In front of a sold-out Major League Baseball opening weekend crowd, my sister guided me to the mound at Tropicana Field in my hometown of St. Petersburg. Somehow, the Tampa Bay Rays had caught wind of my story, and upon my release from the hospital in Augusta, I was invited to throw out the first pitch at a home game against the New York Yankees.
For a few hours prior to the game, I had practiced throwing sixty-foot pitches to my friend Bob, and after a while, we thought I had it down. As excited as I was to have the once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to throw out a pitch at the beloved “Trop,” I didn’t want that once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to end up on SportsCenter’s Friday funnies, or on blooper reels for years to come.
Immediately following the national anthem, my sister and I took the field, and Elyse proceeded to line me up towards home plate. The plan was for Rays middle reliever Kyle Farnsworth to stand behind home plate and smack his glove loud enough so that I would know where to throw the baseball. What we had failed to anticipate, though, was the sold-out crowd’s reaction to what was playing on the scoreboard: my story.
The announcer read a short bio, after which a few photos of me popped up on the big screen behind me in left field. Upon realization that I was a blinded Afghanistan war veteran, the crowd collectively got on their feet and began cheering. I was, of course, immensely moved by the touching gesture. At the same time, though, I became instantly worried that I might not be able to hear Farnsworth’s glove, and thus, would have no idea where to throw the ball.
After a few moments of hesitation, it became clear that I wouldn’t be able to hear anything over the cheering crowd. I barely heard my sister, who was standing right next to me, yell, “Just go for it, Brad!”
I shrugged my shoulders and resigned myself to the sports hall of shame. Without thinking any further, I wound up and chucked the ball towards my best guess of where home plate might be. The next few moments felt like an eternity as I waited for the ball to sail toward the dugout, the stands, or perhaps even the mascot’s head.
To my amazement, the crowd of thirty thousand fans roared! Amid my confusion, my sister excitedly reported that I had in fact thrown a perfect strike directly across home plate.
Elated, I threw my fists in the air in a “V for victory” pose. In response, the crowd cheered even louder. What a moment.
THE NEXT DAY, my friend Bob, who had helped me prepare for the first pitch, and his wife Ali joined my family for a big Sunday brunch celebration. All of us were on a high from the baseball game, and the friendly company and delicious food made the day even better.
As soon as the plates were cleared, though, it was time for Mom and me to head to the airport. Guy and Anne Meree had everything set up in Baltimore for me to begin work at Red Owl, and to start training for the Paralympic Trials with Brian at Loyola.
My mom stayed the week and helped me acclimate to yet another new environment. She helped me outfit and organize my new apartment, figure out routes to the grocery store across the street, and most importantly, helped me figure out how to order sandwiches from Jimmy John’s. My mom also went with me to my new office, and accompanied me to the pool to meet Brian for the first time. She helped me figure out that Guy’s celebrity look-alike is Jeff Daniels with dark hair, Anne Meree is Molly Shannon with blonde hair, her husband Les is Michael J. Fox, while Brian is Drew Carey, albeit with longer, darker hair.
Content that I had a good setup, my mom left the following weekend. Early Monday morning, Les picked me up to take me to practice with Brian, and then gave me a ride back downtown for work. Les was also a West Point graduate and an Army Ranger who had recently gotten out of the service. We rapidly became good friends while spending a great deal of quality time together on the way to and from practice and work.
Over the previous few months, I had temporarily lived in Afghanistan, Germany, Bethesda, Tampa, and Augusta, but for whatever reason, the early rhythm that I established in Baltimore felt more permanent.
The learning curve at Red Owl, where I was starting my new internship, was steep. The good news, though, was that I found the challenge exhilarating. Admittedly, I sometimes fell asleep at my computer after becoming exhausted from the workload. But within a few weeks, I began to feel more comfortable than I had been since the days before my injury.
After a few weeks of this routine, it was time to head to the Paralympic Trials in Bismarck, North Dakota. Brian and I flew together from Baltimore, and my brother Mitch was able to take some time off from pharmacy school to meet us there.
