“I’m going to chain myself in my room when we get home,” Nick would say. “You’re going to have to drag me out of there.” Shayna would always nod in agreement.
While staying overnight in French Lick, Indiana, I did a radio interview with Tony Caridi on Statewide Sportsline in West Virginia, and joked about playing a pickup basketball game with Larry Bird in his hometown.
“You’ll be able to play a game in your own backyard soon,” Tony said.
That was a great reminder that we were getting closer to home, and while it excited me to know we were almost there, the thought also started weighing heavily on me. I knew that Tiffany and I were both promised by our respective employers that we would have our jobs upon our return, but in the back of my mind I worried occasionally about that, knowing that nobody is irreplaceable. I also wasn’t certain how satisfied I would be with returning to my IT job because I was becoming more and more motivated to make assisting and honoring veterans more than just a hobby or fleeting passion.
The realization that this dream I had less than two years ago was nearly over began to sink in around this time. I’m not sure the exact moment it hit me, but I do remember this almost overwhelming feeling of sadness that I had not experienced thus far during the trek.
“It’s important to focus on the now and your purpose for running to complete and enjoy your journey.”
Those words from Chelsea Butters Wooding before we left on this trip popped into my head, but I still could not shake the feeling of sadness that was almost overwhelming me. But I just continued to do the only thing that was natural for me at that point. I slipped my shoes on and ran.
Internal Motivation
Crossing over into the fourth and final time zone was one of the most special moments of the journey. As I crossed the border from Illinois to Indiana, the clock on my phone kept bouncing back and forth between Central and Eastern time zones. I had been so encouraged to finally make it into the Eastern time zone, only to have the time on my phone bounce back an hour about five minutes later. This left me both confused and a bit agitated.
As I ran through the quaint town of Vincennes, Indiana, I struck up a few brief conversations with people. Finally, I asked one person if he knew what time zone I was in. The man gave me a confused look until I told him I began running that day in Lawrenceville, Illinois, and was heading toward Paoli, Indiana.
“You started running from where today? And you are headed where?”
“It’s only another 25 miles to go today,” I replied.
“You’re nuts!” the man said. But then I explained the purpose of the run and told him as much of the story as I could in a couple of minutes. He listened intently and was intrigued about the purpose of the run, but he still gave me a typical response: “I think it’s great what you’re doing, but you’re out of your mind.”
Southern Indiana had quite a few rolling hills, which caused me to think even more about home and how great it was going to be to get back to West Virginia. I was feeling really strong, with no real physical issues to complain about. Mentally, however, I was struggling. Encouragement was flowing from everywhere, and through everyone we met, but I was closing in on almost 80 continuous days of running a marathon plus eight miles each day, without a rest day. I was making great progress and encouraging so many through our efforts, but I just felt a little empty inside.
With the agreement we made prior to the trip, I didn’t want to burden Tiffany any more than she already was with everything else she had to deal with, so I took advantage of my time out running to call friends and family, just to hear a familiar voice, trying to rid myself of the void I felt. While those conversations helped at times, the emptiness that was weighing on me just wouldn’t subside.
The timing of the visit from our good friends Matt and Maria Brann, along with their two children, Maverick and Makaleigh, could not have been any better. The Branns also live in Morgantown, West Virginia, but had family living in Indiana, so they took the opportunity to visit family and then meet up with us near Paoli, Indiana, which boasts of one of the few ski resorts in the state. Since Matt was helping me write Freedom Run, he thought it would be a good opportunity to run with me for a day to gain some first-hand experience about what I was doing.
We met them the next morning, Day 76, at the courthouse square in downtown Paoli and when Matt and I headed out to run it was already approaching 80 degrees and 80 percent humidity. Being southern Indiana, there were some rolling hills on our 33.5-mile route for the day and Matt, being a native Hoosier, made sure to point out that this was not the typical flatlands that Indiana is known for. Matt and Maria had just completed a half marathon the previous weekend, so he was eager to see how much further he could push his body.
We cruised through the first 13 miles, conquering the tallest climb I had run in a while, and spent our time together talking about the journey thus far and making plans for the book. During our aid stops we enjoyed watching our four children play together. I knew it was great for Nick and Shayna to have an opportunity to be around some other kids for a change. Matt commented that he felt much better than he did at the end of his half marathon a week ago. The next leg of the run, however, would be difficult for him, but for me, it was one of the most valuable sections mentally that I had run in weeks.
While the additional mileage and heat was zapping Matt’s energy, I was dumping some of my frustrations on him. I let him know that I was starting to feel a little empty for whatever reason. I couldn’t pinpoint why, and I wouldn’t have traded a single step I had taken on this journey, but I was just feeling a little “blah.”
“Have you been keeping track of your own milestones during the run?” Matt asked me.
“Honestly, no I haven’t,” I replied. “I remember when I surpassed 1,000 and 2,000 miles in the run, which was really cool, but other than that, I haven’t focused on what I’ve accomplished personally. I want this run to be about the people I was doing it for. I don’t want people to think I am out here to gain any glory for myself.”
