Regrets

My childhood dreams were probably no different than any other young athlete. You know, the final seconds of the big game in front of thousands of fans, one final display in sensational fashion, I would dream of a dramatic spectacle as I won a gold medal for my country.

Some of my early gold medal heroes were the 1968 shot put medallist and fellow Texan Randy Matson. As a kid I watched him train across the street from my home in the athletic fields of Pampa High School. Then there was Mark Spitz who not only won 7 gold medals but he also told the world he was going to win them. To me his temerity says less about oneself (self-absorption) and more of oneself (self-esteem).

And who could forget Tommie James and Juan Carlos who, after winning the gold and bronze medals in the men's 200-meter event in Mexico City in 1968, donned black gloves and defiantly held up their fists symbolizing the racial injustices in America.

After my injury, however, the promise of fulfilling those romantic dreams seemed vanished.

Said a hundred different ways, once one door is closed, another will open. For me this was no different. Once I let go of the past, as it always does life offered a hug and time healed my wounds. Through the mechanism of my new door, wheelchair sports, and the support of my sponsors like Sunrise Medical/Quickie Designs, the focus from what I couldn't do was quickly replaced with a priority on possibility.

Playing basketball and tennis, racing in track meets, and more importantly preparing for these events, offered competition, which is what I loved to do. Knowing I could compete again cracked my rear-view mirror and fractured my attachment to the past.

In 1984 the Los Angeles Olympic Organizing Committee announced that for the first time wheelchair athletes would have the opportunity to compete in the able-bodied Olympics. There would be international trials allowing hundreds of men and women around the world to try out for an 8 man 1500-meter race and an 8 woman 800-meter event.

On the most visible sports platform ever, here was an opportunity for wheelchair athletics to ascend the mountain, puff out our chests and roar. Needless to say, to have the opportunity to compete in the real Olympics seemed too good to be true. We were filled with opportunity fear, and even though it existed, taking the risk was necessary. After all, a ship is much safer in the harbor but this is not what it was intended to do.

Many of us worry how others may perceive us. We worry what others will think. We tend to buy into their doubt of our dreams, our abilities, and emphasize their skepticism.

We wondered as well - that under the scrutiny that once wheelchair athletes rolled out onto the track in front of 80,000 people would they behold us as genuine athletes? I am reminded of what Miss Piggy said about the opinions of others, "Beauty is in the eye of the beholder and sometimes you have to give the beholder a sock in the eye."

The price we pay for our dreams may appear expensive but certainly it is much more expensive to not pursue a dream. Once belief exists in our dream, there are many necessary keys to fulfillment; I will share with you three prices that must be paid.

First, in order to achieve the highest level of performance, we've got to have a Guide. We need someone to review our plan, to mold and polish it, and to stretch us, to give us feedback. Sharing our victories and our pain with someone else makes both more valuable.

This guide can be a parent or a significant partner, a teacher, a best friend, it can be a boss, it can be God (sometimes we wonder what's the difference, right?), but we need a shepherd.

This relationship must have reciprocating faith. We must believe in this person and they must believe in us. If we are lucky enough to find a person that believes in us we must hold onto them with all our might. A working relationship will trump your selfishness. Bear in mind there is no faith without trust.

Regarding feedback there are three types (positive, constructive, none). Our guide should be actively involved in either positive feedback (which validates our efforts), or constructive feedback (which refocuses our strive) but never should their be the absence of feedback. This is referred to as extinction and in any relationship it is a poisonous whisper.

People need to know where they stand. We need feedback. Why? Because there is a human flaw in all of us that like seeks the surface of water like a bubble: we believe what we think.

My guide for the Olympics was a very resourceful, enthusiastic and focused lady named Judy Einbinder. Not only did she prepare me and a rat-pack of other racers, who everyday for an entire year lived on that track for our own reasons, but she also handled our fundraising, marketing and domestic environment, as well as simultaneously carrying out the responsibilities of a full time job. She was one of those people that seemed to have more hours in her day. I was very lucky. Judy believed in me. I trusted her.

Second, I believe we need a measurable plan, a target -- Goals. We need to know the score.

