A high school track star in both cross country and the 2-mile, Mark set track records in the state of Iowa that stand to this day. After high school, he went to the University of Northern Iowa on a cross country scholarship, and between two workouts routinely ran 14 miles per day. After his first year of college, Mark began questioning the direction he wanted his life to take. So, at the age of 20, he decided to enlist in the Army rather than return to college in the fall. To keep himself in condition during the summer, he ran on the river roads near his hometown of Fort Dodge. Two days before he was to leave for boot camp, his whole life changed.

It was August 3, 1986. He and a friend were driving down a road that had only recently been reopened after construction. Mark planned to take a run on that road the next day and he wanted to scope it out ahead of time. It was late — 2 a.m. They had not been drinking. They zipped through the darkness reminiscing about their night and their friendship in preparation for Mark's departure.

Suddenly, they missed a turn in the road. The small car Mark was driving went into the ditch and flipped several times. Mark was not wearing a seat belt. As the car flipped, Mark was thrown through the windshield but stopped by the metal of the hood and engine as they crumbled in front of him. The car continued flipping until it smashed into a tree and stopped. Both men lay unconscious.

After the friend regained consciousness, although dazed and disoriented, he managed to crawl out of the car and walk to a farmhouse for help. Shortly after, a 911 call went out to the volunteer paramedic squad to respond to a one-car accident in which there was one fatality. The coroner was notified.

When the paramedic arrived they crawled inside the car but could not located a pulse on mark. Although all initial indicators pointed to his death, they started resuscitation efforts and to their surprise managed to get a pulse. As quickly as possible, Mark was stabilized at the scene, extricated from the car, and transported to the nearest hospital.

A CT scan revealed head trauma, a broken neck, and a partial cut of the spinal cord. As the trauma of the injuries settled in his body and swelling increased, his condition worsened. He needed more sophisticated care than the local hospital was able to provide. In grave condition, he was airlifted by helicopter to Des Moines. En route, Mark suffered cardiac arrest. The transport team managed to revive him, but things looked very bleak for him as the helicopter landed.

For the next several days, Mark's condition continued to deteriorate. As the swelling around his brain and spinal cord increased, spinal shock set in and he stopped breathing. He was resuscitated again and hooked to a respirator. He had shattered his second, third, fourth and fifth vertebrae and desperately needed surgery to repair them and the cut in the spinal cord. But his condition was so tenuous that he would not have survived the surgery. For two weeks he lay in a coma paralyzed from the ears down with a respirator breathing for him.

When surgery could finally be performed, the vertebrae were so badly damaged that they could not be repaired — only realigned and reinforced. For the next month, Mark lay paralyzed from the neck down, respirator dependent, and extremely disoriented due to the severe head trauma.

It was at this point that Mark started the recovery process. He remembers it this way:

Mark refused to accept the prognosis offered by the medical staff and informed the doctors that when he left he would walk out. It was nothing they hadn't heard before from other people with similar injuries. Denial and unrealistic optimism were common initial reactions in cases such as Mark's A psychiatrist was added to Mark's medical team to help him accept the reality of his situation and prepare him for the normal recovery process with spinal injuries. What happened next was anything but normal.

Mark's recovery process started with him unable to move or feel anything below his ears. His goal was to walk again. The only major part of his body that still seemed to be working was his brain. So that’s what he started exercising first. He began with what he referred to as kinetic visualization. Although at the time he could not get his body to walk, he could walk in his mind. He practiced remembering what it felt like to walk. He lay in bed and visualized feeling his legs, his feet, how it felt to pick up first one leg and then the other and feel the pressure of the ground as it met each foot. Like an athlete mentally rehearsing a performance, Mark mentally practiced moving his fingers and toes. It was a mental process of kinetic reeducation by which he hoped to reconnect the neural pathways running from the brain to the intended muscles. As Mark puts it, “I still had the control center – my brain. It was just a matter of getting the connections going again…finding the “phone lines” that were down and getting them hooked up again so that the message could flow through. I would lay there and visualize something as simple as moving a finger or toe.”

The first thing Mark moved was the big toe on his right foot. The nurses told him it was a spasm, and that he shouldn’t get too excited about it. Besides, they added, that would be impossible since recovery of movement in cases such his always happened from the neck down. But at Mark’s insistence they went and got the doctor. He, too, said it was a spasm. At Mark’s request, the doctor bent directly over the toe in order to watch very carefully…and Mark nearly kicked him!

