by Hoda Kotb
“Obviously,” Diane jokes, “you don’t have to have big boobs to have big lungs.”
Diane’s muscles were determined to be superstars as well, as efficient as those of a woman nearly thirty years younger.
The next step was to leave the lab and gear up for feisty Mount Aconcagua. In January 2010, Diane and nine other climbers were hooked up with electrodes. Real-time medical data would be gathered, stored on laptops, and then wirelessly transmitted back to computers at Mayo. The mission had two parts. The first was to generate data as Diane, the other climbers, and medical staff slowly trekked to the top of the mountain along a treacherous but well-traveled trail. The second goal was to monitor Diane and a fellow elite climber a day or two later as they re-summited as quickly as possible along the same route, or as similar as possible based on weather conditions. Diane’s neurologist, Dr. Spitz, offered his blessing when Diane initially inquired about the medical risks of the ultra-high-altitude expedition.
“I’m a big believer in ‘live your life,’ ” Spitz says. “When I look at life, there’s a certain amount of risk in everything we do, so I weigh the potential benefits, of course being careful, and is it worth it? I know Diane as a person well. I know how important these things are for her. It’s her identity, and so I carefully think about what she’s going to be doing, but I tend to let her go for it.”
Diane and the team went for it in mid-January. Doctors placed a small harness around the middle of Diane’s chest to measure her respiratory and heart rates as well as her oxygen saturation. She was also monitored by a neuropsychologist for cognitive issues related to altitude sickness. The expedition would take weeks, due to the acclimation process and erratic weather conditions. A massive volcanic mountain, Aconcagua is frequently blasted by a hurricane-force jet stream that Argentineans call the viento blanco, or white wind.
In a Mayo Clinic blog post from January 30, Diane describes preparing for the summit and for her speed record attempt:
It really was so great to feel awesome climbing to 18,000 feet! Stunning to be on top of the mountain on a crystal clear blue sky day and you could see forever! I told Bruce and Luke [a Mayo doctor and his son] that I think this is a glance of what heaven is going to be like. It was great to climb and feel in my element. No headache, no tightness of lungs etc. Tomorrow we will take gear to camp one and we will not have contact for maybe 6 7 8 days as it depends on weather conditions on the mountain. No summiting today because of the winds. Well, love to everyone and keep prayers for everyone . . . start the summit tomorrow. xo Di
But the first several days of February unleashed sixty-mile-per-hour winds and minus-twenty-degrees temperatures. Climbers could not summit until February 9, and not everyone made it to the top. Diane did, and immediately began to gear up for her next challenge, the speed ascent.
“I promised everyone that the docs would come home alive,” Diane explains, “that I wouldn’t take any risks.”
And that’s why Diane made the frustrating but prudent decision to ultimately cancel the speed attempt. Blizzard conditions, high winds, and below-zero temperatures prompted her to call off the mission. The doctors had successfully gathered a wealth of physiological and psychological data on the slow summit; the second mission was too risky.
Interestingly, in Mayo’s written insights about the expedition, the lead doctor discusses the elusive challenge of learning why some people have a “well-designed persistence for adaptation.” Dr. Bruce Johnson writes, “Why some people keep striving amid life’s traumas and others don’t is a perplexing issue.”
Perplexing indeed. What Diane exhibits as an elite athlete, and has since she was little, will never show up in telemetry data.
“I told the docs I still think it’s what’s up here.” She points to her head. “You can be the fastest athlete in the world, but if you can’t use it here,” she says, pointing to her head again, “and know how to keep your shit together, you’re done. And I really had to keep my shit together when I had my seizures, so I can just keep it together in the moment. It’s the push, it’s in the head.”
Diane lives in Sedalia, Colorado, elk country, forty minutes south of Denver on thirty-five acres, where she and Scott raised their three children. A fifty-two-year-old natural beauty, Diane wears no makeup; she wears her blond hair short and simple. Her skin has been kissed by the sun and battered by winds that blow where few choose to explore. Diane is five feet nine, one hundred and thirty-five pounds—extremely lean but not emaciated. In a constant state of motion since she was young, Diane’s never comfortable at rest.