People fail because they don't know what is expected of them. Painful as it may sound, the score is the truth. Adolph Rupp said, "If the score doesn't matter, then why is there a scoreboard in every gymnasium in America." The score does matter.

I believe strongly in having a plan, and believe more strongly in Plan B (and sometimes Plan C). Dwight D. Eisenhower said about war, "Two things; have a plan, and know that what's going to happen will have nothing to do with that plan."

But beware of the glimmer of the goal. Its shimmer can't be too important. University of Texas football coach Mack Brown said, "We must treat our goals like the sun: we must be conscious of their existence, seek them and draw their strength, however, if we look directly at them, we will get burned."

During our endeavor to win gold in Los Angeles, we measured absolutely everything. We measured the thickness of the tubing of our chairs, it's weight, how many grams per sew-up tire, the air pressure, wind resistance, the width of the spokes (I know), the camber of the wheels and the diameter of the push rings.

Each meal had to be eaten at the right time and consist of the right number of calories, carbohydrates and protein. My rest, resting heart rate, body fat, water intake, heat exposure, calluses and sleep were all carefully examined and analyzed. I was a captive of data, of performance indicators, of minimal and breakthrough goals.

And how we religiously kneaded that track with our wheels, our hearts and our sweat, each day, how frequently we pushed, sprinted, raced, flew, dodged, drafted, out kicked, circled, paced, sweated, and strained for oxygen. A touch of insanity lived within our compulsion.

I was so familiar with that track I could have easily done an all out sprint in complete darkness with all the confidence the world that I would not have fallen of the edges. Own your material. I knew my material. John Maxwell said, "What gets measured in this world, gets done."

Thirdly, for a phenomenal performance, we need an awareness of the smaller things. We need to major in the minors. Simply said, we need to be a slave to Detail.

Of all the successful people in the world, some would be lucky, some charismatic, some at the right-place-right-time, and some would be born with great talent, but the common factor of all who have been great is - their attention to detail.

Harvey Mackay said, "I've known successful sales people who were drunks, gamblers, liars and thieves -- but I have never known a successful sales person who sat on his ass all day." Without attention to detail people would do whatever they wanted. It would be chaos. Lack of discipline attacks the integrity and character of a person, thus the project.

The number miles we logged were only limited by time. Sure, racers these days are doing more miles, but we were doing more than anyone was at that time, sustaining 110 miles per week.

We would meet early each morning and deposit the road miles adding sprint games and refined drafting technique to break the monotony. We would say, "If it HAS to be done, might as well be FUN." We would seek out new construction sites because there wasn't any traffic on those smooth new roads. Fresh ground enticed our uninhibited labor.

At the Medical Center there in Houston, once we found a parking garage with 8 floors and ramps for each. To work on our starts, we would line up at the bottom floor then take off, sprinting up each ramp all the way to the top. There was an elevator right there at the top. We would take the elevator down and do it again, over and over. The second day we did the ramps a parking attendant appeared and said; "You guys have it all wrong. Why don't you take the elevator up and ride your racing machines down the ramps?" Not that there is anything wrong with this line of work but it was clear to us why he made his living as a parking garage attendant.

Each time it rained we would hit the road to familiarize ourselves with sprinting in the water. A sub-guide of mine, LaVerne Achenbach taught me this. He would say, "What if it rains in the Olympics on the day of the race?"

We immersed ourselves in striving to be the best at one thing, to push a wheelchair faster than any one else in the world at one distance. Through our pain-chosen and specificity-based training, under duress we learned how to perform.

Our commandments for the track:

• Your tools must be the absolute the Best
• Control the Controllable - Be Prepared
• Always a Plan A and Plan B
• Surrender your trust to your Coach
• Embody your Goals on and off the track
• Be a slave to Detail
• Make your Teammates better
• Starting a workout is harder than doing a workout
• How you Practice determines how you will Perform
• Decisions under pressure are different than Decisions during comfort
• The fastest racer doesn't always win; the racer with the biggest Heart does

It was anticipated that hundreds of athletes from all over the world competed for this opportunity. With a dream with a purpose, a great deal of hard work, trust-based coaching, setting both realistic and meaningful goals, discipline, a positive message from the inside and yes, an athlete's best friend -- luck, I earned a spot in the exhibition.

