“Above all, however, running made me feel good about myself,” Brett continued. “I finally looked forward to getting up in the morning and seeing if I was going to get my personal best time, be able to run farther without feeling fatigued or be able to run eight miles instead of six. Running became a passion. I began running at least five times a week. I was feeling better, thinking more clearly, enjoying life again and recognizing things about myself and my surroundings that I hadn’t noticed in a long time.”
Brett followed my progress daily via Twitter or Facebook and as I progressed across America, he, too, began to push himself further than he previously thought possible.
“Seeing how you were progressing provided motivation for me in my personal journey,” Brett told me. “It made me realize that pushing myself through what seemed to be the impossible was, in fact, possible.”
Now that Brett had found a new purpose as a civilian, he began to thrive in his position as program manager of Operation Welcome Home, a non-profit organization that assists veterans in north-central West Virginia. Through that organization, he helped spread the word to fellow veterans of just how therapeutic exercise can be as they attempt to acclimate themselves to a different lifestyle. Brett’s message to all who will listen is simple.
“There are forms of physical fitness that are beneficial and suitable for veterans who have suffered short- or long-term physical injuries, including amputations, for those who are battling PTSD and for veterans dealing with just about anything else imaginable,” Brett says. “Wheelchair sports, water aerobics and specialized treadmills are just some of the ways veterans can remain physically active and regain their sense of self-worth.
“The bottom line is that while times may seem tough or even hopeless, they are never too tough to fight through. Veterans are tough enough to fight through anything. The first step, literally, is to get up and move. I firmly believe that physical activity can make all the difference in the world for those going through some of the same struggles that I faced. And the great thing is that it’s not something that has to be overcome alone. There are organizations to assist veterans, there are plenty of fellow veterans who are trying to overcome similar challenges and there are ‘battle buddies’ who can help those in need take that first step toward recovery.”
Mile High Club
Thinking about the naked man provided me with some giggles as I continued to climb up the mountain. But this was no normal climb. When I read about Marshall Ulrich’s journey across America, when he attempted to break the record for the fewest days needed to make the trek, I remembered that he had specifically mapped out the journey to include no climbs of more than 1,000 feet in a single day. I started this day at just over 1,000 feet in elevation and would wrap up at just over 5,200 feet.
“What in the world was I thinking when I OK’d this route?”
The rain continued to pour, the temperature continued to drop and the road continued to ascend up the mountain. I was also entering a stretch where there were sizeable snow drifts. It was not an enjoyable experience and I wanted desperately to get out of my wet clothes, get off this steep mountain and get off my feet, so I just continued to push onward and upward. I had no way to simulate this type of climb back home, even in the mountains of West Virginia, because the highest elevation in the region was 4,800 feet and I would climb that in about 25 miles of running this day.
I think being distracted by the naked guy diverted my focus from the fact that I needed to make sure I was stretching my legs out and not climbing while running on my toes all day. By the time I finally climbed to the top of the mountain and came over the last ridge, I could see the RV waiting for me and I just lost it. The tears were streaming down my face not only because I was happy to have finished this grueling climb, but also because I had developed a very sharp pain in my left shin. With every step that I took the last portion of that climb, I felt a twinge of pain in my shin that reminded me of some of the worst shin splints I had experienced when I first started distance running.
I was hoping once I finished the run that day, got off my feet and warmed up that the pain would subside. But as the evening progressed, my leg continued to tighten up and the pain grew worse. Little did I know just how bad it would get.
Chapter 7: Snap, Crackle, Pop
Many times during our trip across the country we received gracious gestures such as a free meal, a complimentary spot at an RV park or a free room in a hotel. The owner at Diamond Lake Resort, Steve Koch, was just one of many to do so. He provided both a free meal and accommodations. The hospitality was appreciated, but because of the pain in my shin I got a horrible night’s sleep. I’m sure there had been many previous sleepless nights in that honeymoon suite, but for a different reason than why I didn’t sleep.
When I got up the next morning, my shin was still in severe pain and it was also extremely swollen. The first thought that went through my head was that I had suffered a stress fracture. In all of the research I had done about people who had attempted but failed to run across the country, many of them had to drop out after suffering some sort of stress fracture. I tested what my limits were, gingerly walking around inside the room, but I quickly realized that there was no way I could run.
Before we embarked on the trip, Tiffany and I had agreed that if I ever needed to take some extra time through the day to log my miles that would be fine. I wasn’t out to break the crossing record, and except for a few events that were scheduled in the first couple of weeks, I didn’t really have an agenda that I needed to stick to. So before I stepped outside that morning I told my family that I would just walk off the miles, and jog when I could, so that I could continue moving forward.
We opened the door up and were greeted with an almost whiteout condition outside. A snowstorm had come through the night before, and the snow was continuing to pile up. The snowdrifts alongside the road were literally higher than our RV, and the snow was not letting up at all. It was snowing so hard that I couldn’t even see a quarter of a mile in front of me. The conditions were such that even if I was healthy I wouldn’t be doing much running that day because I would have to be very careful out on the roads. Tiffany headed up the road in the RV but only made it about a mile before she pulled over. As I came up to the RV I saw my wife lying underneath the motorhome putting the snow chains that we had just purchased the day before on the tires. She was proving once again why I sometimes call her Superwoman.