Initially, movement was not something Mark could repeat at will, but it was a start. As Mark puts it:

Victories were found in reclaiming the ability to do the simplest things. Going from being flat on his back to being able to sit up with passing out took months. Being able to hold a spoon or a glass meant the difference being dependent on others or being able to feed himself. Being able to push the elevator button was a huge step! Mark reflects:

After awhile the doctors threw up their hands in exasperation, and left Mark alone to do it his way. And he did just that. He set his own recovery goals and charted his physical therapy course. Some days, Mark would stay in physical therapy all day. With hard work, prayers, resisting the negativism of others and staying focused on the goal, Mark surpassed everyone’s expectations (except his own) and on Christmas Day walked out of the hospital with only a cane for support and a person on either side for stabilizing.

For the next nine months, Mark lived at home and worked a desk job in the family business. That spring, he helped coach the track team at his old high school He really enjoyed being around the kids and the running again, even though he was still dependent on a cane in order to walk.

One year after his accident, Mark returned to the University of Northern Iowa to resume his studies. According to Mark, that was a very good decision but a very difficult adjustment. Needing the cane in order to be mobile made this 22-year-old former track star extremely self-conscious, and adjusting to college life as an independent adult in his current condition was an extremely difficult transition for him. It was the transition he wasn’t handling very well until the day he read an article in the university newspaper about a class which was to be offered the following semester called the “Marathon Class.” An informational meeting was being held that week for all interested persons.

The minute he read about it, he knew that this class was just what he needed. He needed a structured mental and physical challenge of this type to help him get his self-confidence back. He just had to get into that class.

He left for the meeting way ahead of its scheduled start time. He wanted to be there before others started arriving so that he wouldn’t feel embarrassed when he walked in with his cane. As he parked in the handicapped parking area nearest to the meeting site, he became more and more frustrated with the situation. What was he doing? How could he expect to run a marathon when he couldn’t even walk 20 feet without a cane?   This was absolutely ridiculous! This just wasn’t possible given his limitations.

Suddenly, the irony hit him like a lightning bolt. Here he was doing to himself what he had perceived his doctors and nurses doing to him in the hospital: accept your limitations and learn to live with them. Because he hadn’t accepted it then, he was walking when he should have been in a wheelchair. And if he didn’t accept it now, who is to say that he wouldn’t find a way to do the marathon? He was going! He reached for his cane…and stopped. “Screw it,” he thought.   “I’m not walking into a marathon meeting with a cane. If I can’t get there without it, then I don’t belong in the class.”

Staggering 20 feet at a time, Mark inched his way the few hundred feet to the meeting site by balancing himself against the outside of buildings and the walls of the hallways. He barely made it in time to find an empty seat. By the time the meeting started, the room was packed. There were over 80 people there hoping to get into the class, but fewer than half that many available slots. The instructors, Forrest Dolgener and David Whitsett, explained the class requirements: Students would train for and run a full 26.2 mile marathon. You either finished or you didn’t. If you finished, you got an A; if you didn’t, you got an F. Training was provided for both physical and mental components. If you followed it, you would finish. If you didn’t follow it, you wouldn’t. It was that simple. Only those who were serious should stay; once you were in the class you were committed.

Most people stayed, including Mark. Thirty names were chosen from the hat. Mark’s was not one of them After the meeting ended and the room started to clear, Mark stayed behind hoping to talk with the instructors to see if they would reconsider letting him in. He told them briefly what he had been through.

“Can you run at all?” Dave asked him.
“ldquo;Well, not yet,” Mark replied.
“What’s your current level of activity?” questioned Forrest.
“Right now, I can walk about 20 feet without having to stop,” answered Mark.

Dave looked at the young man standing in front of him. He remembered Mark from his year of collegiate cross country, and now knew why he hadn’t been back to team since. If this young man, who wasn’t even supposed to be walking wanted to try a marathon, he sure wasn’t going to tell him no. After consulting with Forrest, Dave told Mark, “Here’s what we’ll do. You go home and think about it overnight. Tomorrow, if you still want to try this, be in my office at 2:00 and we’ll talk more about it. OK?” “OK,” beamed Mark. He didn’t even need to think about it – he’d be there.

It was a few minutes after 2:00 and Dave was starting to wonder if Mark had reconsidered, when he heard a strange sound coming down the hall. Unable to place the step-slap-drag sound, he listened as it slowly approached his office. When it stopped, there stood Mark in his doorway loaded down with what appeared to be files of paperwork.

“I’d started to think maybe you weren’t coming,” Dave teased.
“Couldn’t find a handicapped parking place, so it took me a little longer to get here,” Mark said, smiling.
“What do you have there?” Dave asked, nodding at the stack of papers mark was trying to balance in his free arm.
“Medical records,” Mark replied. “Thought I better bring them in case you had specific questions about my condition.”

