After my talk I answered tons of questions about how I was coping with the challenges of the run, how long my training had been and what I most looked forward to.
“Are you looking forward to getting back to your home state?”
“Are you excited about making it to the ocean in 97 days?”
“Do you look ahead at some of the challenging routes that you will have to run in the days ahead?”
“I can’t,” was my response. “I have to stay focused on the now. I have to just take each day as it comes and remain completely focused on getting through that day, keeping alert and mindful of everything around me. Let tomorrow worry about tomorrow.”
“That’s exactly what I have to do,” stated one of the patients. “I am excited about waking up each morning, and looking forward to getting through another day. I just hope when I lay my head down at night I can wake up to witness tomorrow. I know that I’ve got to live one day at a time.”
This really hit home with me and allowed me to realize that my journey across America and life’s daily journey for wounded veterans paralleled in a way. Neither of us can look too far ahead. It was a beautiful moment that became burned in my memory and one that I frequently recalled for motivational purposes throughout the rest of my run. I often replayed in my head a lot of the things the veterans told me that day. It always helped to give me a morale boost.
“I don’t know any of you personally,” I said as I looked around the room while wrapping up our visit, “but I love each and every one of you like you were my brother or sister, because you are as far as I’m concerned. You wore that uniform with pride, served this great country without question and now that you need assistance in dealing with whatever challenges you may face in life now, I want you each to know that there are a lot of us that care about you. We want you to get better; we want you to succeed. We are grateful for everything you have done for us, and where there are gaps that need to be filled from the government programs that are out there, understand that there are people and organizations that want to help you.”
We left the hospital after spending about an hour inside with the patients. As we strolled down the halls and back outside toward the RV, I was filled with pride—but not in an arrogant manner—about what I was doing. I was also humbled by the welcome and support that these veterans and the VA hospital staff gave to us because these were the folks I was doing this run for.
A couple of days later, my wife received a phone call from Carrie, who wanted to give us some feedback. One of the things she shared with Tiffany, who later shared it with me, enabled me to push through some of the toughest challenges I would face on this run, and lift me up whenever I truly needed some encouragement. I had the opportunity to talk one-on-one with a few of the patients in the hospital during my time there, and was able to personally let them know that I was taking each step for them. I wanted them to know that my goal was to make sure the rest of the world understood how special these servicemen and women were. After our visit, one of the men I talked to shared something with the public affairs officer that I will never forget.
“It was the first time I ever felt like someone outside of these hospital walls really cared about me,” he told her.
I could have ended my journey right then and there. We were only on Day 5 of this run, and we were already able to have a profound impact on some veterans. I knew right then that what we were doing was worth all of the effort that had gone into this trip. No matter what challenges I would face on the remainder of the run, nothing would stop me from completing what we had set out to do.
Freedom Run Photos - 1
Left to right from top: My football glory days, 1985 • U.S. Marine Corps bootcamp graduation, 1990 • Tiffany and I ready for the Marine Corps Ball, 1995 • My mom and I celebrating my 3:31 finish, Richmond Marathon, 2009 • Trying to stay cool during the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Run, 2011
Freedom Run Photos - 2
Day 1, starting with my feet in the Pacific Ocean, with Nick and Shayna by my side • Saluting Old Glory as I make my way to the Roseburg VA Hospital • Saying thanks to the Myrtle Point, Oregon VFW at the end of Day 1
Freedom Run Photos - 3
The end of Day 5, approaching Diamond Lake, Oregon • An inspiring visit from World War II veteran Frank Vaughn, Lakeview, Oregon • Handling the twists and turns as I make my way out of Oregon into Nevada • Standing at the top of Doherty Slide, Oregon
Freedom Run Photos - 4
Our dinner in the middle of the Salt Flats, Utah • Running with Shayna and Nick on the Salt Flats • Dirt roads, pastures, and foot paths were sometimes the only available way to travel
Freedom Run Photos - 5
At the top of Emigration Canyon, Utah • Celebrating the first 1,000 miles, Echo Canyon, Utah
Freedom Run Photos - 6
One of many tanker trucks that kicked up dirt and rocks, Colorado • Pictured with Captain Gaylon Grippin (second from right) in Sterling, Colorado • Posing with some Mother’s Day Parade participants in Imperial, Nebraska
Freedom Run Photos - 7
Meeting fellow USA crosser “Joe on a Bike” in Kansas • Celebrating our 16th wedding anniversary, Kansas • A stray dog joined Shawnee McClanahan and me in Missouri
Freedom Run Photos - 8
Fellow Hash House Harrier Heather Auman rode alongside me outside of Lexington, Kentucky • Doing an interview with Chris Lawrence of WCHS in Charleston, West Virginia • Arriving at the West Virginia State Capitol in Charleston with members of the Tallman Track Club
Chapter 6: The Naked Truth
I was informed before I embarked on the trip that not only would I witness some of this country’s great natural beauty, but I would also see some of the peculiar people that make up America’s great melting pot. It didn’t take long for that to happen.