“I know you’ve always said this run isn’t about you, but you need to realize that what you’re accomplishing is truly amazing. I was reading your blog and based on the mileage you’ve run, by the end of today you’ll have run 2,620 miles.”
Sweating profusely, I looked over at him with an empty stare, paused, and said, “OK.”
Sensing that I hadn’t fully comprehended the significance of the mileage, Matt said, “That works out to 100 marathons that you’ve run in 76 days!”
I almost stopped dead in my tracks. Matt’s words took me right back to the moment that I had accomplished something I never thought I would ever attempt, let alone complete.
“This is a really big deal,” I could hear Tiffany telling me as we approached the clock tower at the finish of the Burning River 100 Mile Endurance Run. “You are doing something very few people have ever accomplished, let alone attempted.”
It was almost as if Tiff was standing beside me again, helping me see the big picture about what I was accomplishing. It was also the first time in a while that I had really given any thought to the personal portion of my journey.
Matt knocked out the first 19 miles with me that day before he hopped in the RV for a breather. Over the next 11 miles, I thought a lot about what Matt had shared with me. I had worked so hard the past couple of years to keep the focus on the mission, to not allow the focus to be put on me. The story was about the amazing heroes I was taking these steps for, and I wanted it to remain that way. But Matt’s words opened my eyes up to the individual accomplishment.
I couldn’t just ride the emotion of the mission to make it through. I needed to latch onto every aspect of this journey to help me get through some of the difficult times, especially the way I had been feeling recently. It wasn’t that I was getting burnt out on the mission, because that’s what caused me to get out of bed every morning, even when it hurt to do so. But remaining so focused on raising awareness for ou
r veterans caused me to almost disregard what got me here in the first place: my love for running. Running my first 50-kilometer race, my first 50-mile race and crossing the finish line at the Burning River 100 miler were all life-changing moments because I understood all of the hard work that went into finishing those races. On this run across America, I needed to take the time to reflect on what I was also accomplishing myself.
Much earlier in this journey I began to contemplate adding mileage onto the end of my run. My goal was to run to Annapolis, Maryland, and finish at the Naval Academy and Chesapeake Bay. I wanted to make a ceremonial finish on Independence Day and march in the July 4 parade in Annapolis. But from there, I mentioned to Tiffany that I had the idea of running 100 miles in 24 hours from Annapolis to Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. Not finishing Burning River in 24 hours still bothered me. But I also didn’t want to regret not making this a true coast-to-coast run from the Pacific Ocean to the Atlantic Ocean.
“You’re almost there, so why not go all the way” Tiffany said.
Having talked with Matt about acknowledging what I personally had achieved during this journey, it only solidified my desire to make this a true coast-to-coast run. We would use the final 100 miles as a final push at fundraising, but that leg of the run would be for me. I didn’t want to look back 20 years from now and think to myself, “I can’t believe I ran more than 3,000 miles but didn’t go those extra few to the Atlantic Ocean.”
Matt joined me for the last three miles of the run that day. I told him of my plans for the big finish, and how our conversation that day just solidified my desire to do it.
“After running that many miles, you want to run 100 more in 24 hours?” he asked, dumbfounded. “You’re nuts, but I think it’s awesome and I know you can do it.”
The Branns treated us that evening to a dinner at Joe Huber’s Farm Family Restaurant, which was hosting a huge car show. I took the opportunity to check out the beautiful cars on display, realizing that over the past couple of months I had not taken time very often to get out of the “box” and do something fun and relaxing. Running, eating and sleeping; that’s all I knew. And I was about to do plenty of eating. Matt and I both had the Huber’s Country Platter Dinner, which was served family style. I honestly could not recall eating that much food in one sitting at any other time during the run.
Having a full belly and a refreshed outlook on my journey, I was excited to see what tomorrow would bring. Matt really helped me look at the big picture that day, and it was something I truly needed.
Empty Nest
When our family first discussed this trip, I don’t think our kids fully understood the magnitude of the journey. They were excited about getting out of school and traveling across America in a motorhome and camping out every night, but they probably underestimated the amount of time they’d be spending with their parents and away from their friends. Needless to say, their excitement subsided about 30 days into the trip.
The “box on wheels” was becoming boring, they sorely missed their friends and Tiffany wasn’t letting them slide by on their schoolwork. They were great helpers for Tiffany and me, and we were building incredible memories during the trip, but it was definitely a struggle for them. Nick and Shayna were both at the age that they were carving out their identity, emotionally and physically, so that just added to the stress that everyone felt.
I have to admit, it was a bit unfair to Tiff, who had to deal with not only making sure the run was a success, but also meeting the needs of the children. I was able to escape throughout the day as I was out running, and did my best to support her and the kids when my day ended, but there were many times that I was thankful to exit the RV and hit the road again. We did have some incredible times during the run together, and we built memories that will stay with us forever. I also understood, however, that it was wearing on all of us, and a change needed to be made soon.
My parents planned on picking the kids up when we came into Huntington, West Virginia, and taking them back home for a few days to relax before rejoining us for the final leg of the run. Using our map and daily calendar, the kids had been counting down the days until they arrived. Unbeknownst to the kids, my parents had been planning to arrive a week early, meeting us in Frankfort, Kentucky. Tiffany and I began to overemphasize the countdown with the kids for the few days leading up to June 11, so we were surprised the kids didn’t pick up on it.