But in December 2011, she had no choice. Diane was ordered to sit in a chair with her right leg prone and to heal. She had endured a severely painful procedure on a torn Achilles tendon. Doctors and therapists who work with Denver’s professional sports teams were tasked with getting Diane’s tendon to properly heal using an experimental technique, the kind of procedure that makes even the toughest athletes cry or use expletives. By the third session, with several more to go, Diane was in bad shape and using bad language.
“I was crawling around the house. I was holding my leg,” she describes, “lying on the floor, cussing my head off.”
In an office setting, doctors drew blood from Diane, separated out the pristine red blood cells, drew them into a syringe, and, without numbing her, injected the needle into her Achilles on both sides of her heel. The technique is designed to promote circulation and healing. The injury was debilitating to Diane’s race schedule and her psyche. By now you know that she’s not an elite relaxer. To make matters worse, the ankle injury was not caused by running.
In 2009, Diane had headed out for a routine predawn trail run. “It was four o’clock in the morning and I was headed for a trail no one even knows about,” Diane says, “and I get out of my car in the parking lot, and all of a sudden this guy flips on his headlamp and says, ‘Get the fuck outta here.’ I turned off my headlamp, and as I was running out of there, I jumped a fence and my foot went into an old fence post hole, and when I pulled out my foot, that’s when I strained it.”
Diane hid herself and called the police.
“I could see him loading the gun”—she makes the clicking sound of cocking a gun—“looking around for me, looking in my car. I was lying in the grass thinking, Get here, get here, get here.”
Police, who arrived forty-five minutes later, think Diane walked up on a drug deal. They were never able to track down the gunman. Diane raced every month after the injury, so it never got a chance to heal.
“I told my friend that if I ever see that son of a bitch again,” she says jokingly, “I ain’t running from him next time . . . I’m taking him down!”
Extreme physical therapy instead of extreme physical exercise was an exasperating tradeoff for Diane. She was limited to pool workouts and core exercises. And lots of quality time with fear.
“There was an underlying, Wow, what am I gonna do now? This sport has been so good to me.”
So good, and so time consuming. The sport requires an immense time commitment. Diane’s typical day unfolds early. While the coffee brews, she laces up one of the fifteen pairs of running shoes she wears out each year. Out the door by around four A.M., Diane grabs a quick carbohydrate (like a muffin) and eats it in her lap while driving. She often heads to Pikes Peak, altitude 14,110 feet. Up she runs, fourteen miles to the summit.
“I’ll throw a headlamp on, run up to the top, and I’ll stay up there for a while for altitude training,” she says. “I’ll run a bunch of back trails that no one knows about, so I have the whole mountain to myself. It’s kinda nice.”
Hours later, when Diane decides to head back down the mountain, she’ll text her friend who works with search and rescue in Colorado Springs. The potential for a bear encounter or a fall is real, so she wants someone to know where she’s training. After logging twenty to thirty miles by noon, Diane heads home for lunch, always carbs and protein to refuel the repair of tissue breakdown from her in
tense workout. Her calorie burn for the day easily reaches six to seven thousand, so her lunch will include an entire bag of mixed vegetables that she microwaves, along with tofu, tuna, or chicken and Greek yogurt. After lunch, Diane tackles e-mails and details on clothing design for the North Face. She may also need to prepare a presentation for her work as a North Face traveling speaker. Dinner for her and Scott probably cooked all day in a Crock-Pot (less chance of burning) or is a simple preparation of fish, salad, and baked potatoes or rice.
“After dinner I go for the cereal and the ice cream. That’s where the sweet craving comes in. I don’t even put it in a bowl. I just grab the whole carton and . . .” She makes slurping sounds.
