The Day I Didn’t Die

I sat in my wheelchair eating a sausage and bacon roll as the wind gusted through the tented café at Henley Royal Regatta. Little has changed about the place since I first raced there as a 19 year old, the café still faces the river, the boat tents are still to my left and the Stewards’ Enclosure still over to my right filled with people dressed in rowing club blazers and summer dresses.

This year I was in at 8:30 am on the Saturday morning, early to avoid the traffic for my 1996 crew reunion lunch, the anniversary of our semi-final exit to Yale 20 years before. My carer dropped me into the Regatta Café and I waited there alone as he drove to Heathrow to collect my Dad and my mind gave me no choice, left alone and idle in this tented café, it has to re-live this day 6 years ago.

It’s like a bad movie that replays every year. My mind watches the laughs of the day and feels the pain of the night. Each Henley Friday I walk through a movie I know does not have a happy ending. The morning of Friday, 2 July 2010 I’d enjoyed breakfast with a friend in the same Café where I sit now. That night, after racing finished, I walked the small triangle from the Stewards’ Enclosure to the Leander Club. Standing in the home of British rowing, I had laughed and joked with the others, before heading back to the house and going to bed.

A short time later, I fell two stories from an open window and became paralysed. I don’t know what happened, nobody does, but most likely I was trying to find my way to the bathroom and running my hand along the wall as a guide I tipped out the open window.

It is always the first Friday in July and I am always at the Regatta.

As the footage replays in my head, there is a sense that somehow the fall didn’t happen. That somehow the ending is different. But it never is. The window remains open and the fall happens. It is an illogical mental exercise.

This year on the Friday, I was alone in my hotel room, thinking of my fiancée Simone, my family and my friends who saved my life. Some called and we talked about it. Some texted. And, some simply never mentioned it at all. Everyone deals with things in different ways.

The Friday is always difficult.

On the Friday I am comparing my life today in a wheelchair with my life when I could walk and feel and use my body. I was blind but that doesn’t seem to figure in the feelings of loss in this memory; I miss my body running the towpath before the day’s racing.

On the Saturday mornings the comparison is different. In Henley eating my sausage and bacon roll with the wind gusting through, I know this year is so much better than that Saturday morning 6 years ago when I was lying in intensive care, my family and Simone arriving; the devastation. On this Saturday morning I had a deep sense of how lucky I am.

The ending of this movie could so easily have been fatal. For at least one day every year I remember that no matter how hard my life is, living with all of the crap that goes with spinal cord injury, encountering death and getting another chance puts that hardship into perspective. It informs a lot of what I do; it helps me to live life the way I do.

It has been two weeks since I got back from Henley.

Time relentlessly moves on and as this year’s anniversary joins the others as memories, the words from that incredible piece of writing by Mary Schmich, made into the song “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen)” reminds me not to worry about the Friday, I never knew it was coming.


Don’t worry about the future. Or worry, but know that worrying is as effective as trying to solve an algebra equation by chewing bubble gum. The real troubles in your life are apt to be things that never crossed your worried mind, the kind that blindside you at 4 p.m. on some idle Tuesday.


The blindside happened on that idle Friday night. Yet in the replay of that day my mind tries to worry with the benefit of hindsight, to worry about something that can never be changed. Maybe all I can do, all any of us can do is to focus on the other memories. To remember that though I am sitting in this café in my wheelchair, sad that I am sitting, I am ecstatic to be alive.

Maybe I’ll try to focus on the Saturdays, the unexpected truth of this story. A truth that is days of spectacular sadness, struggle and survival. A truth that is anniversaries of rowing races and running, of love and nurture and the force of humanity. A truth that is those people who kept me alive and give me so many reasons to keep moving forward.

What the polar explorers teach us about resilience

There is no cure for paralysis and I am paralysed. So my motivation to connect people around the world to create a cure may simply seem like a personal desire to walk, to feel, to be my old self again. The fall that broke my back in 2010 leaving me with no movement or feeling below my waist certainly pointed my compass towards this frontier that I now explore, but that alone could never sustain what this expedition requires.

By day, I am a lab rat. I am shaved and willingly, joyfully caged in my robotic legs. I am wired to technology that unfolds the map of the inside of my body like the uncharted cosmos and with scientists, amateurs and other pioneers we explore it. By night, I connect. I try to bring foundations, investors, scientists, engineers and paralysed patient advocates together to be part of the solution. I can do all this because I believe that my real motivation, (the intrinsic motivation that comes from deeper within me than the extrinsic reward of walking, feeling, being my old self again), is to find what lies beyond this unconquered frontier of paralysis, to find what is on the other side of the hill.