What an honor it was to earn a chance to compete at the Olympics, indeed we drew full respect. We housed at the same facility, lived with our able-bodied counterparts and associated with the likes of Greg Louganis, Carl Lewis, Florence Griffith-Joyner and Mary Decker.

Constantly in awe of my environment and in a state of pinch-me-please-this-can't-be-real, once during lunch in the cafeteria I was backing out of the food line and accidentally ran over an athlete's foot. She was a gymnast. Her name was Mary Lou Retton.

"Hey, watch it wheelie dude, you're on my foot! I compete today."

"Oh, I am so sorry."

Can you imagine the negative exposure here? What was I saying about luck?

On the morning of August 11, 1984, to the sound of 80,000 cheering spectators, 16 wheeled warriors entered the coliseum to decide if we were there for a medal or just a memory.

The starter's pistol fired. The adrenaline shot through our veins as we bolted off the line and in a predatory response I immediately found myself in first place. However, once the train gathered its steam, the entire field flew by me like a focused 18-wheeler and I found myself in second to last place. But I kept saying, "C'mon mate, hang in there…stick around long enough for the miracle."

Involved in a permanence of effort, after much jostling, bumping and bursts, with 600-meters remaining, I had worked my way up to 4th place and was positioned for a strike at a medal. Suddenly contact between a Canadian and an Aussie, who were just in front of me, caused me to dash out to lane 3 to avoid a potential crash.

A leader recognizes opportunity and hastens to dispatch all available resources in a determined direction. A true leader does not miss an opportunity.

Here was mine, fighting 7 athletes in the middle of 80,000 fans, yet all alone. And then, in chilled audio, my champion voice spoke up and said, "Go for it, you can catch the Belgian (who was in front by 10-meters), you can win the gold medal." And for a fleeting moment, I had buy in and was about to hammer my gloved hands into my push rings and seek my destiny.

But then another voice spoke up, the critic, the slacker, captain of Team Mediocre…you know the one. This voice devilishly coaxed, "Play it safe, don't risk it, what if something bad happens, get back with the pack. " I remember this clearly and I gave into this I'm-not-good-enough message, and I pulled up, sought a gap and found a place among the peloton.

As we came around the final turn in a whir of physique, technology, motion and truth, I found a sleeve, brought my chair to world class top end speed and out sprinted every body on the track that day…except the Belgian. And I won a silver medal at the Olympic Games in the first-ever-historic event for wheelchair athletes.

The moment on the stand was magnificent. I was at the epicenter of thousands of cheering people. I felt like a Gladiator who had won his life. I felt like I was at a huge precipice and wondered if this is what it felt like to go to heaven. The warmest of glows, it was my third glass of wine.

As we sat on the medal stand and the flags were being raised, I was in full awareness that I was responsible for the American flag that was ascending the flagpole.

But there was this sound that wafted through my ears. It was the sound of the Belgian National Anthem. Have you ever heard the Belgian National Anthem? Do you have a copy of the Belgian National Anthem in your music library? Trust me it is not a top ten tune.

Instantly I panicked, my breathing quickened and my heart was in my throat; then I became very, very sad. I realized destiny had come and I had turned her away. She was there for a brief moment, vying for my attention but I released her, letting the opportunity escape my grasp. Regretful, I wondered…if I had only…

This story isn't about the disappointment over a silver medal. I am proud of the accomplishment. There is nothing wrong with a silver medal if…behind it we have a gold medal effort.

The story is about failing to take advantage of an opportunity. You see, this is and always will be unfinished, a regret that can never be resolved. John Mcain said, "That's what makes death so difficult -- unsatisfied curiosity." I will never know what I could have done if I had chased the Belgian.

The question for each of us isn't whether or not we have any regrets. We all do. We all have blemishes we wish we could delete. The question is will we have any more?

Avoid regrets by leaving, in each day, everything you have.