After enjoying a great free dinner and complimentary room courtesy of the owners at the beautiful Steamboat Inn along the North Umpqua River, whose roaring waters lulled us to sleep the previous night, Day 5 was off to a relatively uneventful start. The rain was pouring down during the first 15 miles, but as I began to climb the mountain through the verdant Umpqua National Forest, the air became colder and the snow drifts from the previous week’s snow were still piled high along the road, which shifted back and forth in tight S-curves, winding its way up to Diamond Lake. The air was so brisk that I was expecting the precipitation to turn from rain to snow at any moment.
As I started up the climb, Tiffany drove past me to make her way to our next aid station stop, ringing the cowbell as she drove by. I also could hear the sounds of engines and heavy equipment over the embankment to my left, where a road led to a construction site on the side of the mountain. Along that road, I noticed a man and his dog walking in the same direction that I was.
As Tiff pulled over, he and I made our way to the RV at about the same time. The man’s dog stood only about 10 inches off the ground, probably didn’t weigh more than 10 pounds and had a bark to match his diminutive stature. The dog started toward me, yipping with all its might, and jumped over a puddle of water. But the dog didn’t quite make it, nor did he realize how deep or wide the puddle was. I actually laughed out loud when the dog landed in the puddle and sank below the surface of the water. As the dog resurfaced, I tried to act concerned, but the whole scene made me laugh that much harder. The owner checked on his pooch and then asked us if he could catch a ride up to Toketee Falls just a few miles up the road. It was pouring rain at this point, and he was just as soaked as I was, but the first thought that went through my mind was to ensure the safety of my family—my wife, our two children and my mother. As the man stood there in front of me wearing a drenched pullover hooded sweatshirt and jeans, I wanted to help him out, but something made me say no. I also wanted to keep our RV from smelling like a wet dog, so I politely declined his request. We watched from the RV as the man and his four-legged companion marched on up the mountain.
I ch
anged into some dryer and warmer clothes during this aid stop, and then began making my way up the mountain towards Diamond Lake. A mile or so up the road I caught up with the stranger and his dog, passed them and wished him well. A couple of minutes later, I heard footsteps running up behind me, so I turned around quickly and was startled to see him running up the road, now without his grey hooded sweatshirt, which had probably absorbed so much rain that I figured it had just been weighing him down. Now shirtless, he was making his way up the mountain at a pretty rapid pace.
“Hey man,” I said to him. After he reciprocated my greeting, I told him, “You are going to catch a cold running like that out here.” He shrugged his shoulders and kept on moving up the mountain, now in just a pair of rain soaked jeans and work boots, with his dog running right alongside him.
Over the next quarter mile, he continued to pick up his pace, and made his way around the mountainside without slowing down one bit. At this point, however, I guess he decided his boots were slowing him down, so he stopped, pulled his brown work boots off, and I was taken aback as he tossed those, along with his socks, down the mountain into the woods. I have run with a number of barefoot runners over the past couple of years, so I just blew it off and watched him now take off flying up the hillside. As I rounded a corner where I could see him again, I noticed he was slowing down again before coming to a complete stop. It was at this point that the man’s bizarre actions became even stranger.
I slowed to a walk as I watched him take his jeans off, and with what looked like a move from an Olympic shot putt gold medalist, he tossed his pants into the woods. So now he was down to only his blue and white polka dotted boxers in the cold, pouring rain! I wasn’t sure what to make of it, but I kept my silence and watched him run rapidly up the road. I also wasn’t sure how far he would go with the undressing, and I hoped he had reached his limit. As he ran off around a bend in the road, I could not help but laugh at the situation, thinking to myself, “I hope that’s as far as he goes, but man, what a great story this will be.” But as I came around the start of the curve, there, lying in the middle of the road, right in front of me, were his blue and white polka dotted boxers. I stopped dead in my tracks and shook my head in disbelief. “These can’t be his,” I thought to myself. But what were the odds of another pair of boxers exactly like the ones he had been wearing lying there in the road?
As I continued to round the corner, I saw him in his birthday suit, running naked up the road in the rain! And there was his loyal dog, still by his side, running right along with him without a care in the world. I just laughed, thought to myself, “Well, it is Oregon,” and let him go on. I didn’t want to slow my run up any, but I also wanted to keep a good distance between us. As cars and trucks came down the mountain past him, they would slow down, and as they approached me, I just threw my hands in the air and shrugged, trying my best to make it obvious that he was not with me. The faces of the drivers varied from laughter to incredulous disbelief. I knew exactly how they all felt.
