my third year on the Thunderbirds was the best year I had. Once I got myself from denial to acceptance, I began to thrive. I’d learned how to manage my pain by adjusting my workouts and mobility training. On Sundays, I’d turn down all sorts of cool invitations—things like five-star dinners and backstage concert tickets that were frequently offered up by our shows’ hosts—so that I could rest my body and prepare to fly the next day. I’d pack myself healthy, premade meals and send them in a cooler on the C-17 that transported the Thunderbirds’ gear and personnel so I wouldn’t grab just anything
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