Freedom Run

by Jamie Summerlin

  While running into Wahsatch, which is right on the Utah side of the Utah-Wyoming state line, I came upon an Army National Guard facility, so I poked my head into the office. As I stepped in, a young man at the front desk greeted me, and a number of senior enlisted men were also in the room. They all gave me the same look I received as I entered other facilities: “Who is this sweaty guy and why is he in here?” I introduced myself and handed the sergeant behind the desk my card, and spent a couple of minutes explaining my story. Another soldier came up to me, and just listened with a look of disbelief as I described the reason behind my journey. I held my hand out, and said the words that I would share every time I met a current military member or veteran: “Thank you for your service.”

  The looks on the faces of the men before me immediately went from disbelief and curiosity to appreciation. I remember how it made me feel when I served in the Marines and someone took the time to thank me for my service, and I wanted to make sure I took every chance I could on this run to give that back to those in the military. And I was always met with the same response—a warm smile, a shake of the hand and a sense of gratitude from those who sacrifice every day. As I headed out the door of the facility, my chest was sticking out with pride in what we were accomplishing. It felt good to give of ourselves to help these brave men and women know that there were a lot of us out there who were very grateful for all they were doing for us.

  ‘Wind’ing through Wyoming

  My time spent in Wyoming can be described in one word—windy. The best part about it, though, was that most days the wind was at my back and almost literally carried me through some areas. I was able to run on the interstate the whole way through Wyoming, which enabled me to become more comfortable doing so. I became very in tune with the rumble strips, prepared to jump over a guard rail or into a ditch if I heard the vibration of a car veering out of the right-hand lane. I was grateful that nearly all of the large semi-trucks that passed me by as I ran would get over into the left-hand lane to give me a bit more space on the shoulder.

  The first day into Wyoming, as the temperature dropped and the snow rolled in, I told Tiff that I should have known it was coming. I was about to finish my day in Fort Bridger, the site of our encounter with crazy snow and weather on our way out to Oregon where they shut down the interstate on us due to the conditions. It just seemed there was no way I was going to go through this area again without getting snowed on. The snowfall wasn’t as bad as it was on our first trip through, so I was able to push through at a pretty good pace. I was feeling better and better each day on the run, my times were coming down and at the end of the day I felt like I had more energy.

  Little America was our next stop the following day, after another day filled with howling 40-50 mph winds and blowing snow. After leaving Salt Lake City, I hadn’t seen many trees with green leaves, so when we came upon a truck stop on I-80 surrounded by trees overflowing with bright green leaves, it was almost as if it was an oasis in the desert. It was certainly a welcoming sight.

  We pulled in for the night and Tiffany headed over to the truck stop laundry facility to wash the heap of dirty clothes that we had accumulated. Since we packed light for the trip, Tiffany usually had to hand wash my running clothes every night and wash the rest of the family’s clothes that way from time to time as well. Being able to use a washer and dryer every once in a while was a nice treat. But using this laundry facility ended up being more of a trick than a treat. When Tiffany headed back to grab the clothes from the dryer and fold them, she discovered that a pair of her jeans was missing.

  I just looked at Tiff and said, “I bet that trucker sure will look good in your jeans at the next truck stop.”

  The wind howled and shook the RV pretty good all night long, so it made for a miserable night’s sleep. The next morning as I groggily searched through my pile of clothes for my Koenig rain/wind pants that I had been running in the past couple of days for warmth, I couldn’t find them. I asked Tiffany and Kathy to check to see if they were in with their clothes. While I continued to search for them, I realized that I was also missing a pair of my running shorts. The thief the night before had not only taken my wife’s jeans, but had also pilfered my pants and shorts that I wore just about every day. If there is one thing I can’t stand, it’s a thief.

  Tiffany went back over to the office and they said that no clothes had been turned in, so I took off on my run that day wearing my Nike ColdGear pants with a different pair of running shorts over top of them. Not only was the wind pushing me along, but I had a fire burning in me from having our clothes stolen. I considered it not only a slap in my face, but a slap in the face to all of the veterans I was doing this run for.

  In preparation for this journey, I was in communication with Kathe Flynn at Holabird Sports in Baltimore, Maryland. They offered to support me and try to drum up support from other national clothing brands. While they experienced the same results that I did—getting no interest from any national companies—Holabird Sports did support me in any way they could. A couple of days after the laundromat incident, Holabird Sports delivered a package to us in Wamsutter, Wyoming. The timing could not have been more perfect. In the box they not only included first aid and nutrition supplies, but also a few new pairs of shorts and shirts for me to wear during the run. That shipment not only helped to replenish my wardrobe, but also my spirit.

  Just as small companies like Holabird Sports came through for me, it was the small communities that I ran through that really offered the greatest encouragement, support and warmth. That was the case all through Wyoming. Countless people came off their front porches or out the front door of their local retailers to offer words of encouragement, talk to me or the crew in the RV and sometimes give donations. We also received some good publicity through local newspapers like the Rawlins Times and the Saratoga Su as we passed through Wyoming. Each day as I got farther into the state the mountains continued to get higher, but thanks to the local support of those small communities, those mountains seemed more like small hills because I had more spring in my step.