I continued to push through in the snow, and the pain grew worse and worse with each step. But I knew that I could not stop moving forward. Typically it had taken me about 6-8 hours to complete my daily miles. But over these next four days, I was out on the road 12-13 hours each day and I was still beginning to fall well behind our planned pace. I just couldn’t manage anything more than three miles per hour. Tiffany’s sister Lesley and brother-in-law Rich drove down from Washington state to join us during this stint, along with their two children, Jonathan and MacKenzie. I was disappointed that they had to see me laboring and in so much pain. In fact, a couple of times they saw me stop moving and bend down, stooping over along the side of the road. They thought I was folding over in pain, when in reality I was stuffing packed snow up into the lower portion of the left leg of my cold gear running pants. At that point I was attempting anything I could to ice my leg and try to reduce the swelling in my shin.
We had a few events going on in the Klamath Falls area that had been scheduled long before our arrival, so the logistics and driving plans we had were quickly thrown out the window. The Linkville Lopers, a running club in Klamath Falls, and the Rip City Rider motorcycle club had organized a run through Klamath Falls for my arrival, so I had to cut short my day to drive in to make it to the event. The group run was a little more than seven miles, and even though adrenaline was pushing me through, the pain continued to worsen in my shin. A number of veterans were among the group of runners and I knew I couldn’t let them down by slowing down or walking. With each story they
shared with me about their friends who were wounded or killed in battle, I was motivated to press on. I knew that my pain was temporary, while the physical and emotional pain many veterans and their families experience is long-term.
Over the next few days, the pain continued to prevent me from doing much running at all. In fact, I used walking sticks for a few days, which helped me quite a bit. But it also prevented me from being able to wave at every car that drove past, which is something I enjoyed doing. Less than two weeks into this 100-day run I was already 28 miles—or nearly one full day—behind schedule. The snow also wasn’t letting up much, and because of some events that were scheduled based on our projected pace, we had to drive the motorhome seemingly all over creation to get me up ahead to appear at an event, and then back to where I had left off. Literally hundreds of extra miles were driven in the RV to escort me back and forth in order to attend these events and then get me back to my spot on the route. This was not only frustrating and time consuming, but it also put a dent in our budget since an RV goes through gas like a family with a newborn goes through diapers. But one thing I absolutely would not do was cheat the mileage, so we always made certain that I began running right where I had previously stopped.
During this time of commuting to events we were fortunate that some of Tiffany’s dad’s friends allowed us to stay in their homes and attempt to nurse my leg back to health. The first night we arrived in the Klamath Falls area, we stayed at Mike and Sophia Homfeld’s home and I was able to soak in a bathtub with Epsom salt for an hour. The next couple of nights, Dan and Cindy Kinsman took great care of us, providing warm beds, good food and a hot tub for me to use as I tried to work the knots out of my leg. Unfortunately, I allowed the pain and frustration of my injury to affect my disposition during these trying days, and it not only led my family and friends to worry about me, but it also made me unpleasant to be around at times. It wasn’t until after the run was complete in July that Tiffany and I discussed this period of the trip, but she told me afterwards that it was at this point that she was just waiting for me to say the words, “I quit.”
I’ve been asked many times since I finished if there was ever a point when I wanted to quit and give up my dream. But at no point, even when I was dealing with the intense pain in my leg, did I ever have a desire to quit. What most upset me was the fact that I thought there was no way I could finish on July 4. I had put so much into achieving the goal of finishing on that day, and with each passing day I was slipping further behind the schedule and I had no idea when, or even if, my leg would heal.
I received so many prayers and encouraging words from so many people during this stretch. While it was uplifting, it was also almost burdensome to realize that so many people were following my journey. I knew I had to do everything in my power to not let them down. But I also didn’t want to let myself down. Below the emergency contact information on my Road ID bracelet it says, “Quitting Lasts Forever.” For the last two years, my life had focused on preparing for this run, so even though I still had 90 days to get to the finish, I felt as though I was too close to accomplishing the goal to not see it through to the end, or at the very least exert every ounce of physical and mental energy that I had trying to get to the finish line.
The frustration and worry swelled up inside me so much that it overflowed and on two successive mornings I sat on the edge of the bed in the motorhome and sobbed as Tiffany engulfed me in her arms. When we talked about this stretch later, Tiffany told me that if I would have uttered those two words there would have been no argument or discussion about it; she would have driven the RV home toward West Virginia. I’m glad I didn’t allow those words to come out of my mouth or even the thought to cross my mind.
By the end of the fourth day of dealing with severe pain in the shin of my left leg, large knots had formed in the area, it had become swollen and it felt so tight that I wouldn’t have been shocked if my skin split open. I hadn’t been able to move my foot or ankle much because of the swelling and pain, and I knew I wouldn’t be able to continue much farther unless I was able to regain some mobility in my ankle. I told my wife that I needed to try and stretch my shin out and attempt to work out the knots that had developed. Tiff agreed to try to stretch my leg, so we headed to the bed in the back of the RV.
