Chicken Soup for the Soul 20th Anniversary Edition (41 page)

W. Mitchell has done all these things and more after two horrible accidents left his face a quilt of multicolored skin grafts, his hands fingerless and his legs thin and motionless in a wheelchair.

The 16 surgeries Mitchell endured after the motorcycle accident burned more than 65 percent of his body left him unable to pick up a fork, dial a telephone or go to the bathroom without help. But Mitchell, a former Marine, never believed he was defeated. “I am in charge of my own spaceship,” he said. “It’s my up, my down. I could choose to see this situation as a setback or a starting point.” Six months later he was piloting a plane again.

Mitchell bought himself a Victorian home in Colorado, some real estate, a plane and a bar. Later he teamed up with two friends and co-founded a wood-burning stove company that grew to be Vermont’s second largest private employer.

Then four years after the motorcycle accident, the plane Mitchell was piloting crashed back onto the runway during takeoff, crushing Mitchell’s 12 thoracic vertebrae and permanently paralyzing him from the waist down. “I wondered what the hell was happening to me. What did I do to deserve this?”

Undaunted, Mitchell worked day and night to regain as much independence as possible. He was elected Mayor of Crested Butte, Colorado, to save the town from mineral mining that would ruin its beauty and environment. Mitchell later ran for Congress, turning his odd appearance into an asset with slogans such as, “Not just another pretty face.”

Despite his initially shocking looks and physical challenges, Mitchell began whitewater rafting, fell in love and married, earned a master’s degree in public administration and continued flying, environmental activism and public speaking.

Mitchell’s unshakable Positive Mental Attitude has earned him appearances on the
Today Show
and
Good Morning America
as well as feature articles in
Parade
,
Time
,
The New York Times
and other publications.

“Before I was paralyzed, there were 10,000 things I could do,” Mitchell says. “Now there are 9,000. I can either dwell on the 1,000 I lost or focus on the 9,000 I have left. I tell people that I have had two big bumps in my life. If I have chosen not to use them as an excuse to quit, then maybe some of the experiences you are having which are pulling you back can be put into a new perspective. You can step back, take a wider view and have a chance to say, ‘Maybe that isn’t such a big deal after all.’”

Remember: “It’s not what happens to you, it’s what you do about it.”

~Jack Canfield and Mark Victor Hansen

Follow your passion, and success will follow you.

~Terri Guillemets

A
t a young and tender age, Patti Wilson was told by her doctor that she was an epileptic. Her father, Jim Wilson, is a morning jogger. One day she smiled through her teenage braces and said, “Daddy what I’d really love to do is run with you every day, but I’m afraid I’ll have a seizure.”

Her father told her, “If you do, I know how to handle it so let’s start running!”

That’s just what they did every day. It was a wonderful experience for them to share and there were no seizures at all while she was running. After a few weeks, she told her father, “Daddy, what I’d really love to do is break the world’s long-distance running record for women.”

Her father checked the
Guinness Book of World Records
and found that the farthest any woman had run was 80 miles. As a freshman in high school, Patti announced, “I’m going to run from Orange County up to San Francisco.” (A distance of 400 miles.) “As a sophomore,” she went on, “I’m going to run to Portland, Oregon.” (Over 1,500 miles.) “As a junior I’ll run to St. Louis. (About 2,000 miles.) “As a senior I’ll run to the White House.” (More than 3,000 miles away.)

In view of her handicap, Patti was as ambitious as she was enthusiastic, but she said she looked at the handicap of being an epileptic as simply “an inconvenience.” She focused not on what she had lost, but on what she had
left.
That year she completed her run to San Francisco wearing a T-shirt that read “I Love Epileptics.” Her dad ran every mile at her side, and her mom, a nurse, followed in a motor home behind them in case anything went wrong. In her sophomore year Patti’s classmates got behind her. They built a giant poster that read, “Run, Patti, Run!” (This has since become her motto and the title of a book she has written.) On her second marathon, en route to Portland, she fractured a bone in her foot. A doctor told her she had to stop her run. He said, “I’ve got to put a cast on your ankle so that you don’t sustain permanent damage.”

“Doc, you don’t understand,” she said. “This isn’t just a whim of mine, it’s a magnificent obsession! I’m not just doing it for me, I’m doing it to break the chains on the brains that limit so many others. Isn’t there a way I can keep running?” He gave her one option. He could wrap it in adhesive instead of putting it in a cast. He warned her that it would be incredibly painful, and he told her, “It will blister.” She told the doctor to wrap it up.

She finished the run to Portland, completing her last mile with the governor of Oregon. You may have seen the headlines: “Super Runner, Patti Wilson Ends Marathon For Epilepsy On Her 17th Birthday.”

After four months of almost continuous running from the West Coast to the East Coast, Patti arrived in Washington and shook the hand of the President of the United States. She told him, “I wanted people to know that epileptics are normal human beings with normal lives.”

I told this story at one of my seminars not long ago, and afterward a big teary-eyed man came up to me, stuck out his big meaty hand and said, “Mark, my name is Jim Wilson. You were talking about my daughter, Patti.” Because of her noble efforts, he told me, enough money had been raised to open up 19 multi-million-dollar epilepsy centers around the country.

If Patti Wilson can do so much with so little, what can you do to outperform yourself in a state of total wellness?

~Mark Victor Hansen

Perseverance is not a long race; it is many short races one after another.

~Walter Elliott

T
he little country schoolhouse was heated by an old-fashioned, potbellied coal stove. A little boy had the job of coming to school early each day to start the fire and warm the room before his teacher and his classmates arrived.

One morning they arrived to find the schoolhouse engulfed in flames. They dragged the unconscious little boy out of the flaming building more dead than alive. He had major burns over the lower half of his body and was taken to the nearby county hospital.

From his bed the dreadfully burned, semi-conscious little boy faintly heard the doctor talking to his mother. The doctor told his mother that her son would surely die — which was for the best, really — for the terrible fire had devastated the lower half of his body.

But the brave boy didn’t want to die. He made up his mind that he would survive. Somehow, to the amazement of the physician, he did survive. When the mortal danger was past, he again heard the doctor and his mother speaking quietly. The mother was told that since the fire had destroyed so much flesh in the lower part of his body, it would almost be better if he had died, since he was doomed to be a lifetime cripple with no use at all of his lower limbs.

Once more the brave boy made up his mind. He would not be a cripple. He would walk. But unfortunately from the waist down, he had no motor ability. His thin legs just dangled there, all but lifeless.

Ultimately he was released from the hospital. Every day his mother would massage his little legs, but there was no feeling, no control, nothing. Yet his determination that he would walk was as strong as ever.

When he wasn’t in bed, he was confined to a wheelchair. One sunny day his mother wheeled him out into the yard to get some fresh air. This day, instead of sitting there, he threw himself from the chair. He pulled himself across the grass, dragging his legs behind him.

He worked his way to the white picket fence bordering their lot. With great effort, he raised himself up on the fence. Then, stake by stake, he began dragging himself along the fence, resolved that he would walk. He started to do this every day until he wore a smooth path all around the yard beside the fence. There was nothing he wanted more than to develop life in those legs.

Ultimately through his daily massages, his iron persistence and his resolute determination, he did develop the ability to stand up, then to walk haltingly, then to walk by himself — and then — to run.

He began to walk to school, then to run to school, to run for the sheer joy of running. Later in college he made the track team.

Still later in Madison Square Garden this young man who was not expected to survive, who would surely never walk, who could never hope to run — this determined young man, Dr. Glenn Cunningham, ran the world’s fastest mile!

~Burt Dubin