Diane is usually in bed by eight thirty P.M., the structured life of a professional athlete. It is not lost on Diane how fortunate she’s been to have a loving, strong, patient, capable life partner in Scott. At six feet four, he’s never lived his life in Diane’s shadow literally or figuratively. He’s steadfastly and graciously handled the role of husband, father, mother, and cheerleader.
“He’s always been my knight in shining armor,” Diane says. “How many men would handle a wife seizing, three small children, and having to play the role of mom when I was late picking up the kids? And try to live a normal life?”
Their married life, like most, has not been without challenges. Diane says even after nearly thirty years together, they’re still ironing out the dynamics of their relationship, plus the one they share with a brain injury.
“We’ve struggled in our marriage with my injury, just like with any other marriage. And he’s been shortchanged—let’s be honest—because I’d be out running all the time,” she shares, “and he honored that, and he let me be that, but I need to make sure I make time for him.”
Several years ago they went through couples’ therapy with a close friend who works in the field. She helped them both better understand how a traumatic brain injury can promote anger when there is confusion. Diane says she always thought she was handling family and married life well but realized through therapy what those around her have had to manage.
“There were times when I was so frustrated and confused. ‘Scott, why didn’t you tell me about that?’ Or ‘Why are you doing all this stuff, taking over for the kids? I can do that!’ He would tell me something and I’d forget it. It became very stressful.” Then she jokes, “I always said the best marriage would be two brain injury patients because no one can remember shit. If you got into a fight, the next day, you’d both be like, ‘Did I say that? Really? What did you say?’ Scott and I could have a disagreement and the next day he’d be stewing and I’d just be oblivious, like, ‘What’s the problem?’ ”
Diane calls their marriage a loving work in progress. She’s determined to make more time for Scott and to ask for his help in areas where she now realizes she needs it. Scott says they’re still learning how to get what they need from each other after twenty-nine years of marriage.
“There is no bigger fan than me because I understand the hard work she puts in. It’s incredible. So, there is no bigger fan, but sometimes I don’t want to be her fan, I want to be her husband.”
Diane acknowledges that she unintentionally caused hurt in their marriage.
“What he’s been through as a husband has been very difficult. I couldn’t ask for a better man. He’s the best husband, the best father; there’s nobody who could fill his shoes. I am so blessed. He’s really had to step up to the plate.” She pauses. “Talk about endurance.”
How has Scott managed to support Diane so often and for so long? The question makes him emotional.
“I have this vision in my head of what a family and what an incredible marriage could be,” he says, choking up, “and I just want to do my part. I go back to that Amelia Earhart example, and I don’t want to be the guy on the History Channel that they talk about, ‘Well, yeah, Amelia Earhart was supposed to do all these great things and fly, but her husband didn’t want her to.’ So, there’s something special about Diane and she’s in my life for a reason, and we’re pretty incredible together. I don’t have all the answers, but somewhere in there is my vision.”
Mike, Diane, Scott, Robin, Matt. Sedalia, Colorado, 2010.
(Courtesy of Diane Van Deren)
In an effort to spare others from experiencing the painful lessons she’s learned about life with a brain injury, Diane has often counseled other people living with the same challenge. In early 2010, Diane met thirty-eight-year-old Jake Quigley, a candidate for the same brain surgery that ended her seizures. Jake was referred to Diane by a colleague he works with at a nonprofit organization. Over the course of more than six months, she guided him through the difficult decision of whether to undergo the surgery. They talked through the uncertainty, what to expect from the surgery, what to anticipate throughout the recovery process, and how the successful outcome impacted her quality of life. Diane also shared with Jake that his twenty-seven years of seizures had not only damaged his brain but could also be damaging to his relationship with his wife.
“I told him how he needs to hold his wife’s hand sometimes,” Diane says, “and look her in the eyes and thank her.”
Jake decided to undergo the surgery, and in April 2011, four months after his successful operation, he sent Diane a handwritten letter. Along with the note, he sent her a cowbell. The letter explained why:
When I was a kid, my winter months were spent playing hockey at the rink across from my house in Watertown, Connecticut. My father and mother would always come to my games to watch me play. My mother would bring this cowbell to each of my games and ring it fiercely each time I took the ice.
