation Brigade, as an assistant intelligence officer (S2).
By virtue of holding a commission, I was allowed to live off base, even though I was a bachelor officer at that time. Knowing the prevalent issues with military towns, I avoided Killeen and scouted out a location about 20 miles east of the base in a small city called Belton, just off I-35, which has grown by leaps and bounds as Bell County has done the same. In those days, I was extremely motivated to run the extra mile, literally. Belton is home to the University of Mary Hardin-Baylor, a Baptist school, founded 1845 before Texas received statehood.
After I survived a medical board for my hearing loss in 2008, I made it my mission to live out that old Army motto and be the best I could be. I visited historic sites, read essential works of military literature, and most notably, drilled myself into the ground with physical fitness routines made up of ruck marches, thousands of pushups and situps, and 60 or more miles run in a given month. I plotted multiple running routes on the campus there at Mary Hardin-Baylor and had a favorite one-miler I would run for time with a goal of seven minutes, and a few longer routes. My four-mile run, as it turned east near the finish line, had a steady uphill slope that persisted for more than a half-mile on West Martin Luther King, Jr., Avenue. Here is a view:
That’s not quite Currahee Mountain of Band of Brothers lore, but don’t let the imagery deceive you. After three miles run in 100+ degree heat on a paved surface like that, that steady slope will kill you in between the ears. I remember one particularly hot day around Memorial Day weekend when I subjected myself to the long route, with the glimmering hope of the apartment pool waiting for me upon completion of the run.
I made a left onto MLK and proceeded up the steady slope, back pounding and calves cramping, even on a much lighter, 205-pound version of myself tailor-made for the daily wear and tear of Army fitness. I began to dwell on negative thoughts, focus on the pain, and consider the unthinkable – walking it back to the finish line. Then, as if God himself were trying to refocus my thoughts, I looked over on the right side of the road and saw a man confined to a wheelchair rolling himself up that same hill with all his might. He looked over and saw me dripping sweat and suffering, and gave an ear-to-ear smile and thumbs up I’ll never forget.
Guess who finished that run?