As his guest sat down, Dave looked at the huge stack of paperwork Mark had just deposited on his desk in wonder at all this young man must have gone through. Over the next hour, as the details of Mark’s story unfolded, Dave’s respect and admiration for Mark’s determination deepened. While he had concerns about how Mark would hold up under the physically demanding training, he certainly wasn’t going to deny Mark the change to try after all he’d come through to get to this point.

Through the course of their conversation, it became clear to Dave how important it was to Mark that he be measured by as many of the same criteria as possible as were expected of the rest of the class. Mark needed to have an A or F goal just like the rest of the students, although an entire marathon in just one semester of training was clearly unrealistic for Mark given his present level of activity. As a way to test the waters Dave said, “Well, you know we’re not going to let you off easy.”

“Good! I don’t want you to…that’s why I’m here,” Mark answered with a sense of relief. He was so tired of everyone trying to impose their negative limitations on him, that being challenged is exactly what he needed and hoped he would get from Dave and Forrest.

“I’ve thought about this, and I’ll you in the class, but we have to decide on what would be a reasonable goal. If you’re not able to run, can you walk?” Dave said.

“Well, yea, I’ve walked two miles, but with lots of stops to rest,” Mark replied.

After some discussion about realistic but challenging goals and possible alternative training methods, the two agreed that Mark’s goal would be to walk a 10K (6.2 miles). He would train with the rest of the class, and while they would run, he would walk. Dave recalls:

Under Forrest’s supervision, Mark cross-trained by lifting weights and riding a stationary bike. But for Mark, the main thing was the walking and he pushed himself – occasionally beyond his capabilities. There were a few times when he got himself in trouble:

At mid-semester, the class did a 13 mile run – a half marathon – as a kind of mid-term progress check. As usual, everyone started together that morning and headed out into the country for the out-and-back run. Afterward Dave and Forrest sponsored a get-together for the class with soft drinks and sandwiches to celebrate their accomplishment. As Dave remembers:

As the marathon approached, Mark got excited and nervous. He was going to be walking among hundreds of runners down the streets of Iowa’s largest city. What if something happened? And yet, he felt that he could do more than goal. He talked with his parents about it and they encouraged him to just walk his 10 miles and get his A for the class. The high school team he had helped coach during his year of recuperation was there for the Drake Relays and they encouraged him to do the same. Suddenly he felt he was being confronted by the same limiting attitudes he had been working to beat since his accident. And it made him mad. He decided he was going to do 13.1 miles…if everyone else was doing a marathon, he would do a half-marathon. When he informed Dave of his decision, after first reminding Mark that his goal was to do ten, Dave added, “But if you want to do 13, great. Go for it!”

They decided that Mark would start at the half-marathon point, and walk to the finish line. After everything was in place, Mark started telling people that he intended to walk 13.1 miles. Everyone encouraged him to just stick with the first goal of 10 miles and get his A. But as Mark explained, “They missed the whole point. I wasn’t doing this for the grade. I had taken this class as a challenge to better myself.”

Later that night, Mark decided that he wasn’t going to start a mile 13 after all. He was going to start at mile 11, and walk 15 miles. In all honestly, Mark wasn’t sure he could make it that far, but he decided he would either defy all expectations, including his own, or fall flat on his face trying. Mile 11 it would be. He told no one, except for a new friend from Des Moines, Bill Kunz. After reading Mark’s story in the local newspaper, Bill had contacted him with a request to meet him and help him in any way possible. A wheelchair user himself, Bill had a special empathy for Mark and what he was trying to accomplish.

The next morning at 7 a.m. (one hour before the official start of the marathon), Mark met Bill and another friend, Carol at mile 11. With Bill cheering him on, and Carol walking with him, Mark being his “marathon.” Before too long, the leaders caught and passed him and sometime after that the fastest of the class members caught up to Mark and passed him as well. Pretty soon, Dave Whitsett, who was running the marathon along with the class, came running up beside mark. “How are you doing,” he asked.   “Great,” Mark answered. Dave looked at his watch and looked at mark. “Where’d you start?” he asked. Mark only smiled. Dave knew something was up, but he didn’t say anything. He just smiled at Mark before he pulled away. Hours later, Mark was still walking. He remembers the last few miles this way:

In retrospect, Mark had this to say about the whole experience:

Now 32 years old, Mark is happily married and has a young daughter. He travels regularly as a sales associate for a medical supply company. He no longer needs a brace to walk and is able to run short distances.