09/01/2026
Well. It’s that time of year for me again. The anniversary of when my life was irrevocably changed.
On September 1st, 2020, I was on my way to Sinclair Community College, taking classes to work towards becoming a firefighter and emt/paramedic. I’d been fired from my management position three months prior, and also torn my bicep that day I was fired.
Things were looking better as I’d positioned myself for a 38 year old career change.
I hopped on the bike to ride to class. Weather was beautiful, and the time I spent riding was one of the best antidepressants I’d ever taken. I took the wrong exit in Dayton, and as I got off the exit there was a large truck behind me. One of my fears while riding was always getting rear ended. So I kept eyeballing him through my rear views, neglecting to look in front of me. Traffic had stopped at a red light, and my bike did not. I did my best Evil Kneivel impression and slammed myself into the back of an SUV and my face went through the window.
I suffered a cracked orbital wall, a mountain of face lacerations, (the paramedics said the cut on my nose went to the bone), an open book pelvic fracture (think Wile E Coyote slamming into a wall in the old cartoons) and a fractured AND dislocated right wrist in the initial accident. (Later on we’d discover a hernia and I also ended up getting reconstruction on a wrist ligament to reconnect my radius and ulna).
I was rushed to Miami Valley Hospital, my dad and cousin beat the ambulance there (also the roads in Dayton are terrible when bouncing in the back of an ambulance), mom and sister made it from Gatlinburg, TN to Dayton in about 5.5 hours with bathroom and a snack break.
I was in the trauma unit for ten days, and an inpatient rehab hospital for an additional seven. The first two nights in the trauma unit were the first time a lifetime of being depressed and having suicidal ideation, that I made an attempt to end my own life. In between nurse visits I would lower my bed as low as it could go, slide myself up the bed as far as I could, and then reach for tubing or cords and try to wrap them around my neck while raising the bed up. This went on for both nights. Dodging nurse visits (even visits from my nurse friend Shantei who came over from a different ward to check on me), while attempting to end it all.
Whether it was exhaustion, the adrenaline dump, the fentanyl they’d pumped into me for pain, or divine intervention, I never succeeded. In a lifetime of perceived failures, this failure would end up being one of the best things that happened to me.
The third day, when the occupational therapists got me out of bed,and stood me up, I decided to try to focus on doing things to keep my head away from wanting to hurt myself….
Yet it turned into doing things that….hurt….myself.
I made a pledge that day to run a marathon the following year. And although I won’t quantify what I did as “running”, in October of ‘21 I finished the Nationwide Children’s Hospital marathon, and then “ran” a 48 hour ultramarathon five weeks later. On no training. The latter being my first foray into fundraising and actively trying to help others.
It grew into my first cross-country walk in ‘22 where I met so many amazing people. Too many to list. I saw the country, on foot, over the course of 192 days. I had moments of pain (many, many moments), moments where I wanted to quit, and moments where I had to commit emergency bowel evacuation in the middle of nowhere like a sneaky p**p ninja.
This grew to Hall Across the Country as a nonprofit. Where we (and I) continue to try to do what we can to inspire others to talk about their mental health, while also showing that there is SO MUCH GOOD out there, despite all the bad we’re inundated with.
I often wonder if I could go back, and undo the accident would I? I can’t say that I would. Although I’ve lived the last six years of my life in varying degrees of pain (with more coming next week after my shoulder surgery), I’m still here. Despite everything else, I move forward. It’s never fast. But it’s moving.
If you’re out there, and you’re hurting, I know the pain. I know the hurt. I know what it’s like to look at yourself as a failure (still working on this one). I know what it’s like to think nothing you do has mattered, currently matters, or will matter. I know what it’s like to feel like you’re in a room full of people, and you can scream at the top of your lungs that you need help, but no one will hear you. I was all of this. I hid my suicidal ideation under jokes. Even after trying to take my life in the hospital, I never opened up about it until I began prepping and doing my first walk across the country. Even then I was still embarrassed.
I’m living proof that finding a way to persevere, finding some minuscule sliver of hope, whatever it takes to allow you to push forward one inch, every day, WILL get you to the other side.
It won’t be pretty, and it DAMN sure won’t be easy. But there IS a light on the other end. And if you don’t think you can see it, or get there, we’ve got you.
I’ve got you.
Thank you guys for always being there, always supporting, and helping us (and me) believe that we’re making a positive impact. I hope to grow Hall Across the Country into something that can positively impact as many people as possible, and you guys are all a part of that.
I love you all, we love you all.
And I’ll keep going.
But you damn sure better do it too.
-Joe