And it is vital that we understand what really motivates us and why. Otherwise we could never sustain the effort. The scientific research programme we have created in which I am a subject is producing incredibly useful data, but it may well lead to a breakthrough that benefits my fellow paralysed. So something more than the inarguable self-interest keeps me in the lab, keeps me working.

The heroic age of polar exploration has long been a font of insight for me. And even more so now as I figure out how these explorers faced their frontiers. So, I travelled as close as I could to a man who is to me one of the most fascinating of those explorers, a man called Tom Crean.

He was a titan.

Born in Annascaul, County Kerry in my home country, Ireland, he returned and opened a pub there in 1916 after his polar exploration ended. Simply called, The South Pole Inn, it is still open and is a memorial to his incredible life.

Simone, my fiancée, and I toasted Tom with a beer named after him. Simone described the 18/35 logo on the pint glass, but I couldn’t recall the significance of those numbers even though I had listened to the audiobooks of almost all the stories of polar exploration before my own Antarctic adventure back in 2009. Having lost my sight when I was 22 I turned from international rower to a blind adventure athlete and I competed in the first South Pole Race since Scott and Amundson had competed for the prize of being the true first to the pole over a hundred years before. It was how I had marked my 10-year anniversary of going blind.

Surrounding us on the walls of the pub were articles detailing Antarctic exploration. Crean was on teams led by both Sir Ernest Shackleton and Captain Robert Falcon Scott. As Michael Smith, author of “An Unsung Hero”, points out, Crean spent more time on the ice than either of those two Polar heroes; he was pivotal to three of the four major British expeditions to Antarctica.

Source: The Mark Pollock Trust

Initially he served under Scott on the Discovery from 1901 to 1904, then on his fatal Terra Nova expedition to the South Pole from 1910 to 1913 and finally on Shackleton’s Imperial Trans-Antarctic Expedition on Endurance from 1914 to 1916.

It was during Scott’s ill-fated Terra Nova expedition that Tom Crean made the numbers 18 and 35 his own. At only 168 statute miles (270 km) from the Pole, Scott ordered Tom Crean, William Lashly and Lieutenant Edward Evans to return to base. Scott recorded the sorrowful moment in his diary: “Poor old Crean wept”.

Scott went on to reach the South Pole only to find Norwegian Roald Amundsen’s flag planted there first. Scott and his team then perished on the return journey.

Crean, Lashly and Evans made it off the polar plateau one month after leaving Scott and the others, but Evans began to display the debilitating symptoms of scurvy. In the harness for up to 13 hours a day, Crean developed snowblindness and hauled the sledge, his eyes bandaged with a tealeaf poultice. Risking crevasses, broken bones and certain death, the three lashed themselves to the sledge and slid 2,000ft onto the Beardmore Glacier to save three precious days of marching and food. But then Evans collapsed and with two weeks of travel out from the safety of Hut Point, Crean and Lashly began hauling Evans on the sledge.

On 18 February 1912, they arrived at Corner Camp with food supplies running low. With one or two days’ worth of rations left, they still had four or five days to travel. So, facing death, Crean volunteered to go for help. He had no sleeping bag or tent and was already physically exhausted.

Lashly held open the round tent door flap to allow Evans to see Crean depart. Evans remembered: “He strode out nobly and finely – I wondered if I should ever see him again.” Yet, with only two sticks of chocolate and three biscuits (keeping one in his pocket in case of emergency) Crean completed the 35 statute miles (56 kms) in a punishing 18 hours. The rescue was successful and Lashly and Evans were both brought to base camp alive. Crean more than earned his Albert Medal, then the highest award for gallantry.

Crean’s own survival, the rescue of his companions and his desire to return to Antarctica, despite this experience, still intrigues me. I can understand the motivation for Amundsen, Shackleton and Scott – the adventure, the recognition, the money and the influence. My own 43 days in Antarctica racing to the South Pole was fuelled by my desire to compete, to do something bigger than me, bigger than my blindness, maybe to take a small place in polar history.

