How many times have we heard, "They overcame great adversity"? It's a phrase we toss around, but I no longer subscribe to it—not because I haven't faced adversity—but because I have.
May 17, 1994. I approached the third hurdle while training for my third Olympic trials. I attacked it, leading with my left leg.
I cleared it. But, when I landed, I heard a loud, SNAP. My body fell in what seemed like slow motion. As I braced for impact, I saw my left shin pass in front of my face. I hit the ground on my right side and skidded to a stop.
Quick body check: shoulders, okay. Waist, okay. But then I saw my knee—my patella displaced three inches up my femur. My left shin was twisted across my right leg. The hyperextension had disrupted my arterial flow to the lower portion of my leg. Seven days later, my leg was amputated.
That moment ended two careers: my military service and my Olympic dreams.
Like many, I was forced into a new reality. Your world gets flipped upside down, whether it's losing a job, a relationship, or your physical ability. The common advice? "Overcome it." But here's the truth: I didn't overcome the amputation.
This realization didn't come overnight. I was preparing for a TEDx Talk about overcoming adversity. In my rehearsals, I kept repeating what I'd always said: I overcame because of my faith, family, and friendships. While true, it lacked the weight I wanted to deliver. It was hollow.
I nearly pulled out of the event. When I told a fellow speaker my thoughts, he challenged me.
"But you've overcome so much," he said. His words made me reflect. After my amputation, I questioned everything. Am I still a husband? A father? Can I support my family? Would I still have somehow had an Army career? All those questions collapsed on me within minutes. I was overwhelmed.
In that chaos of my mind, my wife Alice knelt beside my wheelchair, looked me in the eye, and said, "John, we're going to get through this. It's just our new normal."
That moment lit a spark. I realized I had support, and I had a choice.
I left the military and became a sports specialist with the Army's Community and Family Support Center. I went from athlete to administrator, recruiting Olympic-level talent. At the same time, swimming became my physical therapy—I was so fast that I made the U.S. Paralympic Swim Team just 27 months postamputation.
Later, I relearned to run with a prosthetic, made Team USA in track and field, and won a silver medal in the long jump at the 2000 Paralympics in Sydney. I even set the American record.
But that wasn't the end. I founded the U.S. Olympic Committee's Paralympic Military Sports Program, which eventually led to the Warrior Games and Prince Harry's Invictus Games. I expanded the U.S. State Department's Sports Envoy Program to include athletes with disabilities.
So yes, a lot was accomplished. But none of it was about overcoming. I looked back at my friend and said, "I didn't overcome the amputation. If I had, I'd have my leg back." He nodded in agreement as if he were discovering an old phrase afresh. It hit me like lightning. I began testing the phrase on others and every time, they would do the same affirming head nod. So began the quest of what I would do if I did not overcome.
Since that day, I've continued to build my message around it.