He eventually started walking and I caught up to him and his wet dog. At that point I’m not certain who was panting more, the man or his dog. Fortunately, they were still on the other side of the road. I couldn’t bite my tongue any longer. “You’re going to catch pneumonia,” I shouted, both as an admonition and a friendly warning. After I got about a half mile ahead of him, I glanced back over my shoulder in time to see the pale-skinned stranger and his dog heading to the left down the road to the hot springs to which he had initially requested a ride. During that last half-mile stretch before he veered off the road, several cars drove toward me from the opposite direction. All I could do was wave and laugh at the thought of the sight those drivers were soon to witness!
During this whole excursion up the mountain, I hoped that my family would catch up with me and that my wife would have her camera ready in order to capture the tale, but it was not to be. When she did catch up to me, she told me a story about a passerby who stopped by the RV, marched up to the door with a purpose and banged on it until she opened it.
“Is it normal for one of your guys to be running up the road without a stitch of clothes on?” he asked.
“Oh my God,” she thought to herself. “We’re five days into the run, and Jamie’s already lost it.”
“My husband is wearing an orange jacket,” she told the stranger.
“Oh, we saw that guy running. But there was another guy who was completely naked running up the mountain. With a dog.”
“That guy’s not with us,” she said, breathing a sigh of relief.
“OK, we just wanted to make sure!”
At this point, Tiffany started up the mountain after me but she was too late to capture the stranger in all his glory. I relayed the story to a dumbfounded crew, who wasn’t sure whether to laugh or shake their heads as I tried to keep my composure while telling the tale. A little while later, as we were parked for another aid stop, a man pulled over in front of the RV and asked if we had seen the naked stranger. They told us that a number of people were out looking for him. They had found his car (which we had unknowingly seen earlier that day) along the side of the road with a couple of empty pill bottles inside, and nearby they found his keys, wallet and cell phone tossed into the woods. If they had looked a little further down the road, they would have found his clothes, too.
The men who were out looking for the naked man became very interested in our mission. The older gentleman was a farmer who was a throat cancer survivor. He became very emotional as we told him why I was running. He offered to help out any way he could by taking wounded warriors out on guided hunts on his property. It was a great example of the many people we would meet on the journey who expressed their desire to honor and support our veterans in whatever way they could.
Running Toward Recovery
While the naked man’s roadside striptease provided me with some humor, his actions led me to believe that he was suffering from stress or was dealing with some mental issues or addiction. That got me to thinking about our veterans who are commonly affected by mental anguish and stress, commonly referred to as post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD). Whenever mentioning that my desire with this run was to help wounded veterans, the images that typically came to people’s minds were soldiers suffering from ailments such as lost limbs or physical scars that are visible. But the mental anguish many veterans experience can often be just as painful and difficult to recover from.
The U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs estimated that 20 percent of the veterans returning from serving in Iraq suffer from PTSD. In my home state of West Virginia, which has an extremely high participation rate in the military per capita, the percentage of veterans suffering from PTSD is even greater. Dr. Joseph Scotti, a professor of psychology at West Virginia University, conducted research that revealed that for West Virginia veterans who have recently returned home from Afghanistan or Iraq, nearly 50 percent show signs of suffering from PTSD, yet only 15-20 percent seek treatment for their mental health.
Richard “Brett” Simpson is someone who not only overcame his own struggles after serving in the military, but now helps fellow veterans deal with the same issues that he endured. Brett, a 2000 graduate of the United States Military Academy at West Point, spent his entire life after high school serving his country whenever and wherever he was needed.
Brett spent more than a decade in the military in various leadership positions. But the only life he knew was gone when he was honorably service-connected medically retired in 2011 as a Major in the U.S. Army after undergoing a lengthy process with the Medical Evaluation Board and a brief time in the Warrior Transition Unit in northern Virginia.
Brett always planned on making the Army his only career until retirement. Yet, still in his early adulthood, those plans had to change.
“Making the transition from military life to civilian was extremely difficult and frustrating,” Brett told me months after the conclusion of my run across the US. “I served a non-profit, hel
ping veterans, but the work was sporadic. Leaving behind a way of life where your day is consumed with duties, it was extremely difficult for me to have so much free time. I didn’t know what to do with myself and the lack of structure, regimen and certainty in my life was driving me nuts. I couldn’t find solace or peace within myself, yet at the same time, I knew I wasn’t helpless. I could think, move, walk and, as I eventually learned, run.”
Brett stumbled upon a story about my run across America. Much like everyone else who first heard about my run, he initially thought I was crazy. But when he learned more about the purpose of the mission, he was intrigued that I was able to take something I was passionate about—running—and use it to make a difference for veterans.
He admitted to despising running, “but looking to fill a void, and fill time in my day, I decided to give it a try, because that’s one of the things I knew I could do. What I found was that running, or any type of physical activity, was helping my sense of awareness, focus and mindfulness while also getting me in better physical shape than I had been in a long time.
Freedom Run Page 9