Everyone else, including me, seemed to have an obvious reason to be there. But why did Tom Crean keep going back? He was not an officer or a leader on any of the expeditions; he gained very little public recognition or wealth. So, what drove him to go? What allowed him to survive?

I asked Crean’s biographer, Michael Smith. He said: “Crean was the type of man who wanted to see what was over the other side of the hill”. So, maybe curiosity and adventure were the drive. It also may have been that the other side of the hill was a great deal better than life in rural Ireland in the late 19th Century; maybe joining the British Navy was just a job? But this was a job that required him to endure torturous conditions, to put his life on the line.

The compelling but probably apocryphal story goes that the men who joined Shackleton did so in response to his newspaper ad for the Endurance expedition: “Men wanted for hazardous journey. Low wages, bitter cold, long hours of complete darkness. Safe return doubtful. Honour and recognition in event of success.

It is unlikely that Shackleton would have created an advertisement with any pessimism in it, but I am interested in the type of people who would have joined any exploratory Polar expedition, because I think motivation is rarely about the extrinsic factors, it’s rarely about money, recognition or status. They are all so easily granted and so easily taken away. People like Crean have a drive that comes from somewhere else, somewhere deep within, something intrinsic.

Norwegian explorer, Fridtjof Nansen, whose name and face were on my skis that took me to the South Pole, wrote about this very notion.

“It is within us all, it is our mysterious longing to accomplish something, to fill life with something more than a daily journey from home to the office and from the office, home again. It is our ever present longing to surmount difficulties and dangers, to see that which is hidden, to seek the places lying away from the beaten track; it is the call of the unknown, the longing for the land beyond, the divine power deeply rooted within the soul of man; it is this spirit which drove the first hunters to new places and the incentive for perhaps our greatest deeds – the force of human thought which spreads its wings and flies where freedom knows no bounds.”

Explorers have a desire to make sense of the unknown. I believe that that spirit of exploration is held deep within us all.

Perhaps Nansen articulates what we must try to find as we explore our own frontiers when he says: “It is within us all.” Whatever the challenge, the motivation to keep going must come from somewhere deep inside us. External motivators are always temporary.

The answer to the question of why we do what we do is an internal one, often held privately, but one that if answered honestly will be the one that gets us there. I know that Crean must have had an answer to that question when he walked those 18 hours to cross those 35 miles of ice, uncertain if help would be waiting at the end. If he didn’t, he would never have made it.

Yes, You Need More Than Just You

Last Saturday morning I woke up, facing into my seventh and eighth training sessions in four days and I struggled. As my care assistant knocked the door, let himself in and made his way up the stairs in my house, I wanted to tell him to turn around and let me sleep on.

I want to write this blog to tell you that I can only do what I do because of people and the strategies that they help me to keep in place. Good people. It made me think of all of you who are part of Run in the Dark: training, struggling with training, fundraising, volunteering and setting up pop-ups. I suspect that the good people around you are as important to you as they are to me. Whether it’s a running partner or someone to watch your kids when you’re training or a good physiotherapist. We need more than just us to get where we want to go. It’s the only way. I am sure of it.

So, when last Saturday, my care assistant knocked the door, let himself in and made his way up the stairs in my house and I wanted to tell him to turn around and to let me sleep on, (not because I am lazy or just don’t fancy it, but because it’s hard and I’m tired and eight sessions in four days is a tough schedule with work and life and all it involves), I said nothing. And this was only because I knew that in 90 minutes time Simon O’Donnell, my South Pole teammate turned rehab teammate would be waiting in the gym to help me train and Dr. Neil Fleming, the post-doctoral research fellow that we fund, would be ready to capture the data.

My care assistant, Chris came into my room, I transferred onto my shower chair and rolled into the shower. He got my clothes, I dressed and we headed to the lab. Simon, Neil, Chris and I together completed 30 minutes of standing me at a squat rack completing single knee bends, alternate knee bends, double leg straightens and squats.

Then I completed my usual hour of spinal electrical stimulation while walking in my robot.

The reason I am doing it is clear to me – I want and have a shot at treating, if not curing my and others paralysis. I am the only person in the world so far who’s fortunate enough to trial this combination of electrical stimulation, drug and walking. But even when the future benefit is clear, my present self (the tired self who wants to sleep) trumps the future self (the paralysed man who is getting some way better). Even where there can be no clearer incentive for me to commit to every training session, I need strategies and good people to guard against my present self failing. People I cannot and will not let down.

