Park refused to quit

I was cruising around one sun-drenched day last summer, slight breeze whipping through my car and not a care in the world. This was a leisurely stroll, a 200-mile joyride I took twice a year.

	Marty Smith

Traffic had been heavy since my journey began, always is on that particular course. But after some 63 miles, it had thinned out and slowed a bit. Someone had had an accident, so I was mired in a long, single-file line of traffic, puttering along in an outside lane at a cautious rate of speed.

The monotony continued for a few miles, until the mess was removed from the driving surface. Once cleaned up, the long line of cars I was stationed in began to accelerate.

I was focused on two things -- the car ahead of me and the gearshift. I was in a muscle car, after all, and didn't want to make a scene burning up the tires.

Suddenly, without even the slightest warning, my vehicle swerved 90 degrees to the left. Headed for a concrete barrier, I braced for impact. Unbeknownst to me, a car in the inside lane was rapidly approaching. It jack-hammered me square in the door, knocked me out.

Onlookers feared the worst.

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Once awake, so did I.

I am Steve Park.

I hope that surprised you half as much as Park's rehabilitation rehash surprised me. I had no idea how hard this man worked, and I want to make certain you guys do.

One year ago this weekend, Park was involved in the worst accident of his career, a visually horrific collision with Larry Foyt under caution during the Busch Series event at Darlington Raceway.

The wreck resulted in a high-grade concussion, badly-slurred speech and blurred vision. Park was sidelined for more than six months.

Some thought he'd be sidelined forever.

They don't know Steve Park.

Park's determination to return to the Winston Cup Series was unyielding. It had to be. There is no timetable for recovery from injuries such as his. It's a taxing game of hurry up and wait.

	Steve Park has battled back twice from devastating injuries. Credit: Autostock

Unlike his last debilitating injury, the one in 1998 when he crushed his femur at Atlanta during crash in practice, there was no way of knowing when -- or if -- he would return.

Back then, when the bone healed, he raced. This time, no matter how good he felt physically, he had to wait for his eyesight to clear up before even pondering a return to the seat.

At times he wanted to quit.

Still, he pressed on, trusting in doctors who promised improved eyesight and a return to racing. Though at times he felt "like a lab rat," he worked tirelessly to rehabilitate mind and body -- both of which were bruised in the accident.

He succeeded masterfully on both counts, but his eyes continued to play Devil's Advocate. He wanted answers, so he visited more doctors. New York City. Pittsburgh. Durham. Everywhere he went, they said the same thing.

The eyes will heal, but it takes time.

Frustrated, he pressed on.

	Park was unhurt during this lap 1 crash at Pocono in July.

In January he faced the media wearing eyeglasses, his speech still a bit impaired. Folks doubted him. He worked harder. At Atlanta in March, he announced he would return the following weekend at Darlington.

The glasses were gone and the speech had improved considerably, but folks still discounted him.

I'll be honest, I had my doubts. Guys drive hurt all the time, but this was different. I wondered how a guy could drive a car, much less race it, without proper vision.

But guess what? I didn't know Steve Park. Unless you hear it from him, it's impossible to understand his inner drive. With him, it's not about money or fame. It's about racing that damn car.

	Credit: Autostock

He is gumption in the flesh. Everything was a potential motivator. Example:

"I was jumping rope, which I'd never done in my whole life, and I wanted to get good at it," Park said Wednesday afternoon. "The funny part was, on the Regis and Kelly show they had a dog that jumped rope 70 times.

"At that point I could only do it 50 times. My trainer made fun of me. That motivated me even more, to want to jump rope over 70 times.

"I said, 'Once I beat that damn dog, I'm going to hang that thing up forever.' I finally beat that dog, fell down from exhaustion and hung the rope up. I haven't touched it since.

"It's interesting now. Some of the things I had to do for hand-eye coordination seem childlike. But back then I had to work so hard to do these childlike games."

Childlike, huh? Not so much. Park's rehab was no game of tiddly-winks.

He labored daily for hours on end in the gym, running on the treadmill and performing said hand-eye coordination exercises to assure his body was ready when his eyes recovered. He wanted to assure that he was in the best shape of his life.

I've never been in an accident, and I can't jump rope 70 times. Still yet, some folks question his ability.

"You're treated like a lab rat at times, where you just want to quit and crawl under a blanket and say enough is enough -- I can't take it anymore," Park said. "I felt like the love I have for racing and the strength I gained form the good Lord is what pulled me through all this.

"You work so hard to get back, then there's the contract negotiations, people saying you're losing your job. And on top of that, you're running bad. It's just been a tough, tough year.

"It's so easy from the outside looking in to say, what a tough kid. But nobody has a clue how tough it really was."

I'm not Steve Park, but I'd be damn proud to say I was.

Marty Smith's column appears each Thursday on NASCAR.com and the opinions expressed here are solely of the writer.