Anyone who has ever eaten Rice Krispies will recognize the popping sound the cereal makes as you pour milk into the bowl. As Tiff stretched my leg out, grabbing the top of my foot and pulling my toes toward her, she ran her knuckles firmly up the front of my shin. When she did that, we heard the popping sound like milk being poured into a bowl of Rice Krispies. I had a pillow over my face to drown out my screams of agony as she pressed the knots out of my leg. It was one of the worst pains I have ever experienced. I discovered that since I had not fully extended my left foot for four days, as my leg began the healing process, adhesions in the front of my shin were knitting the muscle tighter, and in a set position.
I did my best to sleep through the pain that night, and as I stepped out of bed, the pain shot through my leg just as it had the previous few mornings. I immediately thought that I may have to visit a doctor, which had always been a last resort to me because I knew a physician would tell me not to continue running across the country. But after I took a few more steps, I noticed that I could at least partially extend my ankle without too much discomfort. I sat down on the couch and Tiffany grabbed my ankle and amazingly extended it to where my toes were pointing straight down, resembling the perfect form of the pointed feet of a ballerina or gymnast. I hadn’t been able to flex my foot like that for a few days.
Not only did it physically feel better, but emotionally it lifted my spirits tremendously. I could tell it helped lift everyone else up in the RV, too. My mom was growing more and more worried with each day, and the kids were watching me go through some of the worst pain I had ever experienced. I gave them a thumbs up and smiled as I stepped off that day, still determined to walk it out, but at a much quicker pace if possible. When they weren’t around to see me, I attempted to jog a little bit, but the pain was still there.
A Proud Moment
I made my way through the first 20 miles that day, moving along at a quicker pace, but also keenly aware that I couldn’t push it too hard. I was scheduled to get 31 miles in that day, but since I felt a little better I hoped to start making up some miles after falling behind. At the 20-mile mark, the sun was starting to come out, the temps were warming up, and we were finally out of some of the higher elevations where the snow had been piled up on us. Nicholas wanted to get out and do some miles with me. For the past four days I had been out on the road by myself, so I was able to let out some screams of frustration and pain. But whenever I got around my family, I tried to put on a positive front. But I was glad that I was able to spend three miles out on the road this morning with Nick.
We had a good talk and I also did a short interview with WCHS-AM in Charleston, West Virginia, updating their listeners about my progress and the pain I had endured recently. After wrapping up the interview, Nick and I walked a bit further and then he said a few words to me that I will never forget.
“You know, I just never thought my dad would ever run across America,” he said. “That’s pretty cool.”
His words almost stopped me in my tracks. My son, who was 12 years old, was proud of me for what I was doing. He recognized that this mission was about others, that we were doing it for some amazing people, but he thought his dad was pretty cool for doing something like this. I think it’s every dad’s desire to be a cool dad in his children’s eyes. We don’t have to run across America to make that happen. Even doing small things to help others is a great thing to teach children. Even though they may not acknowledge it verbally like my son did that day, they will recognize the selflessness and learn from it.
Nick saying what he did allowed me to see that I was making an impact on my kids’ lives. It made me feel proud that we were planting a seed that would eventually grow into
helping them do things in their lives for others, always remembering that there are people from all walks of life that we need to support and encourage. It was one of the most impacting conversations I had on the journey. At the end of the three-mile walk, the RV passed us and pulled over, and I told Tiff, “If I am going to do this, I have to do this now.”
The road I was on that day had a fairly wide shoulder, with soft dirt that provided good support, but enough cushion to take some of the jarring pain I would experience on the pavement away as I took each step. As I moved away from the RV, I thought back to the words that Nick had just shared with me, and I also thought back to the men and women I had already met along the way who deal with far greater pain every day. This was 100 days of temporary pain for me. I would hopefully heal up from this and go on about my life in a normal fashion. A lot of the members of the military, however, do not have that luxury. With that in mind, I decided I was going to start jogging the last 12 miles as best as I could. With each step I took and with each mile that passed, I continued to build within myself the confidence I had when I started this journey. The pain was still there, but it was nowhere near as bad as it had been. The RV caught up to me an hour later, and I had knocked out six miles and was back at my pre-injury pace. When they pulled up by me, ringing the cowbell out the window, I gave them two thumbs up and a smile I’m sure you could see 100 miles away. I was going to do this!
At one point over the last six miles, the shoulder was covered with little rocks that crunched with each step, so I decided to call my buddy Kelly, who had run the first day with me. He and I had chatted a few times earlier that week about the injury. When I called, I got his voicemail, but I had to leave him a message.
“You hear that Kelly?” I yelled over the speakerphone, as I held the phone down by my legs. With the crunch of the rocks under my feet, I yelled out, “That’s me running, buddy!”
Freedom Run Page 10
