My legs felt like they no longer belonged to my body. I could not move them or feel any cold beneath my navel. I seemed to be paralyzed. People started gathering around, urging me not to close my eyes. All I wanted to do was to shut them; to either die or wake up from this nightmare. That was two years ago.
SAN FERNANDO, Argentina — On a rainy afternoon, I hopped on my motorcycle, fresh out of the shop, and drove through the wet streets of San Fernando. The motorcycle was acting strangely and when I attempted to break at a stop light, I lost control. A chill ran down my spine and my heart began to pound out of my chest as the motorcycle refused to slow down, no matter what I tried. I veered the handlebars and ended up on the opposite side of the street.
In less than a second, I felt myself flying through the air and collided with a curb and a car. The car that hit me fled the scene. Through the entire ordeal, I never lost consciousness and remained lucid. Terrified and in agonizing pain, I felt my back shatter, my spinal cord break, and my ribs crack.
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I kept my eyes open the entire time, taking in my surroundings. As I glanced to the side of the road, I saw my boxing gloves lying on the ground. My legs felt like they no longer belonged to my body. I could not move them or feel any cold beneath my navel. I seemed to be paralyzed.
People started gathering around, urging me not to close my eyes. All I wanted to do was to shut them; to either die or wake up from this nightmare. That was two years ago. I spent over two months in a rehabilitation center and the news I received felt disheartening. “You will need a catheter for the rest of your life,” they told me. “You will always wear diapers and you will never walk again.” I struggled to accept their words.
On the verge of become a professional boxer, the accident left me with no control over my body and the prognosis of spending the rest of my life in a wheelchair. Back home, I continued with outpatient rehab. The two-hour ambulance ride there and the two-hour session felt pointless. They treated me like a disabled person with no hope for regaining independence. Facing a dead end, I plunged into depression, waking up every day with no appetite and no motivation.
During the difficult days, my mind felt constantly active, and I longed to sleep. Images of the accident consuming me as tears fell from my eyes all night long. Discouraged, I quit rehab. Completely beaten for the first time in my life, I held onto one thing. I remembered my old kickboxing trainer visiting me in the hospital after my accident.
He invited me to his gym for CrossFit once I got discharged. Intrigued, I decided to give it a try. Though my mom worried that training in a wheelchair could worsen my condition, I knew sports was my lifeline. I needed a reason to get out of bed in the morning. Today, I left weights, climb high ropes, and exercise constantly. When I push my limits, I feel a tinge of normalcy.
The doctors said I would never gain control of my bowels. Like so many challenges in my life, my determination defied the odds. Sometimes, if I go really hard in training, I might experience a minor loss of control, but I don’t wear diapers and I never will. I use a stroller but it can only handle my bodyweight, so a girl lent me her sports chair, which she uses for basketball. I sometimes use it to train with a goal to get my own equipment and begin competing on a global level.
Throughout my life, I never quite fit in with groups. As a child, I endured a great deal of bullying. Sports became a passion of mine, and I excelled. Training in combat sports gave me a way to defend myself and I focused both boxing and kickboxing. As I grew physically and gained knowledge in combat sports, fewer people bothered me. I also learned how to communicate and resolve conflicts peacefully. As I got older, I grew in understanding with the people around me and developed great rapport with my neighbors. Then the accident happened.
Taking on CrossFit gave me my life back. Every day now, I wake up and dedicate hours to training. I teach boxing classes and provide massages to relax my clients’ muscles. By pushing my own limits, I found the motivation I needed to move forward. I no longer look back. For a long time, I lived in constant regret, anger, and doubt. It felt impossible to remain optimistic. Today, I live a beautiful life, surpassing the expectations of my initial diagnosis. As I navigate the streets in my wheelchair, nothing can knock me down. When I encounter a sidewalk in poor condition, I see an adventure, enacting daring maneuvers to cross in style.
My body feels incredibly strong. I can rise out of my seat and push myself to stand for as long as possible; cautiously attempting to walk again. Even conduct classes while standing. This intense flame burning inside helps me push beyond my comfort zone. I must keep the flame alive while being careful not to get burned. People count on me today. If I fall, they fall. So, no matter what comes my way, I stand my ground and refuse to surrender.