So, now, at the end of another day with an early morning in the gym tomorrow, I think about that Run In The Dark red river of light that will flow through the streets on Wednesday the 11th of November carrying me along with it ( I think about the 25,000 people right around the world pulling on running shoes and going training and how you’ve helped me to get out of bed, to go to the lab. Over the last few years I’ve met so many people with different reasons for running: some run in the dark as first timers with the aim of finishing, some are there to win, some are there for their loved ones who are injured and so many are there to help us fast-track a cure for paralysis, to be on this most exciting of expeditions. Runners, walkers, volunteers, committees, professionals and sponsors, look after yourselves, get help and support from others to do so, and know that I couldn’t do this without you.

Mark at the Run In The Dark Start in 2013

My Beating Heart

I spend almost every day in the gym. I wear sports kit almost all of the time and I’m forever banging on about my diet and training. But I never have to change my kit after training because I never really sweat. The reason that I never really sweat is that my paralysed muscles don’t contract, which means they never demand extra oxygen, which means my heart rate never goes up and I don’t sweat and it’s incredibly frustrating.

But on the 14th of September everything changed. About 50 minutes into my usual 60 minutes walking in my Ekso Bionics robotic legs, something quite incredible happened. For the first time since I strapped my paralysed body into my exoskeleton in 2012 and over half a million steps ago, my heart rate reached a maximum of 166 beats per minute.

Watch Mark explain adding the heart monitor into today’s training.

The beating heart

Let me explain why this is so significant. In September 2008, a couple of months before I skied to the South Pole, I did a number of physiological tests. During one of these I ran on a treadmill and achieved a maximum heart rate of 178 beats per minute. At that time I was told that my aerobic stamina training for long distance cross-country skiing in Antarctica (mostly Simon and I training on indoor ski machines or dragging tyres behind us on a beach) should be in the range of 129 – 157 beats per minute. I was to start training at the lower end of this range and move towards the upper limit where I should feel it getting progressively harder. And, it did. At 157 beats per minute the effort wasn’t sustainable for 14 hours per day for weeks on the ice.

Below is a clip of Mark at his first South Pole training session with Simon O’Donnell in 2008.

Maximum heart rates differ depending on the person, age, fitness and on whether the test is done, for example, while running or cycling. We certainly must expect that there is a difference in maximum heart rate when the person being tested has been paralysed for 5 years and is being stimulated while walking in robotic legs. But we have no one else doing what I am doing yet to compare to!

Until we do, (and we are working on that), I am satisfied with comparing my stimulated robotic-walking heart to my heart before my body was so broken. Its beating, my body sweating through my t-shirt, my mind pushing me on, being able to embody my desire to train hard – at times I almost feel like me again.

Since the 166 beat high, I’ve managed to work out how to move between 130 and 150 beats per minute as I progress through our 60 minute training sessions. On the couple of occasions that I’ve pushed into the high 150s and low 160s, I’ve been overtired and struggled to keep my heart rate up on the following day. Using the rule of thumb of “180 beats per minute minus your age” suggested by Phil Maffetone –  I should be hitting about 140 for my ‘aerobic’ training and that feels right.

Waking my paralysed body

And the reason I am able to do this now? Electrical Stimulation. It has to be. Of course, none of this experience is real until the tests are done and the scientists’ work is peer reviewed and published, but it has to be down to the electrical stimulation of my spinal cord, because nothing else has changed. In fact, if you listen to conventional wisdom about paralysis – 5 years after breaking my back, I ought to be more paralysed, less likely to experience any change for the better.

As I train now in the physiology lab or in the gym in Trinity College Dublin the scientists strategically place electrodes on the skin on my lower back over my spinal cord to deliver painless electrical stimulation. The idea is that this transforms the nerve network in my spinal cord from asleep to a highly functional state; it reminds the spinal cord of its potential. It’s powerful, human, striding potential.

Then, as I walk in my robotic legs, the scientists hope that this weight bearing, this repetition of the walking pattern while my spinal cord is in this highly functional state will jolt it from its paralysis coma. Over time, we hope that this will develop the conditions to encourage my brain to regain some voluntary control over my legs. At that point the robot can power down and let my legs do some of the work. I understand it to be like the robot is performing the same role as a parent holding a baby’s fingers and encouraging him to stand and to take some early practice steps before he even understands what he is trying to do.

