The will to win

[Times photos: Fred Victorin] Scott McNeice of St. Petersburg is in Salt Lake City to compete for a men’s sit-ski medal at the Winter Paralympic Games. When McNeice, a bilateral amputee, trains on his home streets, some of the challenges he faces are potholes, traffic and curious dogs — not to mention no snow.

By THOMAS ZUCCO, Times Staff Writer
© St. Petersburg Times
published March 3, 2002

A wheelchair doesn't slow one local skier who's going for Paralympic gold. Nor does training on the snowless streets of St. Petersburg.

She was standing in the middle of a street party in downtown St. Petersburg -- a monthly bash the city calls First Friday -- and through all the chaos and the noise and the swirling mass of people, she picked him out.

Pretty handsome guy, she thought. Chiseled features, terrific smile, and his shaved head was . . . well, admit it. It was sexy. And then she realized -- this was almost too good -- that he was talking with someone she knew. She threaded her way through the crowd and "accidentally" bumped into her friend.

Debbie Parsons and Scott McNeice stayed out until 2 a.m. that Friday night last May. "He called me the next day," Parsons said. "And every day since."

As they saw more of each other, he began to open up to her. He talked about his fears, his hopes, about training for the 2002 Paralympic Winter Games in Salt Lake City.

And he talked about something he hardly ever mentions.

How he came to be in the chair.

Before McNeice started his ski training in 1999, he competed in triathlons, handcycling and tennis.

It happened outside New Orleans in 1983. He was helping unload his truck. Pipes destined for an offshore oil rig rolled off the 18-wheeler and onto his legs, crushing them. Funny, he said later, but as he lay there on the ground waiting for help, he wasn't in much pain.

That would come later.

He lost one leg above the knee, the other below the knee. He also broke his back and is partly paralyzed, which means he can't use artificial legs.

He was 29 years old.

In the meantime, he and his wife drifted apart.

"She kind of summed it up one day when she said, "You know, if I saw you on the street, I wouldn't want to date you.'

"It was so different for her. And it probably scared her more than it scared me. But I had to live with it and she didn't. She chose not to."

He paused and shrugged.

"We got divorced about a year later, but I don't hold it against her. I had changed. We had changed.

"But you know, everything that has happened to me has always improved my life."

McNeice received a settlement through worker's compensation, left New Orleans and landed in St. Petersburg, where he bought a modest house. He gets monthly disability checks, so he doesn't have to worry about making ends meet.

Okay, now what? What does he do with the rest of his life?

It was either get busy living.

Or get busy dying.

"I knew pretty quickly," McNeice said, "what I had to do."

He ran track in high school, swam and played a little softball, so he returned to sports. He has to sit, yes.

But he doesn't have to sit still.

He entered local cycling races and triathlons, and then moved up. Way up.

McNeice became the first physically challenged American to finish the Ironman World Triathlon in Hawaii (he placed second), he won the 1998 World Handcycling Championships, and he was a nationally ranked wheelchair tennis player.

But there was one more sport he hadn't tried.

While competing in a cycling race, McNeice met Jon Kreamelmeyer, a coach for the U.S. Paralympic team. Try sit-skiing, Kreamelmeyer told him. It's like a stool on skis, piece of cake.

But McNeice had never been a serious skier before the accident. Just try it, Kreamelmeyer said. If McNeice was good at cycling, why not skiing?

That was in 1999. The following year, McNeice won the 5-kilometer cross-country title at the U.S. Ski Championships for disabled skiers.

That set the stage for this week.

The Paralympic Winter Games are March 7-15 at the same site as the 2002 Olympic Winter Games. McNeice, 47, is the only Floridian on this year's U.S. team, and he is believed by USOC officials to be one of the first Floridians, if not the first, to compete in the Winter Games.

Debbie Parsons, who noticed him on the street that night almost a year ago, is going with him.

Skiing around the potholes

He grits his teeth, digs his poles into the street and strains his arms and shoulders to push himself forward. Slowly at first, then he picks up speed. But he can't go too fast. There are dangers everywhere -- dogs, potholes, cars. Especially cars.

"When you're sitting in the street only a few inches off the ground," he said last week just before taking off to train, "you can't expect anyone to see you."

Other than the sound of his wheels on the asphalt or a dog that might tag along, he is always alone. He trains 12 hours a week on the quiet streets near his house. Mostly in the morning, after the neighbors have gone to work and before it gets too hot.

The 6-foot rollerskis he uses are custom-made to give him the feel of snow skiing. There are no brakes -- he has to use his poles to slow down. To turn, he plants his poles, lifts his body and his skis, and pivots.

"Sounds difficult," he said, "but I've gotten pretty good at it."

He's ready. There is nothing left to do. The International Olympic Committee will pay most of his expenses, and he'll compete in three events -- the cross country Nordic 5-kilometer, 10-kilometer and 15-kilometer races.

What bothers him is that he wasn't skiing two weeks ago, during the regular Winter Games. Like a lot of other disabled athletes, McNeice would like to be able to compete alongside able-bodied people. Events for disabled athletes should be included in the Summer Games, too.

Otherwise, he said, the Paralympics seem an afterthought. If anything, having two sets of Games at different times accentuates the differences, not the similarities, between able-bodied and disabled athletes.

Nearly 1,000 Paralympians and team officials representing 36 countries will be in Salt Lake City, and tens of thousands of spectators.

But if you want to watch any of it on TV, you'll have to check your local cable listings. Only portions of the competition will be shown, and only on A&E.

But the battle for inclusion can be fought later. The focus now is on precious metals.

"My sights aren't that high, but you never know," McNeice said. "I watched some athletes in the regular Winter Games, and they said they never expected to do well, but they did.

"So, hey. It could happen.

"I didn't go through all this to say, "Oh, I'm happy just to compete.' I want to say that I gave it everything I had."

[Photo courtesy of Scott McNeice] McNeice, the only Floridian in this Winter’s Paralympic Games, excels in sports other than sit-skiing, the sport in which he will compete in Salt Lake City. Here, he competes in Sun Valley, Utah in 2000.

Brushing off the bikers

Debbie Parsons has settled in on the sofa at McNeice's house. He cooked fish and steamed vegetables for dinner, and now he's in the kitchen, doing the dishes.

She speaks softly so he can't hear her.

"The first thing I saw (on the street that night) was that he's amazing," she said. "What he endures on a daily basis . . . people in cars yell at him when he's cycling. They tell him to get off the road, and he's almost been hit more than once. Then there's the dogs. They've attacked him, and he's had to beat them away with his poles.

"Oh, and there was that time with the biker guys."

McNeice and Parsons were going to dinner at a restaurant on Central Avenue recently, along the same block where they first met. Before he could pull his van into a handicapped spot, McNeice had to wait for several burly men to move aside. They had parked their motorcycles outside a bar next door and were standing in the only open parking space. The handicapped space.

"I got out of the van," Parsons said, "and I hear, "Oh, yeah lady. You're real handicapped.'

"I just stood there waiting for Scott, but I was furious. I almost went over to the men. And then Scott got out, came around from the other side, and they saw he was in a chair.

"Then I hear, "Miss? Miss? I want to apologize for my friends. We had no idea.'

"And Scott said, "Oh, that's okay. It happens all the time. People can't tell I'm disabled when I'm driving. Don't worry about it.' He just brushed it off and we went inside."

Parsons shook her head and smiled.

"That's Scott."

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