Wounded Vet Again Tackles Basic Training

He took her hand.

"It's gone," he said. "Your leg is gone."

A Recruiting Pitch

During his frequent trips to Walter Reed and other military hospitals, the USOC's Register doggedly seeks out war veterans, approaching them as they are being stretched on physical therapy tables, knocking on the doors of their private rooms and chasing down wheelchairs carrying men and women missing arms or legs or both.

There is, he says, a place for all of them in the Paralympic movement, living a healthy lifestyle, playing sports and getting past their trauma and physical loss. Register, though, holds a special passion for the Games themselves. A former University of Arkansas hurdler who lost his left leg in a freak hurdling accident in 1994, Register competed in the 1996 Paralympic Games in Atlanta, then won a silver medal in the long jump at the 2000 Paralympics in Sydney.

His biggest reward, he admitted, would be if a few exceptional soldiers turned their debilitating injuries into Paralympian opportunities. "It's a very quick learning curve," Register said. "They're active. They're athletic. They've been in combat. They're in very good physical condition. They can turn that corner very quickly."

Enthusiasm, Register said, grows quickly. During rugby demonstrations at the military hospitals, quadriplegic athletes smash into one another in special chairs with abandon. When the basketballs are rolled out, there are brilliant three-point shots, impressive three-man weaves and jarring collisions.

The newly disabled soldiers, Register said, always want to try after they see such displays.

"I tell them, 'Here's this great opportunity if you allow it to challenge you,' " he said. " 'I've been where you are. You are able to move yourself forward.' "

He said Stockwell is among the toughest of the lot. Besides devoting herself to swimming, a sport she had competed in only casually in her childhood, she completed a marathon in a special racing wheelchair and a triathlon. She also dabbled in downhill skiing.

"I sensed I was not going to have to spend a lot of time with her," he said. "She had it. I knew right away this woman was ready to go."

In preparation for the trials, Stockwell spends most of her waking hours in the pool or weight rooms at the Olympic Training Center. During a recent morning workout, she swam alongside a blind teenager, a teenager with spina bifida, a man missing both legs and a woman with only one functional arm. None, however, had been injured in war.

"The guys really respect her," said Flowers, her coach. "They know what she's been through, and what she's done."

But he added: "This isn't Camp Olympia. You're here for a reason. . . . She does have a lot of room to improve. She has to improve."

That night, Stockwell walked with a limp to an athletes' lounge on the training center campus. Her metal prosthesis was hidden by her sweat pants and a running shoe. She would be homesick, she said, if she weren't so busy. She knew the exact number of days remaining before her Paralympic trials. She didn't have much time to drop her times.

"Every weight you lift counts," she said "Every practice counts."

But whether she makes it to Beijing or not, Stockwell seems to realize she already has found a new purpose in life.

"I've done more without a leg," she said, "than I ever did with two."