Mark Training with Ekso and Stimulation

Connecting the brain and body

I was just speaking at the RCSI Faculty of Sports and Exercise Medicine Conference. My slot was immediately before Professor Tim Noakes (author of Lore of Running, Challenging Beliefs, Real Meal Revolution, Doctor, Emeritus Professor, runner and low carbohydrate diet proponent). I was in early to test my videos and headed up to the reception area for a coffee where Tim was sitting and unfortunately for him I bombarded him with questions about my new eating plan. In fairness it is his eating plan. Simone is cooking for us at the moment from the Real Meal Revolution book and I’ve lost a tonne of weight and feel really well.

I told him about my recent Natural Born Heroes blog and we discussed my heart rate responses during my gym and lab sessions. He told me that even though I am now hitting 166 beats per minute highs I don’t need to re-fuel with chocolate milk. And he confirmed what my 24 hour ultra runner friend and Life Style Sports Run in the Dark Coach, John O’Regan says when it comes to performance, nutrition and recovery: “Listen to the body”.

 To learn more directly from Prof. Tim Noakes check out his TEDx Capetown talk below.


At the conference, Tim Noakes spoke about his central governor theory suggesting that the brain is significantly more important in our physical performances than many of us give it credit for. He believes during physical exertion at the point when we think we have given our all, it is simply a physical response to our brains telling us to take it easy rather than a physiological breakdown. He has written extensively about this and gives the example of finishing spurts in races and suggests that at a time when the muscles should be at their weakest, when our minds know that we’re on the home straight and are safe in the knowledge that we aren’t going to die, our bodies’ systems are allowed to open up and work harder.

So, it seems that not only the paralysed need to acknowledge the mind’s ability to give the heart reason for beating – to power the body to achieve its full potential. It also seems that the addition of a heart rate monitor to our training sessions in the lab is just the feedback loop I needed to encourage me to push on. The full potential of my paralysed body remains to be discovered but I believe that this week’s progress may be telling us that we can dare to try to realise it.

Inspired To Eat Like Natural Born Heroes

My friend Johnny Johnston recently recommended a book by Christopher McDougall called “Natural Born Heroes – How a Daring Band of Misfits Mastered the Lost Secrets of Strength and Endurance”.

20 years ago Johnny and I used to row together at university and since then he has done all sorts including bare foot running, cross-fit and white-collar boxing. Almost all of his training has been high intensity, maximal output that he has combined with the fast paced life of a headhunter while living in London and then New York.

Mark and John Johnston

So, I expected Natural Born Heroes to be a high testosterone extreme fitness text, but it isn’t. It’s a mix of a swashbuckling war story, a lesson on Greek mythology and an analysis of human movement and it has made me think a lot about the fact that the human body needs so little to survive and is capable of such incredible feats. It’s made me think about what that means for me and how I think about my own body which I am demanding more and more of in pursuit of a cure for paralysis.

The book jacket says:

McDougall finds his next great adventure on the razor-sharp mountains of Crete, where a band of Resistance fighters in World War II plotted the daring abduction of a German general from the heart of the Nazi occupation. How did a penniless artist, a young shepherd, and a playboy poet believe they could carry out such a remarkable feat of strength and endurance, smuggling the general past thousands of Nazi pursuers, with little more than their own wits and courage to guide them? McDougall discovers the tools of the hero-natural movement, extraordinary endurance, and efficient nutrition.

It is the ‘tools of the hero – natural movement, extraordinary endurance, and efficient nutrition’ that are so engaging in this book. Johnny is applying it to his training and nutrition. He had an in-depth health check and found that his anaerobic (without oxygen) top end fitness was excellent, but his aerobic (with oxygen) base fitness was poor. So, he followed the Phil Maffetone 2-Week Test – in the book, experimenting with long slow runs at a heart rate of 140 (calculated at 180 minus his age) in order to build a base of aerobic fitness. He also reduced his carbohydrate intake and increased his protein and fat consumption. After 3 months the results were dramatic. In particular, Johnny’s lean muscle mass increased. Despite being ‘thin’ his body fat was 19% and it has reduced to 14% – not bad Johnny!

Natural Born Heroes is also informing my thinking about nutrition as I pursue a cure for paralysis. Over the last 6 weeks as part of our scientific research study here in Dublin, which I blogged about last month, I have completed my own battery of health checks in order to capture baseline data.

