It was a cold, sunny December day when I set out for a run in Moab, Utah, with my dog, Taz. As a professional endurance athlete I often went for training runs by myself, and had done this particular route before. So what happened next was just bad luck.
About an hour into my run along a remote canyon trail, I hit a patch of black ice. I found myself slipping down the rock face, which became steeper and steeper until suddenly I was in free fall. I just remember thinking, “I’ve got to land this somehow.”
I fell 60 feet into the canyon, landing on a four-foot square ledge above a sheer drop; if I’d missed it there’s no way I would have survived. I could feel my legs, so knew I wasn’t paralysed, but I was in excruciating pain. Taz had managed to find his way back to me, so I knew there must be a way out of the canyon, but I couldn’t stand or even crawl. I later learned that I had shattered my pelvis.
Adrenaline kicked in, and I became focused on getting out of the canyon. I shouted for help, and was intent on dragging myself to the bottom of the ravine. Every inch was an effort. It took me five hours to go quarter of a mile.
Eventually it got so dark I couldn’t see where I was going, and I decided to stay where I was for the night, next to a puddle of water I could drink from. All I had on me were my jogging clothes, a water bottle, two Ibuprofen, a couple of energy gel packets, and a shower cap which adventure racers often wear to prevent heat loss. This one probably saved my life.
At night the temperature dropped below freezing. I couldn’t go to sleep or I would die of hypothermia, so I stayed awake doing mini-crunches – lifting my head a few inches, over and over. Taz stayed with me, providing some warmth. The next morning, I couldn’t move at all. I tried to stay positive. I was sure somebody would realise I was missing or hear me screaming for help. But there was nobody around; it was the middle of December, in the middle of nowhere.
The second night in the canyon seemed even longer and colder. My feet were frostbitten and my midsection was swollen from internal bleeding. The puddle turned to ice, and I had to crack through it in the morning to get water. I drank only a little, using my bottle cap as a cup, knowing if I drank too much I would pee on myself and then freeze to death.
On the third day, I felt myself growing weaker. I was coming to terms with the fact I might die. In a last-ditch effort, I called Taz over and told him to go and get help. I always talked to him like a human. Taz took off through the canyon and I lay there thinking about my family and friends. There was more that I wanted from life.
Taz returned, alone. Then I heard an engine in the distance. I started yelling for help, and that’s when I saw a man walking towards me. He told me his name was Bego, and that he’d come to find me. I cried with joy. It turned out my neighbour noticed I hadn’t come home, and Taz had found a search and rescue team. I was airlifted to hospital, where doctors found I had lost almost half the blood in my body. If the rescue team had arrived later, I wouldn’t have made it.
I was in surgery for six hours while the doctors put my pelvis back together. My sacrum was crumbled; there’s now a plate holding the bits of bone together, and a screw in the left side of my pelvis. My feet are sensitive to cold because of the frostbite, but I still have them.
After leaving hospital, I was in a wheelchair for three months. Gradually I was able to get around using a walker, then crutches, then a cane. Five months after my accident I took part in an adventure race. I had to walk, but I won it.
Ten years on, I still think about it every day. I don’t run like I used to, and cold weather brings back bad memories; but I’m married with two kids, and Taz is still alive – we’ll always have a special bond. Realising you have a second chance at life puts things into perspective.
• As told to Abigail Edge
Do you have an experience to share? Email [email protected]
Source: Read Full Article