No Arms, No Legs—No Excuses

No Arms, No Legs—No Excuses

This story has been one of my greatest life hacks. It’s what I remember whenever I’m in a funk or feel like I'm facing something I can't overcome. I think about this story regularly, especially now as I conquer this current obstacle in my life.  It pulls me out of self-pity and reminds of what’s possible, no matter how insurmountable things seem.

I grew up swimming competitively and swam provincial, which in South Africa is equivalent to swimming for the state team. My mom would wake me at 5 AM to hit the pool before school from 5:30 -7 AM, and I’d be back in the water after class from 4-6 PM. Swimming was my life. But by the time I moved to the U.S., swimming took a back burner to business and entrepreneurship, though I still jumped in the water whenever I could.

The day that changed everything: Years later, while I was living in San Diego, my old friend Julz—who was visiting from South Africa—invited me to join her in a long-distance ocean swim in Long Beach. It was a close drive, so I decided to compete with her. Julz was doing the mile swim, so I figured I’d join her race. But the morning of the event, I just wasn’t feeling it. A mile in cold ocean water at 6 AM sounded miserable, so I told Julz I was instead going to swim 800 meters. 

She didn’t argue but said, “Before you do, come meet someone.” We walked over to a tent where Julz introduced me to Chris. I looked at him—swim cap on, goggles ready—and couldn’t help but stare in shock. Chris had no arms and no legs. Seeing my confusion, he broke the ice: “Good to meet you, mate.”

My brain was still waking up, and instinctively, I went to shake his hand—except there was no hand to shake. It was one of the most awkward moments. Julz didn’t help at all. She just stood there, throwing me in the deep end, and I had to figure out how to swim through this surreal encounter.

Eventually, I gathered myself and asked, “So, Chris… are you swimming today?” He grinned and shot back, “Nah, I just like standing around in a Speedo for fun!” That’s when I realized—Chris had jokes.

Trying to recover, I asked which event he was doing, half-expecting it to be something shorter or specially designed. He looked at me like I was crazy and confidently said, “The 5K.” I’m sure I said, “What?!” out loud. I was stunned. Here I was, fully able-bodied, chickening out on a mile, while Chris—a quadriplegic—was preparing for a 5K swim, which is over 3 miles.

Feeling humbled and slightly ashamed, I told Julz I’d stick with the mile. She grinned, knowing her plan had worked. We finished our swim, and as we walked back to the shore, we watched Chris still swimming. It was incredible—he was bobbing up and down in the water, using his whole torso like a fin to propel himself forward. Every time he needed a breath, he had to rotate his entire body just to get his mouth above the water. The determination and effort it took were mind-blowing. When he finally finished, the crowd erupted in applause.

That moment changed me. It showed me the power of persistence, of pushing past limits—even when those limits seem impossible.

A month later, I was doing another swim, this time from downtown San Diego to Coronado Island. My ultra-competitive friend Todd made a bet that whoever lost would have to do something embarrassing. I was feeling good, but halfway through the race, I got a massive cramp in my right leg. The pain was paralyzing. As Todd started to pull ahead, I thought of Chris and how he’d finished a 5K without arms or legs. I felt instant gratitude—at least I had a leg to cramp up. I used that pain, leaned into it, and kept going. Not only did I beat Todd, but I also set a personal best for that distance.

That was over 12 years ago, but I still carry the lesson with me. When life feels overwhelming, or I doubt my abilities, I think of Chris. I remind myself that if he could swim three miles without limbs, I have no excuses. I can endure, and I can push through.

Thanks, Chris! You taught me more than you’ll ever know.