I’ve had MRIs to establish my muscle profile, Dexa scans to determine bone density and body fat composition and I have had a full blood profile done. The tests will be repeated and compared at regular intervals over the next 12 months as part of our research into the effect of electrical stimulation on my spinal cord and a drug to super-charge my nervous system while I stand and walk hundreds of thousands of steps in my Ekso Bionics robotic legs.

Mark undergoing initial tests with US/IRL Research Team

By the time I got to these baseline tests I didn’t need them to tell me that I had put on a load of weight since last year. To be precise 5kgs (11 pounds), let’s just call it a stone, of an increase. And, if I wasn’t prepared to listen to the clothes tightening around me, people were already saying, “you must be training hard“. You see, as I outlined in my blog called, ‘I’ve Gone Part-Time Paleo’  – people always say that when I’ve been eating harder than I’ve been training.

So, I started the Phil Maffetone 2-Week Test to see if I could get my weight back on track. I am 3 weeks in and really excited about how I am feeling and by the dramatic reduction in the size of my stomach. I’ve been starting most days with a protein and fat rich breakfast of scrambled eggs with cheese or meat. Meat, eggs, cheese are all an option but not bread, cereal or sugar. During the day I’ve been snacking on biltong kindly sponsored by Stript Snacks and nuts.

Mark with Stript Snacks

And, for lunch and dinner I’ve been eating a mix of Paleo stews, Banting meals and lots of spinach and kale. If I need something different in the next few weeks I’ll rely on Life Style Sports Run In The Dark Foodie Tina Bergin’s protein rich running treat recipes on the Nutrition Blog – thanks Tina!

Natural Born Heroes has encouraged me to remain curious about my human body and its personal struggle to move despite paralysis. It’s reminded me to fuel it with the right nutrition and, like that ‘band of Resistance fighters’, to try to go beyond the apparent limits of my paralysis.

For those of you who are joining us at the Life Style Sports Run in the Dark in November – I strongly recommend that you consider the ‘tools of the hero’ as outlined in Natural Born Heroes – ‘natural movement, extraordinary endurance, and efficient nutrition’!!

Mark at home with healthy meal

Stimulating spinal cord injury research in Dublin

I floated out of my mind for a flurry of seconds and then I was back in the lab, on a bench. Like so many of the new feelings I’ve felt this past year it is hard to describe. It was a bit like the floating I felt on morphine in intensive care. But that didn’t matter. What mattered was what the scientists were looking for on the computer screen. They were electrically stimulating a part of my brain so they could see whether there were intact descending nerves despite my damaged spinal cord. And what really matters is that we were performing these tests at all! That this research is happening here in Dublin.


We’ve created a paralysis research program in Trinity College Dublin and we couldn’t have done it without the support that so many of you have given the Mark Pollock Trust. Thank you. 

The Trust now officially funds a full-time researcher, Neil Fleming, PhD who will run our collaboration with the American and Russian scientists.

If I take paralysis out of the analysis, this is an incredible milestone, the culmination of lots of hard work and effort. But I’m also frustrated. This past year, since the end of the UCLA trial and starting again here in Dublin has felt like we were standing still. Spinal cord injury research should be progressing faster and the trials should be bigger, more ambitious. Christopher Reeve used to urge the scientific world to work faster and harder and that call is still urgent.

Paralysis has to be part of the analysis of this announcement because paralysis is so devastating for every person living with a spinal cord injury. Every day I wake up I detach a bed bag and hand it to my carer, who helps me to get out of bed, wheels me into the shower. I get dressed sitting on my bed and then I roll to the lab, again only with the help of my carer. It is a paradoxical situation: I resent that I have to rely on my carers for everything, while being so grateful that they are there; I am lucky to have them at all. The creation of this trial is great, but I would trade it in an instant to be able to feel and control my body again. And this is what drives me to try to change the impact of paralysis on people and on those who love and support them. 

With Professors Reggie Edgerton of UCLA and Yury Gerasimenko of the Pavlov Institute, Neil and the team here in Trinity will study the paralysed body’s response to innovative electrical stimulation of the spinal cord combined with a drug to super-charge the nervous system while I walk thousands of steps in my robotic legs. 

rsz_research_team_1200x628 (1)

It’s also fitting that my university, Trinity and my colleagues, Dr Nick Mahony and Bernard Donne, who I’ve known since the good old days when I could both walk and see, have helped to make this happen. Nick and Bernard tested me in Trinity’s Human Performance Laboratory when I was trialling for the Irish lightweight rowing squads and again after I went blind and began taking on desert endurance races. And last month they were hunched over the computer alongside the American and Russian scientists looking to see what happened when I floated out of my body for that flurry of seconds. They created the space and gathered the expertise for us to do this trailblazing research and I can’t ever thank them enough.

