Finding Ultra by Rich Roll

was partying with that fateful night I cracked my ribs at Stanford Stadium.
What are the odds?
A happy coincidence, for sure. But nothing more, I thought. It wasn’t until years later that I would divine greater meaning in John’s presence not just on that flight, but in my life. The truth, I’d later realize, was that John was the only reason I was even on this flight to begin with.
    I’d eventually learn that some months prior John had passed my résumé to a young lawyer I’d never met named Chris Green, * then in-house counsel at
Hard Copy
. Chris was impressed with my credentials and, utterly unbeknownst to John and me, had passed the document along to Christensen,
Hard Copy
’s outside counsel. In astroke of great ironic harmony, many years later I’d have the pleasure of working closely with Chris, and ultimately I’d play a large role in helping him discover sobriety. John and Chris, through a few tiny gestures, managed to completely change my life. And in turn, I was later placed in a position where I could share with Chris what had saved my life so he could save his own.
    I got the job. And within a few short months, I’d packed my bags for what would be my final move. Destination: Los Angeles. Michele and I were still going strong at this point, and despite the distance, I was determined to make our relationship work. A few months later, I even popped the question at sunset on the beach in Santa Barbara, during one of our many romantic getaways. She said yes.
We were getting married
. The plan was that we’d host the ceremony in her hometown of Palo Alto, but that she’d soon relocate south so we could build a life together. Things were looking up.
    From the word go, my work at Christensen was all-consuming—beyond intense. “The Firm,” as I like to call it, was home to some of Los Angeles’s most elite “super lawyers” and ground zero for some of Hollywood’s most high-profile disputes. It had its fingerprints on everything from the famous O.J. Simpson and Rodney King cases to top-level city politics and major movie studio disputes. No, this wouldn’t be the relatively polite and gentlemanly practice of Littler. This was hardball. Roll up your sleeves, get dirty, and in the case of some employees, even push the ethical envelope. In 2006, for example, name partner Terry Christensen was indicted on charges that he instructed famous Hollywood private investigator Anthony Pellicano to unlawfully wiretap a litigation opponent. The drama played out in the halls of Christensen was the stuff of Hollywood lore, the métier of Dominick Dunne and the pages of
Vanity Fair
. And I was dropped right in the middle of the action.
    My first day, I was summoned to the office of Skip Miller, one of Los Angeles’s most feared attorneys. As I sat across fromhim to receive my first assignment, the irony of once again voluntarily submitting my life to the whims of a powerful overlord named Skip was not lost on me. That marine sniper turned swim coach had now morphed into a tenacious litigator. And I was his submissive pawn.
    My first assignment was to draft an appellate brief for a prominent client. The junior partner assigned to the task had just taken maternity leave, and the matter fell entirely into my hands to handle. Alone. The only problem? I’d never written an appellate brief—a task usually reserved for a small team of lawyers, not one clueless associate whose only area of legal expertise involved protracted disappearances from the office. But I couldn’t let Skip see me sweat. Not on my first day. As I swallowed the terror and accepted the charge, he left me with one final remark: “Don’t drop the ball.”
    I didn’t. For the next few weeks, I immersed myself in the matter, combing through boxes of documents and poring over case law to deliver a brief that proved instrumental in winning the appeal. And so from