Based on my experience as a collegiate distance swimmer, Brian and I suspected that my best event would be the four hundred meter (400m) race. Still, neither of us truly had a firm idea of what my potential was so soon after my injury. We agreed that I would swim all seven events available on the program: 50m freestyle, 100m freestyle, 400m freestyle, 100m butterfly, 100m backstroke, 100m breaststroke, and a 200m individual medley.
Luckily, my first race was the 400m, and with Brian on the start end and Mitch tapping on the other side, I dove in and swam a 4:39.52, which was the fastest time by a blind swimmer in 2012. In the finals that evening, I swam a 4:35.62, solidifying my place atop the world rankings list.
Brian seemed convinced that would be enough to earn me a spot on the team, but I’m not one to leave anything to chance. Besides, I was still unsure what I might be capable of in the other races, and wanted to challenge myself to do my very best.
The following day, I swam the 100m freestyle in another top-ranked time, as well as a top-three finish in the 100m butterfly. Over the next few days, I managed to raise my ranking in the 50m freestyle from fifth to third. While the rest of my swims were none too impressive, I still managed to squeak into the top eight in each race.
After the final competition, all athletes were invited to a ceremony in a nearby auditorium, where the London roster would officially be announced. Dramatically, one by one, athletes were selected based on their performance at the trials as compared to the rest of the world’s most recent performances. Brian had assured me that my performance had been enough, but to me, nothing was ever official until it was official.
Mitch sat next to me while athlete after athlete was announced; first the women’s team, then the men’s, in alphabetical order. I knew that if “Snyder” was on the list, it would be near the end, but it was still a bit gut-wrenching to hear name after name called without hearing mine.
Just as I began to second-guess my performance, “Brad Snyder” was announced. All the athletes and coaches in the small auditorium stood and applauded as Mitch and I walked up onto the stage to join Team USA for the first time.
Even though I had trained for this moment, I couldn’t believe it had actually happened. Amid so much good fortune, the only thing I wished was that I could have seen the looks on everyone’s faces. I just wanted to look into their eyes to say “thank you,” because without so many people helping and believing in me, I never would have made it.
A FEW WEEKS LATER, Les dropped me off at Loyola University’s Fitness and Aquatic Center. I caned my way inside, changed into my swimsuit, and then found my way out onto the pool deck. I followed a pool grate on the deck to my lane, felt out where the edge of the pool was, then began stretching and visualizing like I always did before practice.
After a few minutes, Brian came out of his office with a piece of paper in his hand, and told me that he had the schedule of events for the London Paralympics. We decided to take a moment to review the order so that we might visualize and train for the specific schedule.
With top eight rankings in all seven events, Brian and I reasoned that I should swim the full program. Neither of us was quite sure how I would fare, but as intense competitors, I think we both dreamed of medal-winning finishes across the board.
Brian began by saying that the first event would be the 100m freestyle, and while it wasn’t my best, it would still be a great opportunity to get in some good racing early on in the Paralympics. If I swam well, it would send a message that I was ready to go, and would lay a solid foundation for the many other races that would follow.
Mental momentum is big in our sport, and it’s important to ride your highs and forget about your lows. Swimming the 100m freestyle would also be a great chance to get used to the procedure of checking in early, going through the ready room, and then racing in front of such a big crowd. This would be a major departure from anything I had previously experienced in my swimming career.
Brian went on to say that after the 100m freestyle, I would swim the 100m breaststroke, then after a day off, compete in the 50m freestyle. While my ranking in the 50m was only fifth, the difference between there and the gold medal was only a half a second. We surmised that I had a realistic shot at potentially winning that event.
Brian got quiet for a moment as—I assumed—his eyes made their way down to the next few lines.
“On the seventh of September, you’ll swim the 400m freestyle …” Brian said with a slight quiver in his voice.
I got goosebumps. September 7 would mark one year to the day since I stepped on the IED in Afghanistan.
Soon, the reality that I would have the opportunity to don a new uniform—reading “Team USA”—began to set in. In London, I would indeed get a golden opportunity to represent my country and the US Navy. I knew I had moved to Baltimore for an important reason, but I could never have dreamed of this.