Over the next twelve months I will spend most of each week in the lab, or walking while being electrically stimulated. That’s another feeling that’s hard to describe. The electrical stimulation on my back and the drug in my system when I’m walking in my robot make me aware of my legs beneath me and I can join in the walking enough to break a sweat. It doesn’t feel normal, like the way I used to feel my legs, but after five years of paralysis it is fantastic to feel and we know from the data that feeling is well worth pursuing.

This is the beginning of something. Something exciting, something that I hope will move us closer to the cure. So, it’s time for a small celebration, just so long as we keep our eye on the prize – to be able to take paralysis out of the analysis for everyone.

My Insurance Claim after Paralysis

Last week I was in court in the UK about the fall that left me paralysed in 2010.

For legal reasons I could not talk about the case and in that vacuum there have been unbalanced accounts of the court proceedings in the media.

Whatever the court’s judgment I wanted to explain to you why I took this case. To talk as directly as possible with all of you who’ve supported me to build a life after paralysis; those who contribute to the Mark Pollock Trust and who are involved in Run in the Dark.

Public Liability Insurance Policy

The headlines that said that I was suing my friends were misleading and provocative. My claim was made where there was a public liability insurance policy in place to meet the cost of accidents like mine. Most house insurance policies contain such cover for this exact purpose. Therefore the insurance company’s solicitors defended the case. My friends did not have to hire their own solicitors. They did not have any legal costs. They were never at risk of having to compensate me from their own pockets for the costs I bear as a result of my injury.

Limiting the Claim

It is important to me that you know that I expressly limited my claim for damages to the cap on my friends’ insurance policy. This is a fraction of the financial cost I bear as a result of the fall. But I did not think it fair that my friends would have even one moment of worry that they would have to personally pay me a penny.

Why I Took this Case

This was the culmination of a process that took almost 5 years. During my initial 7 month stay in the National Spinal Injuries Centre in the UK the other paralysed patients and I were advised by healthcare professionals, social workers and legal experts. They told me that life after spinal cord injury is incredibly tough and in their experience it is especially so for those who do not receive a payment of damages for their injury.

Spinal cord injury is described as a ‘catastrophic injury’ because not only is it horrific for its physical and life-altering aspects, it is also prohibitively expensive. As the press reported, the costs when anyone is paralysed run to the millions.

I was told to check all possible sources of insurance and home insurance policies. So, as part of the process, I established that my friends had home insurance to meet my claim.

The Mark Pollock Trust

While I was still in hospital some friends at home set up the Mark Pollock Trust and its independent board of Trustees. Supporters began donating, volunteering their time and expertise and, eventually, taking part in Run in the Dark. The Mark Pollock Trust’s mission soon became to find and connect people worldwide to fast track a cure for paralysis. Most recently we employed a research scientist to help build a spinal cord injury research program in Dublin.

Those involved with the Trust also felt it was not right to ask individuals for financial support if I did not pursue this insurance policy in place for the very purpose of covering some of the costs associated with my injury. The only reason not to continue with the case was that it would be tough on everyone concerned. Of course, no one wants to have to involve their friends, or family for that matter, in litigation.

But the insurer would not discuss settlement of my claim and it became clear they would only pay if a judge sitting in court after a full hearing established legal liability. My solicitor issued proceedings and I instructed him to write to the insurance company’s solicitors to tell them that I was limiting my claim to the value of the policy and that they must tell my friends this, which they did.

Legal Costs

To be absolutely clear I confirm that no money at all from either the Mark Pollock Trust, Run in the Dark or any other fundraising done in my name has been used to finance this case in any way, ever.

And finally…

I hope you understand that I took this case because it was not right to carry out public fundraising without also making a claim on a public liability policy in place for the purpose of covering some of my care and rehabilitation costs. I took both expert advice and advice from my friends and many of you who have supported me through some really tough decisions, but ultimately I took this case because I believed that it was the right thing to do in the circumstances.

Thank you for taking the time to read this.




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