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Rachel Sartin, 36: Scuba Diver

Rachel Sartin grew up in Iowa. In high school, she became aware of some neuromuscular problems, including an inability to do sit-ups and hold her hands over her head, as well as some facial weakness. At 18, she received a diagnosis of facioscapulohumeral muscular dystrophy (FSHMD), a neuromuscular disorder that generally has a slow progression and starts in muscles of the shoulders and face.

Sartin earned a master's degree in computer science at the University of Iowa and then worked in California's Silicon Valley before getting married and relocating to Austin, Texas. She's director of core operations for a company called Tivoli Systems. She uses a motorized wheelchair.

Using the buddy system, Rachel Sartin, left, has encountered a wide variety of undersea life while scuba diving.

"I grew up just loving water sports," Sartin says. "I started swimming when I was 5 and was on the swim team through high school. I did diving, the kind you do from a board, and water skiing. Until I was in California, I didn't really know what scuba diving was about. A friend of mine who also used a wheelchair because of a spinal cord injury just told me he was going to go and check this out, so I went along."

Sartin's initial scuba training was through a nonprofit organization called National Instructors Association for Divers with Disabilities, or NIADD. She took to it readily.

"It really came naturally to me because, if you're comfortable with the water, you can scuba dive. You don't even have to have swimming skills. If you're comfortable and can float and don't panic under water, you can do it. It's a beautiful sport.

"You take about six weeks of training in the pool, where you learn all about the equipment. You have to learn a fair amount of technical things about oxygen loading and safety, and how much time you can spend at what depth and so forth. And, then, to become certified, you have to do what they call an open-water drive. It's not in a pool, it's in open water. I was able to do it in Monterey; that's a beautiful place to dive."

Subsequently Sartin accompanied her instructor on dive trips to the Caribbean. The sport also led her to meet her husband, Robert, who is a dive master with advanced certification. The couple often dives together, arms interlocked so that he can serve as her "escort." A buddy system is often employed in diving, especially when a diver has a disability.

While diving, Sartin encounters a wonderful phenomenon that has often been experienced by children with neuromuscular diseases at MDA summer camp when they gain access to a pool.

"One of the great things about scuba for people with muscle weakness is that the buoyancy of the water causes an increase in mobility," she says. "The water's buoyancy negates the effects of gravity, so it takes much less strength to move. Many people get a newfound freedom under water that they could never get on land.

"I would describe it as being in a different world. You're totally submerged. You're breathing through this equipment. You're observing this wonderful sea life that other people don't get to see. I'm in such awe when I'm scuba diving. It's peaceful, it's beautiful, it's intellectually stimulating," Sartin says.

"I've seen sharks, which are magnificent animals. I've seen several octopuses, which are quite interesting in the water because they change shape and change color. My favorite fish is a moray eel. They can get up to 6 feet long. They kind of swim like ribbons in the water and they are just so graceful and beautiful."

She has also seen seahorses and stingrays, which she says don't sting unless they're threatened. "Thousands of these stingrays swarm all over you and rub up against your legs," she says.

She has seldom felt threatened by sea life or equipment failures. Once, she had a coughing fit 60 feet down but didn't panic and kept her regulator in her mouth, coughing through it as instructed. There are a number of safety practices she and her husband maintain.

"One of them is called buddy breathing. So if something happened to your air, like if your regulator stopped working, you share the regulator with your partner back and forth."

Sartin says "resort courses" in diving available for Caribbean vacationers provide a cursory kind of qualification.

"It's a quick class. I really don't recommend it because I'm a big believer that when you're diving you're entering another world, and that you have to be comfortable with and really understand the safety issues and the equipment."

She's heard of quadriplegics and other people with varying degrees of disability who have successfully learned to dive. She recommends that people interested in diving training contact NIADD at (408) 379-6536 or stonely@pacbell.net, or another organization that trains and certifies divers, the National Association of Underwater Instructors (http://www.naui.org).

John White, 55: Marathon Runner

John White is a lawyer who lives in Purceville, Va. He's married and has a daughter in college. He's a lifelong athlete who ran several marathons in the 1970s before deciding to devote more time to family and other matters.

Over the last five years, he became aware that he was experiencing some numbness in his feet and loss of muscle strength. He was shocked one day in 1997 to look at a photo of himself and see that there was little but skin and bone between his knee and ankle. In 1998, he received a diagnosis of CMT.

