The shooting began during Jason Aldean’s concert. It was the third and last night of the festival—October 1, 2017. If I could go back, do the whole weekend over again, and just change the ending, I absolutely would.
Before the Route 91 Harvest Music Festival, I had never been to an open-air festival. I saw the headliners, including Jason Aldean (my favorite), and immediately thought there was no better place than Las Vegas for my first event like this. I got to drink, gamble, hang out at the pools, and listen to music. My kind of a party!
I was there with my childhood best friend of 40 years, Joe. We were having a great time until, on Sunday, the popping noises began. It first sounded like firecrackers, but then the musicians started throwing down their instruments and running, followed by everyone in the audience. It all happened so fast. Joe and I got separated in the chaos. Then I felt the shot. Like a hot knife cutting through butter. It left two holes in my right leg. One on the side where the bullet came in and one up front where the bullet left.
The shots were still coming at us when I called my mom. She heard it all through the phone. She said, “You’re coming home!” I remember answering, “Mom, I can’t promise you that.” I didn’t know what was happening, but I asked her to tell my son I love him if I don’t make it home.
I ran from where I got shot to where the emergency medical services were, about the length of two football fields. The moment I reached it, the pain set in, dulled by all the drinking I did that day, but pain nevertheless. I couldn’t stand upright anymore. From there I was transported to a hospital.
Joe walked for about 40 minutes to where I was taken. That’s the kind of friend everybody should have. I don’t think he truly understands how important it was that he was there. Having somebody so close going through the same events, he is the person who understands the magnitude of it.
In the days following the mass shooting, I learned that 58 people didn’t get to leave the festival. I questioned why I was still alive, why I made it out of there. I drowned these questions in alcohol. For too long, I was there for other people but not for myself. The survivor’s guilt people talk about was surreal. I was going nowhere, and going nowhere fast.
The prolonged healing of the gunshot wound wasn’t making it any better. The doctors said it would take about three months to start walking again. I’ve always been an independent person, and feeling so helpless was very frustrating. I went to a Detroit Red Wings game and my brother had to push me in a wheelchair. Though I appreciated his support, I hated that. So about a month in, as I was sitting in my bed, fed up, I decided I was done with it. I needed to do things and I needed to go back to work.
In my stubbornness, I refused physical therapy at the time, convinced I could handle it by myself. It was enough that I had to use crutches and needed people to take me places. The wound ended up getting infected. At one point, I was worried they might have to amputate my leg. I didn’t have much optimism left in me. In the end, it took almost five months before my leg healed.
In retrospect, if I did one thing right during the healing process, it was finding a therapist, mostly because I promised some people I’d talk to somebody. And although I physically attended the therapy and had the conversations, I wasn’t really listening to him at first. I started the initial session by saying I didn’t need any medication to get through this. Little did I know I was already self-medicating myself into oblivion with alcohol. I was already on a downward trajectory and didn’t even recognize it.
It wasn’t until the beginning of December 2018 that I mentioned to a few friends that I may need to cut back on my drinking. I didn’t have a plan or set a date, I just knew I didn’t feel good. At the time, I was close to 240 pounds, which didn’t fit well on my 5-foot-7-inch frame. And then, on December 23 of the same year, I got pulled over for drinking and driving. It felt like the universe created a plan for me, making sure I stuck to it. I went to an AA meeting on the recommendation of my attorney, and as I sat there, listening to other people’s stories, I realized I needed to get things under control. On January 1, 2019, I stopped drinking.
In August 2021 I found myself at a party in my friend’s backyard, and one of the guys was talking about running a marathon. Right away, I said I couldn’t do such a thing because my leg still hurt. One of my buddies grabbed me by my calf and put his thumb inadvertently where the gunshot wound was, testing me. It physically hurt, but moreover, the moment got stuck in my head. Here was a guy in his 60s, running a marathon, and I was making excuses without even trying. Almost four years after the shooting, I was still throwing myself a pity party. Something had to change. And so I went for a run, to see if I could handle the pain, work through it. And to my surprise, it wasn’t that bad.
To keep on pushing myself, I signed up for a virtual He Is Risen Half Marathon in Florida in April 2022. It wasn’t pretty, but I finished it. Bad decisions. Wrong shoes. No proper training. That didn’t matter though—more importantly, it was so amazing to see that my body could do that.
I wanted to see what more my legs were capable of. Thinking back to the night in my friend’s backyard, I set my mind on the full 26.2-mile distance. I trained and prepared, and I ran the 2023 Detroit Marathon. In all honesty, I struggled during the last few miles, but the moment I crossed the finish line, it was all negated by this rush of emotions. Knowing what I’d been through just six years prior, the moment was truly humbling. My goal was just to complete it, to achieve something I didn't know if I’d be capable of doing. And here I was, standing up to the evil, proving that it does not get to take charge of my life.
Going the full marathon distance, I still don’t know that I can say I love running because it can be hard Going the full marathon distance, I still dont know that I can say I: running because it can be I get when I’m out on the run, how far I can push my body, and how it helps me deal with the evil that took over my life.
And so I keep running. Occasionally, the level of pain I get from the scar tissue in my leg is tough to fight through. But I know that if I let myself get in my head over things I cannot control, I won’t go out on that run, and in the end, the benefits outweigh the pain. Running helps me clear my mind from whatever happens each day. It can be a pretty intense therapy session.
Once sober, some of the things my therapist had said finally started to make sense. He told me that I would need to find it in me to forgive the guy who had shot me. In the alcoholic haze, I thought he was nuts. But once I got sober, it just clicked. He was right! I had to forgive him—not for him, but for myself. I’ve seen Jason Aldean in concert several times since. If I started avoiding crowded places, evil would win. There were 58 people in Las Vegas that weekend who don’t get to do that anymore, their dance stopped that night. In a way, it’s an ability to honor them and do the things they can’t do anymore.
Today, I look at what happened to me, knowing I’m here because I have things to impact others with. I was blessed with various tools—whether I like it or not—for a reason. I have a story to tell. And maybe my story will inspire another person to overcome a bit of their pain and find an outlet in running.
Pavlína Černá, an RRCA-certified run coach and cycling enthusiast, has been with Runner’s World, Bicycling, and Popular Mechanics since August 2021. When she doesn’t edit, she writes; when she doesn’t write, she reads or translates. In whatever time she has left, you can find her outside running, riding, or roller-skating to the beat of one of the many audiobooks on her TBL list.