A number of exciting things happened on our way into Frankfort that day, none of which was more surprising than finally running in the pouring rain. I had a couple of nights while running where we woke up to rain in the middle of the night, but it had been 60 days since I last ran in the rain. The rolling, green hills that I witnessed when entering the Midwest had now turned into patches of brown, dry land as a drought was sweeping its way across the region.
It was a very gray and dreary day all the way into Frankfort, but the rain felt better than a massage as it beat down on the back of my suntanned neck. I have always enjoyed running in the rain, and I really missed it while doing this run, especially on the extremely hot days through the Midwest. Despite the wet weather, several people in the area who had seen my story the previous night on their local newscast came out to meet me during my run, lifting me up by providing drinks and words of encouragement. I was so happy that the purpose of this run continued to spread and that so many were being reminded of our brave men and women we were doing this for.
When we arrived at the Elkhorn Campground in Frankfort, my parents had already set up a spot for us and were waiting. The rain was really coming down when we pulled in, and we saw their truck parked off to the side. After Tiff went in to get the parking pass, we pulled around to the camping spot for the night and asked the kids to sit down for a few minutes before they got settled for the night. I stepped outside, pretending to get the RV connected and waved my parents over.
“Surprise!” my mom yelled as she stepped inside.
“Mawmaw!” Shayna yelled as she jumped up to greet her, while Nicholas sat there, unable to move, with a shocked look on his face.
It was a great reunion for everyone. The kids were excited to see their grandparents, as were we, and they were especially excited because they knew they were headed home. We knew it was something the kids really needed, but it was a bittersweet moment for all of us. After we returned from dinner, my parents packed up all the kids’ things and Tiff and I smothered Nick and Shayna with enough hugs and kisses to last for a few days.
It was one of the saddest moments I had on the trip because we—especially Tiffany—had pretty much been with the kids 24/7 over the past three months. My children had been so encouraging and helpful during the trip, and we were going to miss them terribly, but we knew the break was necessary. We would be back together in a week, but it really pulled at our heartstrings to watch them drive away.
Months later, as I reflected back on how difficult it was for us to see our kids leave, I began to think about the sacrifices families of veterans make. We knew we were only going to be separated from our kids for a week before we were reunited. Families of service members don’t know when, or if, they’ll be reunited. Sons, daughters, fathers, mothers, husbands and wives are often called to serve overseas without knowing exactly how long they will be gone. When they return, with a moment’s notice they could be called back abroad again. It can be an emotional tornado for family members back home, as uncertainty and worry swirls around in their minds.
Sadly, there are too many times when families are never reunited. In those instances, I believe the people of our country do their best to offer comfort, love and support. Yet in instances when a loved one is stationed overseas, it seems like we often neglect to recognize the emotional toll that daily uncertainty takes on families back home.
The mission of my run was to demonstrate an appreciation for the daily sacrifices our veterans make. But it’s also important to acknowledge the sacrifices by family members back home.
Ditch Divin
g
The day after our children left, the cool rain was gone and the sun returned, continuing to bake both the land and me. Additionally, the road I was running on just north of Lexington, Kentucky, was not pedestrian friendly. Twice on this day I had someone drive by me yelling at me to get off the road, and counting this day it only happened a total of three times the entire trip.
There really was no shoulder for me to run on along Route 460, so I tried to run along the white line on the edge of the road. I actually ran on the white lines of roads often during hot days. The white lines were a little cooler on my feet than running on the dark blacktop. On Route 460, though, just on the other side of the line, where the pavement ended, there was about a one-foot drop down into a ditch, sandwiched on my left by a hand-stacked, waist-high stone wall. As vehicles would drive toward me, very few of them got over to give me room, even when there was no oncoming traffic. As a result, I had to do a lot of ditch diving the entire day. That prevented me from getting into a good rhythm. I was stressed over the kids being gone, mad at the inconsiderate motorists and the heat was blasting me.
One of the local Lexington Lunatics Hash House Harriers members, Heather Auman, came out to ride her bike some with me that day, and helped block traffic for me for a few miles. The Hash House Harriers (H3) is an informal, non-competitive and social group of runners with local chapters throughout the world. During a hash run, which typically occurs weekly, one runner goes out ahead and marks a path for the rest of the group to attempt to follow. At the designated meeting place at the end of the run, the group gathers at a local establishment to socialize. My first experience with H3 was on the narrow streets of Japan 17 years earlier.
When Heather joined me, I was 20 miles into the run that day, and she just laughed as I said I only had another 16 miles to go. As I ran along the narrow, two-lane road, she continued to ride in a way that kept vehicles away from us as they approached. She knew, however, that I was worried about her getting hit, so after a few miles she turned back after offering my wife and me her house for the night, as well as a home-cooked meal. She had heard about my run through some of the other hash kennels (each local hash group is called a kennel) along my journey across the US, and was excited to help out any way she could. And after not finding any places to park the RV for the night, we were happy to take her up on the offer.
Freedom Run Page 18