John White, who has CMT, is training in hopes of running in this year's Boston Marathon.

Despite the diagnosis, he's decided to renew his interest in marathon running and is currently in training for the 104th Boston Marathon on April 17. He hopes to participate in a program called Citgo/MDA Miracle Team. The program enables runners who wouldn't otherwise qualify to participate in the marathon. It also raises funds for MDA's research and services programs. (For more information, contact Carol Pirog at (800) 225-2352 or cpirog2@citgo.com, or visit the team's Web site at http://members.aol.com/mdateam2000/.)

"I was glad to discover this opportunity to raise money and run Boston as sort of a nonqualifying official runner," White says. "Boston is the only marathon where they have qualifying standards."

The most challenging factor for White in running the marathon is the loss of muscle mass due to CMT. His best marathon time in the 1970s was 3:06. Now he anticipates it will take him close to six hours to complete the race.

"If I'm able to complete the run, even though my time will be significantly slower than the time I ran in 1975, the sense of accomplishment and personal satisfaction will be much greater because the obstacles are much greater," he says.

Kenny Mierke, a world triathlete champion who also happens to have CMT, helped White develop a training program that includes running, swimming, strength training and biking. White began training for last year's marathon but an injury sidelined him. He's hopeful about running this year.

White's wife and daughter are basically sympathetic.

"They think that I'm a little nuts, but they're very supportive," he says. "I wouldn't do it if I didn't have their support."

White also participates in triathlons. Although he tends to lag in the running portion, he still comes out ahead of the pack in the swimming and biking portions. He now loves biking as much as running, partly because his ability to bike isn't appreciably affected by his CMT.

"God has given me the ability to use this body," he says. "I can't use it as efficiently as I could 20 years ago, but as long as I can use any part of it, I will continue to do so. I don't feel like a disabled person."

Matt Jellison, 32: Extreme Wrestler

Matt Jellison lives in Tucson, Ariz., and works 12-hour shifts in the intensive care unit at St. Joseph's Hospital as a patient care technician and is training to be a registered nurse. When he was 21, he received a diagnosis of CMT. He wears AFO leg braces that help him not only to walk but to enjoy activities such as jet skiing. He's experienced a loss of grip and dexterity in his hands but hasn't let that prevent him from performing medical tasks such as doing CPR or drawing blood.

Extreme wrestling is just "more vain and flamboyant" than regular wrestling, says Matt Jellison.

Jellison is involved in extreme wrestling as a manager, promoter, announcer and, on occasion, as a wrestler. He defines extreme wrestling as being like regular wrestling but "more vain and flamboyant."

The wrestling that people see on TV doesn't qualify as extreme. Extreme wrestling relies on high drama, conflict and bizarre gimmicks. One idea Jellison implemented was to string barbed wire around the ring. Another that he's working on involves having live scorpions in the ring. Anything that adds an element of drama and danger — whether it's fire, a cactus or a bed of thumbtacks — turns regular wrestling into extreme wrestling.

At an MDA event, an extreme match involved a loud wrestler who badmouthed people with disabilities, saying they couldn't carry their weight in society and should be packed off to an island. The match culminated when Jellison picked up the loudmouth and threw him through a table, to enthusiastic applause.

"The crowd really liked that," Jellison says. "It's all salesmanship and showmanship. There's no money in it at this level, but it's fun.

"Regular wrestling probably has more tactical skills," he says, although students do learn all the basic wrestling moves at the school Jellison and his partner run, Dragon's Den School of Wrestling. He hopes that by getting high school kids to his school and teaching them the basics, he might be able to prevent some of the injuries that happen when young people try to copy the moves they see on TV.

With his CMT, how does Jellison perform acts like lifting and throwing other wrestlers? Jellison says it's the staged, theatrical nature of the presentation — and the close physical teamwork between wrestlers — that allow him to pull off such otherwise impossible feats.

He admits there is risk involved, but says that because of the sport's staged nature it's not significantly more risky than regular wrestling or most other sports.

Jellison doesn't exactly have his doctor's approval.

"He laughs at me when I have to go in and have my shoulder repaired. I guess he gives me some credit for what I'm doing."

Jellison's mother and girlfriend think the sport is "ridiculous" but appreciate that he's found an outlet for his energies.

"Maybe I don't take life as seriously as I should," he says. "But I'm going to enjoy today as much as I can.

"Tell me I can't do something and I'm going to do it just to stick it in your face."