Dale Dunn strode into Kevin Ondrasek's office at the University of Southern Mississippi with an air of determination. A graduate student with one more year of NCAA eligibility, Dunn told the first-year assistant track coach he had unfinished business.
Ondrasek was intrigued. Dunn was clearly a cut above the other students who had meandered in, looking for walk-on spots. He was an academic All-America sprinter who had attended Coppin State University on a full athletic scholarship.
What the coach didn't know was that it was a wonder Dunn could walk at all.
When Dunn left, Ondrasek entered his name into a search engine and learned he was just months removed from a Baltimore shooting that nearly took his life.
Ondrasek agreed to train Dunn for the forthcoming season. They resolved to take it slow. Still, the results would astonish even the friends who witnessed Dunn's remarkable recovery after a bullet fired during an attempted robbery rattled around his body.
For those who saw Dunn eating and breathing with the help of medical equipment at the Maryland Shock Trauma Center, it was hard to imagine that he would ever compete again.
"Our concern that night was, 'Is this young man going to live, and if he was going to live, what kind of quality of life would he have after an incident like this?'" Coppin State athletic director Derrick Ramsey said.
Dunn came to Coppin's West Baltimore campus as a 21-year-old freshman and considered it a "refuge, my haven" after surviving his youth in Spanish Town, an area violent even for Jamaica.
"It wasn't any Beverly Hills," he said dryly. While he attended a prestigious Jamaican school, many of his friends died or ended up in jail.
In hindsight, he let his guard down in Baltimore.
On Oct. 26, 2010, Dunn was on the phone and walking through the athletic fields at Frederick Douglass High School, a cut-through to his house from a grocery store at Mondawmin Mall. He had seen the three attackers coming, but tried not to let his suspicions get the best of him.
"One of them saw me and pointed to my direction, and then all three of them started walking toward me," Dunn recalled. "I didn't want to run. They could have just been lost."
One man grabbed his arms, and the others pulled him down to the ground. One took his wallet and ran off. Another took his phone and also fled. The last one took his watch.
Dunn was a sprinter, but he wasn't running away from this confrontation. With two of the attackers gone, Dunn decided that he could get his watch back. He took the man to the ground.
But the man pulled a gun and pointed it upward at Dunn, who twisted his body to the side just as the robber pulled the trigger.
His first feeling was shock: Did I really just get shot? he wondered. There was a burning sensation, and his right ear was ringing — loudly. Shake it off, he thought.
Then he collapsed, touched his chest and felt the blood on his fingers. He got back up.
If he collapsed again, it would be for the last time, he thought. His mind wandered. Who would find his body? Maybe kids going to school the next morning. He'd be a stereotype: another black man dead on the Baltimore streets.
In his estimation, it took 10 to 15 minutes to make it that next half-mile. There was nobody outside, no cars. He staggered down the street, up six brick steps to the porch of the home he shared with friends, who had the television on loud while watching a football game. He knocked, and knocked, and knocked.