Drama King

Early Saturday morning August 4, I met my training group for a little 6 mile run as we wound down to the annual Chicago Distance Classic half marathon that was held early Sunday on August 12.

I was feeling good after completing a 30 mile week that included a hard 12 mile long run the previous Saturday in heavy humidity and a bit of heat.

I was looking forward to cruising through the easy six miler because everything was working fine and I was looking forward to a good half marathon because I knew my training had been going very well. I wasn't in shape to PR the half but I knew I was in good enough condition to shave a minute per mile off of last year's pace should I have chosen to open it up a little.

But, I didn't make it to the starting line of the half marathon.

I give you my word I'm not making up what I'm about to write. To the best of my recollection and from what people have told me the following is what happened.

With about a mile left of our six mile run I started to feel sick to my stomach. I remember thinking to myself that this isn't quite right, something just isn't right because I never get sick unless I'm really pushing a run or doing some intentionally hard speed work. Nevertheless I was getting sick and it wouldn't pass.

I told my 10 year running buddy Tanya "Bambi" and our mutual friend Jill that I had to veer off the side of the path and upchuck, throw up or puke...whatever you want to call that gross encounter that sometimes grips runners and other athlethes when they've been pushing it to the edge.

They said they would wait for me and I'm alive to write this little story because those two beautiful girls waited for me.

They later told me that I veered off the path to do my thing, bent over and I went down like a ton of bricks. The last thing I remember is leaning over to puke. The next thing I remember is seeing Tanya, Jill and Jenny Hadfield the co-owner and coach of my running group Chicago Endurance Sports in my room at Saint Joseph Hospital here in Chicago. I'm told that Mike, one of the running coaches was in the room too. It was a blur and I didn't have a clue as to what in the hell was going on.

I vaguely remember asking what happened and they told me I had a heart attack, was in the hospital and would have to have surgery right away. The next few days were a blur and I remember very little other than my kids, sister, some co-workers and fellow runners popping in to visit off and on.

I'm told that as soon as I went down on that running trail Tanya and Jill ran to me, Tanya started giving me CPR, for whatever reason she had read up on it the night before, another runner who happened to be a nurse was trying to find a pulse and a lifeguard who was driving by stopped to assist in reviving me. The lifeguard and Tanya were going through several series of CPR and despite no pulse they kept me alive long enough for the paramedics to arrive and do their thing. I'm told it took the ambulance 12 minutes to get to me.

My son Jake, who along with his girlfriend Jess had arrived at ER said my heart stopped again in the hospital and there was a lot of commotion as the medical staff shocked me back to life. Needless to say this wasn't a pretty sight for anyone and I missed the whole darned thing.

Early Monday morning August 6 a couple of supremely confident, re-assuring and brilliant surgeons named Dr Breyer and Dr Bradshaw cut through my chest to get to my heart. One artery was completely blocked and the other was something like 90-95 percent blocked. I had a double bypass and the doctors said my heart wasn't damaged by the trauma, I would be able to come back stronger than ever and be able to run better than ever. At this point, I'm happy to be walking around.

I was told only 1 percent of the people who have this type of heart attack survive, I was lucky to be a runner and that my fellow runners saved my life. Needless to say I'm still struggling to find the words to express what my life has undergone the past two weeks and at this point where it may be going.

I mean, what do you tell someone who has saved your life? Thank you? That seems lame but for now it's all I know to do.

So thank you "Bambi"for saving my life, thank you Jill, thank you whoever the runner nurse was and thank you caring lifeguard. I'm just now feeling up to searching for the unknown saviors so I can at least send them a card and there surely must be some special award or citation of some kind for saving a life.

I've been saturated with calls, messages and cards wishing me a speedy recovery and basically my whole life as I thought it existed has evaporated. The summer was going well for me. The running and workouts were up a notch in intensity from last summer and the Tuesday morning before my heart attack I had the biggest coup or scoop of my journalism career.

What's it all about? Damned if I know. Right now I'm just trying to hold on, expanding my walks a little, short-term disability from work, preparing to set appointments for rehab and hoping I can extend this second chance at a life into something good for myself and others.

I do know there are many brave, courageous, insightful and bright people in this world and for whatever reason a group of them descended on me a couple of weeks ago and gave me a chance to keep on living.

I also know that on my walks through Lincoln Park whenever I see a fellow runner I want to shout at the top of my lungs.

"Pretty big setback, but I'll see you out here in a few months"