  When we arrived in Elk Mountain, population 275, we stopped at the Elk Mountain Trading Post to inquire about dinner and a place to park our RV. The owners, Ken and Nancy, said there was an RV park nearby, and called the owners, Peggy and her husband, to get us set up. Once the RV was hooked up, we walked back over to the Trading Post for dinner. Ken and Nancy were great ambassadors for the little town of Elk Mountain. They welcomed us, provided great food and shared stories of their comfortable, small town. It was almost as if we had gone back in time. Nick and I played a game of pool, and when a song came on the jukebox that had a nice little beat, I grabbed Shayna’s hand and danced with her across the room. It was a nice break from the normalcy of running across America.

  When we left Elk Mountain we knew I had a few larger climbs as we headed toward Laramie. Heading out from Elk Mountain, I was faced with three consecutive climbs that day peaking at elevations of 7,579, 7,597, and 7,716 feet. I was feeling really good, though, and the wind continued to push me along. I encountered some prairie dogs and prong horned antelope, which I thought were one of the most majestic animals I had ever seen. Even with the climbs, the wind and sight of the animals really made the time pass quickly.

  My climb to the highest point of the entire run was in Laramie, where I peaked at 8,640 feet. I actually got to the top of the climb about half an hour quicker than my crew expected because I was feeling so strong. I ran 34.5 miles that day, with the last six miles climbing to the peak, and I covered the entire day’s leg in just less than six hours.

  While we were in the Laramie area, we stayed a couple of nights with Dr. Edward Bradley, a professor at the University of Wyoming. His son is a Marine who was stationed overseas at the time, and one of his Marine friends had been following me on the run. He contacted us and worked out our stays with Edward. As he told us, “Marines stick together, and you are a part of my family, whether my son is here with me
or not.”

  Prior to heading into Cheyenne, I did everything I could to pack on three or four extra miles each day so that once we hit Cheyenne I could have my shortest day of the run. Kathy would be flying back to Oregon from Cheyenne, and I wanted to make sure we spent as much time as possible with her prior to her flying out. The day I headed into Cheyenne, I only needed to run 10.5 miles to get to my scheduled stopping point for the day. A cold front had pushed in, so I ran the first eight miles in a heavy snowstorm, but the weather cleared up as I made my way into the city.

  As I stopped at the RV, a sheriff pulled up behind us to make sure everything was OK. After a short conversation about our run, he revealed that he was retired from the Air Force. He then paused, and I could see tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He swallowed the lump in his throat, and then rolled up one of the sleeves on his uniform. He showed me a hunter green wristband that was woven out of paratrooper rip cord.

  “I wear this for my wife,” he said, his voice trembling. “She’s a medevac pilot and she’s doing her third tour in Afghanistan right now. She deals first-hand every day with wounded men and women in the military, so I really respect you for running for wounded veterans.”

  This moment reminded me exactly why I was making this journey. There are so many heroes out there, and I love hearing their personal stories.

  We had an enjoyable last day with Tiffany’s mom. Kathy had been with us for almost four weeks and had been a big help. She helped out with the kids and allowed Tiffany to focus on my needs and the logistics of the trip. It was also great for our kids to spend some quality time with their Gramma because they don’t get a chance to do it often since we are separated by three time zones. We all looked forward to her and Dick joining us again when we arrived in Washington, DC, as well as bringing our sweet Golden Retriever, Emmie, back home to us as well. When she flew out from Cheyenne, it felt awkward without her or my mom with us, but I knew we had an incredible crew chief in my wife who could handle anything thrown her way.

  All Downhill from Here (Well, Almost)

  Looking at the elevation map that was created by MyAthlete Live based on our planned route, it looked like someone could trip me coming out of Laramie, Wyoming, and I could roll all the way into Kansas. Coming down into Cheyenne, it seemed like I was almost heading straight downhill, and there was really no end in sight to that. Besides the Appalachian Mountains in a couple of months, it was pretty much all downhill from there.

  While my elevation was decreasing, the amount of media coverage was increasing. I did my first regional interview since the kickoff of the run with K2TV in Cheyenne. Jeff Schuman interviewed me at Holliday Park in Cheyenne and provided me with the chance to meet some of his friends in the Air Force that were stationed locally at Francis Warren Air Force Base. It was great to share stories of my journey with them, and to hear what it meant to them for us to do this.

  My first day in Colorado was met with wide open dirt roads and a lot of time spent alone. It was about this portion of my trek across the country that I began to pick out a silo, water tower or clump of trees off in the distance and keep my eyes on that marker in order to pull me in to that point. Once I reached that landmark, I would look ahead for another one. I could literally see 10-15 miles in front of me in most of the areas in the Plains and Midwest.

  On this run, I spent 30 of my 37 miles on the dirt, which was a nice break from the pounding of the pavement. Unfortunately, I encountered about 10 snakes on the road that day, but thankfully all of the rattlers I saw were dead. I really hate snakes.

