The bionithlon: the first thing you need if you decide to train for a bionithlon is a reason to train for a bionithlon. (Hee, hee. I said “train”!) For me that reason arrived in October of 2006, with the commencement of the prologue event—the High-Speed Human Shot Put.
For the High-Speed Human Shot Put (HSHSP) competition, you need a dark night, a slippery train platform, an Amtrak Acela High-Speed Locomotive, and good medical insurance. Basically, the protocol is as follows:
- See train coming.
- Lean out to look.
- Good night, Irene.
Preferred train speed: seventy-eight miles an hour.
Estimated distance from contact to landing: thirty-five feet.
Estimated recovery time: the rest of your life.
Common injuries: death, dismemberment, etc.
Common side effects: feeling stupid, bad hospital food, sponge baths, and two months of Chuck Norris (Walker Texas Ranger or Total Gym™, take your pick).
Waking up in the hospital two weeks after winning the gold in the HSHSP, the first thing I noticed was that my arm felt funny. I guess that’s because it wasn’t there any more. I could feel it, but it was gone. Dazed and confused, I looked away and noticed a conspicuous lack of toes wiggling beneath the hospital bed sheets. Maybe you’ve heard of the movie My Left Foot? Well, for me it was Dude, Where’s My Left Foot? And left leg. And left knee.
So there I was, half the man I used to be. To get scientific for a moment, that night I became a bilateral amputee with a right shoulder disarticulation (grab a roasted turkey by the leg, snap it out at the joint, and you’ll get the idea.) and a left AKA (which is insurance code for Above Knee Amputee). AKA. Hmmmm. At least it sounds kind of cool.
As I began to receive room visits from prostheticists (say that ten times fast) and occupational therapists, I started thinking of all the names or AKAs that would befit a double amputee. Here are a few to get you going:
