Tom Reggi

Getting Rid of My "Can't"

By 29029 Everesting

December 2^nd, 2022

On Thursday, July 20th, in 2017, I woke up in an ICU bed confused, disoriented, and unable to move my legs.

The day prior, I had been cycling on a stretch of road in Delaware, enjoying some vacation time. In a state as close to pancake flat as you can get, I found myself hitting over 30 mph on the descent from the only hill on the route. Inexplicably, I veered slightly off the road in a fluke accident.

My front tire hit a patch of soft gravel, immediately bringing the bike to a halt. I continued forward, carried by over 30 mph of momentum, eventually landing violently on my back on a pile of jagged rocks.

My wife, Amy, was at my side as I lay in the hospital bed, and she brought me up to speed. I had undergone 4 hours of complex spinal reconstructive surgery. Upon completion, the surgeon told my wife that I had a 50/50 shot I’d ever be able to walk again.

Dazed and confused, it took me quite a while to process that information.

I felt broken. What would my life be like if I couldn't walk again? Would I lose my job? Would I lose my family? I was in a very negative space trying to process the last 24 hours.

I started to cry. It turns out, crying with broken ribs and a broken back is the second worst pain I’ve ever experienced, second only to breaking them in the first place.

The jolts of pain provided a lightning bolt of reflection. I can’t feel sorry for myself. I can’t focus on the negatives.

I made a pact with myself in that moment. It was going to take a lot of work, but there was no way I was going to give up on myself.

Over 18 long months, I worked with rehab specialists to regain some strength and balance. It took work - a lot of it, but over those long months, I slowly regained my ability to walk, step by step.

It was at the end of those 18 months that I felt I plateaued - the progress slowed to a halt. I figured this would be the level I’d have to spend the rest of my life. It was a far cry from my previous physical abilities, but at least I was mobile and walking again.

I had beat those coin-flip odds of being able to walk again.

Since moving into the same neighborhood as him in 2005, I had become good friends with Wooch Graff. He’d always talk about some crazy events he was coaching others on, or events he was participating in himself.

One day, he spoke of 29029, and it piqued my interest. Amy and her father had climbed many mountains together, and it was something I wanted to join her on one day too.

29029 could be a great first mountain for me.

Wooch knew all about my accident, and all about my struggles to return to my normal athletic life, so I asked him, “Do you think I could do it?”

“Absolutely!” came his enthusiastic reply, “As long as you don’t let your head get in the way. Your intent is there. Your willingness is there.”

I signed up.

There were 18 of us from Wooch's Houston crew going to Whistler #1. We often trained together, and that community's energy, accountability, and support were integral to my experience. The journey to 29029 was equal to the event itself.

The training wasn’t easy for me. Since my accident, I hadn't been able to run more than a half mile. Prior to signing up for 29029, I had tried, again and again, to run further, but inevitably, my legs would give out and I’d have to walk awhile before trying again.

I had resigned myself to the idea that I had physical limitations from the accident that I would never be able to beat.

The mountain at 29029 represented something big for me. I wanted to be able to say I did something I didn’t think I could do.

Before my accident, I wouldn’t have blinked at tackling a challenge like a 29029 mountain.

After my accident, I had a lot of self-doubt. Things that had never felt like limiting factors before now were precisely that - limiting factors.

One of the first group workouts we did in training was a chain gang. Three of us were connected to a chain, and we had to move as a group. I was the weakest link in our chain, and it was humbling to be somebody else's anchor, dragging them back.

Wooch was there, encouraging me, as he often does, about the need to get the ego out of the way. Don’t compare yourself to anybody except to you of yesterday.

As the training progressed, I found myself not always being the anchor anymore. Little gains happened gradually.

Then, one day, we went for a run in our training. For the first time in a long time, I felt good during the run. Before I knew it, I’d run 2 miles without stopping.

Half a mile wasn’t my limit anymore!

As the training continued, I started to run even further. It took this breakthrough for me to realize that I wasn’t destined to a life of not being able to run over half a mile.

As the day of 29029 Whistler approached, I still couldn’t believe it was real. I had come so far from the beginning of this journey.

My wife and daughter were in Whistler, cheering me on, and after the first long ascent, they greeted me up top. On the gondola ride down, I broke down. I didn’t know exactly why I was sobbing - it was an emotional release years overdue.

That first brand into the ascent board meant a lot to me. I felt exhilarated - like I could achieve what I had set out to do on Blackcomb Mountain.

By 9 pm, I had finished 5 ascents. Right on schedule!

I settled into a brief night of rest before starting back up the mountain in the very early hours of Saturday morning.

Often, the excitement of anything wears off after nearly 24 hours, but not this. I felt good - I was ready to keep climbing, guided forward by the headlamps of others on the dark, damp morning in Whistler.

For most of the event, I hiked with Carla Williamson, one of my Houston training partners. I had the opportunity to chat with several other 29029 participants throughout the event as well. As an extrovert, it was an exciting, energizing way to spend my time on the mountain.

But for my final ascent, while donning the Red Bib, I walked the last 4 miles alone. I took my time, soaking in all the wet west coast scenery and contemplating the changes in my physical abilities over the last 7 months.

I had lost 25 pounds during training, but that wasn’t nearly as significant as the 5 years of bottled-up anger, frustration, self-doubt, and fear that I finally let out on that mountain.