  This was also the only day that I really had any major issues with large tanker trucks. I told Tiff at the end of the day, it seemed like they were playing games with me. Each tanker seemed to go past me faster (50-60 miles per hour) and closer to me than the previous one. The road was wide enough for two lanes and even though no other vehicles were approaching from the opposite direction, when the trucks passed me they failed to get over to the left to give me room.

  Due to the heat quickly approaching 90 that day, I had my shirt off for most of the run. Since I was running on a dirt road, each truck that roared past me would kick up a ton of dirt and rocks. Little pebbles kicked up by the tires felt like BBs being shot from a gun as they pelted my bare chest, arms and legs. After the first truck passed, whenever I heard another rumbling down the dusty road, I tried as quickly as possible to toss my shirt on to at least provide a buffer between the flying rocks and my skin.

  Help from the Captain

  One of the most helpful people as Tiffany was planning our route and checking with all of the states was Gaylon Grippin, a captain of the Colorado State Police, who lived in Sterling. Not only was he extremely helpful during the preparations for the trip, but he said he would help us out in any way possible when we came through his town. He certainly lived up to his word.

  When we got about 40 miles outside of Sterling, we took him up on his offer and drove ahead into town to stay at an RV park.

  “We’ve made it into Sterling for the night, Captain,” I told him when we called after getting settled in.

  “Yes, I saw your RV coming through earlier,” he said. “It’s great to have you here, and we all support what you are doing.”

  Not only did Captain Grippin offer to take our family out for dinner the following night, but he also set up interviews for me with KPMX-FM and the South Platte Sentinel. When I ran into Sterling the following day, finishing up in 90-degree temps right in front of the courthouse, Captain Grippin was there with two more of Colorado’s finest police officers. Gaylon and his wife, Lora, treated us to a wonderful meal that night and we enjoyed some excellent conversation and company. It was interesting to hear stories about the history of their town, while also sharing some of the more interesting and trying times that we had experienced thus far on our journey. As I was relaying the details of one story, however, my mind went blank and I completely lost my train of thought. It was evidence that not only was this run physically exhausting, but it was mentally draining as well. The moment did, however, provide a nice laugh for everyone at the dinner table.

  No Sympathy

  As I headed out of Sterling the following morning, there was a 50-degree drop in temperature. After running in 90-degree heat more than 12 hours earlier, I was now trudging along with temps in the 40s and a cold wind that had shifted from being at my back to being in my face. I was not having a good day running on the rolling hills, and the cold wind smacking me in the face was reminiscent of my lashcicle runs during the previous winter. I got into the RV at the first stop and as was usual, everyone smiled and asked how I was doing.

  “The wind is right in my face, and it sucks!”

  That sucked the joy right out of the RV. The kids just kind of hunkered down and didn’t say a word. Tiff handed me my food, sat down across from me and in the most encouraging way said to me, “Sounds like you just need to refuel and keep moving forward.”

  I wolfed my food and drinks down, said bye to everyone and stepped off in a huff.

  “Where is the sympathy for what I am going through?” I thought. “I’m out here getting beat up in the wind, it is 50 degrees colder than it was yesterday, and you just tell me to keep moving forward?”

  I took off trying to push my frustration out on the road, getting madder and madder at the wind and the weather conditions that were being thrown my way. After a couple of miles of wearing myself out struggling to cut through the wind like I was swimming without the use of my limbs, I just decided to settle in and not exert too much energy. I was getting a chance to enjoy this beautiful country and experience America in a way very few ever had, and I was complaining about a little wind. I also wasn’t showing much gratitude to my crew in the RV for what they were putting up with from me. I made a conscious decision that when they caught back up to me, I needed to apologize right away. With my chin up, I pressed forward, just as Tiffany had told me to do.

  No more than five minutes after adjus
ting my attitude, a truck traveling east on the road pulled up beside me. A young man rolled the window down and asked me to come over for a minute. Running over to the vehicle, I noticed a C&T Hauling label on the side of the truck, and the young man introduced himself as Cody Iverson, from Gillette, Wyoming. He had stayed in the same RV park as us the night before and saw our RV, so he wanted to hear a bit about our story. I told him what I was doing and why, and he asked if we had any corporate sponsors helping us along the way. I shared with him a few of the challenges and frustrations in our attempt to secure sponsorship. He just shook his head and then reached into his wallet.

  “Take this and use it to help yourselves out a little bit. It’s not much, but hopefully it’ll help get you along some when you need it.” I looked down and he was handing me a $100 bill.

  It was at that moment that I realized that I just need to do everything without complaining, especially on this trip. When I least expect it, someone will lift me up when I need it most, and it reminded me exactly why I was on this run. I was out there to encourage others, not looking for anything for myself. If I made the run about me, the whole mission would be a bust. When I focused on others and how grateful I was to be doing this, things just seemed to work out. This day was proof.

  When the RV caught back up to me, I walked in with a much different demeanor. I could tell Tiff and the kids were very guarded when I walked in, but I did my best to alleviate their concerns and make amends for the horrible attitude I had earlier. I told them about the encounter I had with Cody out on the road and I promised that I would have a more positive attitude the rest of the journey.