The letter goes on to explain that when Jake was a senior in high school, he sustained a devastating blow. His mother died in a raging fire that burned down the family house. At his high school graduation, Jake’s family presented him with a special gift: the cowbell. They’d found it in the burned rubble and had it cleaned and polished for him. Jake treasured it throughout his life. He shared these words with Diane:
I have been fortunate to meet you this past year. In many ways you have influenced me with your optimism, strength, and determination. You have been generous to guide me through the journey of opting to have surgery and facing the fears and potential complications. Your experience, honesty, and support allowed me to maintain a positive outlook throughout the process. Please accept this gift as a symbol of my gratitude for your friendship and positive influence. I wanted to give you something meaningful. The cowbell can also be a motivator at future races!
Your friend, Jake
For all of Diane’s amazing accomplishments in the sports world, it’s her impact off the running trails that matters most to her. Training and competing is second nature, but Diane is determined to work as diligently at maintaining connections with family, friends, and fellow victims of disabilities. Along with her Miles for a Mission fund, Diane has also helped raise money for the epilepsy camp for children that inspired her to keep running long distances. As a North Face athlete, she speaks to groups across the country, as well as abroad, eight to ten times a year. Audience members often share with Diane their personal experience with seizures, or their children’s struggles with epilepsy, or fears about an approaching surgery similar to the one Diane underwent. She’s grateful to listen and offer what they may be seeking.
“I think a little bit of hope,” says Diane. “Wanting to see a positive side, knowing we all have obstacles, we’re not perfect. They want to think, Maybe I can try, too, or Gosh, maybe what I have isn’t that bad, or Thanks for motivating me.”
Diane is grateful for the chance to share what she’s learned. She’s also relieved to have sorted through the past with her family. She now knows that her brain wasn’t the only thing scarred by her seizures.
“For my mom’s seventy-fifth birthday, we took her downtown and we stayed in a nice hotel,” Diane says. “She made the comment that she still has a hard time looking at me, bec
ause for so many years she used to watch me to make sure my eyes didn’t glaze or show signs of trouble.”
I ask Diane about her own imprinted fear. Does she still worry about having a seizure?
“I think about it sometimes, sure. When I’m in the Yukon, in the middle of nowhere, it’s fifty below, there’s a little reminder there. When I’m hallucinating and pushing, there’s a little mouse behind me saying, ‘Be smart.’ ”
Diane’s 2011 Achilles injury got her thinking about the day that her body won’t allow her to run ultramarathons anymore.
“I told Scott, my only problem is I get bored. I love being in the middle of everything. I love action, so I need to find that next step. I need to embrace what I can still do and what I’ve done,” she says. “I’ve done the longest and the coldest and the hardest. What more is there?”
Oh, there’s more. Don’t let her fool you.
In October 2011, Diane was speaking in Raleigh, North Carolina, representing the North Face. Tickets to the event benefited a local nonprofit organization trying to raise money to further develop a foot trail across the entire state. The Mountains-to-Sea Trail stretches nearly one thousand miles, from Clingman’s Dome in the Great Smoky Mountains to Jockey’s Ridge on the Outer Banks. The diverse route ranges from the third-tallest mountain peak in the eastern United States to the largest natural sand dune on the East Coast. The trail passes through thirty-seven counties and three national parks, and meanders by three lighthouses, including the nation’s tallest, the Cape Hatteras Lighthouse. Three ferry rides are required.
The group’s efforts to generate exposure for the trail piqued Diane’s curiosity.
“And I said, ‘Well, anybody ever run it?’ ”
Uh-huh. You know where this is going. Organizers told her that only one man had speed-trekked the trail, and he did it in twenty-four days. That was all Diane needed to hear. She proposed the expedition to the North Face, it was approved, and her goal was to complete it in twenty-one days. She’d need to run an average of more than forty miles per day with several days of fifty-plus-mile runs.