History

On April 9, 1942 over 11,000 WWII American soldiers were surrendered to Japanese forces on Bataan located in the Philippine Islands. These men had bravely defended the islands of Luzon, Corregidor and harbor defense forts of the Philippines with outdated weapons and no air support. They had survived in a malaria infested region on quarter or half rations with no medical help. After their capture, they were forced to march for days through the scorching Philippine jungles and were given no food or water. Those that could not keep up were beaten with clubs, bayoneted, shot or run over by Japanese vehicles. Thousands of these men died. At the end of the march, these men were transported to Japanese prison camps and held for 3 years under the most horrific conditions. It is for these heroic men, those who survived and those who didn’t, whom we honor with this march.

Pre-Race and Packet Pick-up

Greg and I flew in to El Paso and then drove 45 minutes to Las Cruces where we stayed in the same hotel as we did last year. We “tortilla chip” loaded at a wonderful Mexican restaurant in the historic village of Mesilla where Billy the Kid went to trial. Billy the Kid strangely seems to have been in or from every town we have visited in the US – busy man. The next morning we went to the Farmer’s Market downtown where vendors, artists and bakers sell their goods. Who knew you could do so much with a pecan? Definitely worth the trip.

Packet pick-up is held at the race site at White Sands Missile Range, the largest military installation in the United States, which is located about 30 minutes outside of Las Cruces. Runners were emailed parking stickers which speeded up security check as you entered the base. True to military standards, packet pick-up is a very organized procedure. Each step at in-processing is a station where they move you quite quickly all the way to printing out your finisher certificate. You even get your medal at packet pick-up…talk about positive reinforcement. After all this you have the opportunity to meet a few of the Bataan survivors, view some of their memorabilia and get your bib autographed. It is an indescribable honor to meet these men.

Afterwards, Greg and I toured the Army Strong trailer and visited the White Sands Missile Range Museum where we saw the original Darth Vader mask, given to the Missile Range as a thank you for allowing the film crew to record missile audio on the base. We then watched a movie at the museum on Bataan that would move anyone to tears. Next we toured Missile Park which holds missiles, rockets and planes that have been tested at White Sands. We did this last year, but Greg wanted to do it again. Ask me anything about missiles now and I can tell you.

We had an early dinner since they wanted you there by 4:30 the next morning because of traffic and parking. If you ever go to Las Cruces, you have to eat at Zeffiro’s – the pizza there is truly biblical. We ate there twice in one day.

Race Morning

The starting area is all abuzz with men and women in uniform. Many have slept in tents on the base and are now lying on the ground with their heads on their rucksacks. It is almost an hour until the opening ceremonies so many are getting some breakfast that the race has provided.

The race offers both a marathon and a 15.2 mile honorary march. There is a civilian and a military division and within those a light and heavy division. The heavy division is required to carry a 35-lb rucksack which is weighed at the starting area. All military divisions must wear military uniforms and military service recognized boots. It is really difficult to complain about your feet hurting or being too hot when all around you are men and women running or marching in military boots and uniforms.

Opening Ceremonies

The opening ceremonies are an unforgettable experience in itself. It is held in the midst of the biggest United States flag I have ever seen and when the sun comes up with the Organ Mountains behind the flag, it is a breathtaking sight.

The ceremonies start with the presentation of the colors with orders for all military to stand at attention followed by the National Anthem which was beautifully sung by a local choir. Next was roll call for the Bataan survivors from the area that are present and then roll call for the survivors that were present at last year’s race but have since passed away. Silence is observed here and it is a silence that is deafening. This is followed by the playing of Taps and by this time, there is not a dry eye in the house. If this doesn’t move you, nothing will.

After this a General from the Pentagon gave a very dynamic speech and reminded us of why we were there. He announced that there were 5,000 marchers registered, the largest crowd ever and that all 50 states were represented as well as several different countries. He so accurately told us that this experience would change us. Following his remarks, he told us to look above him and immediately 2 F-22 Raptors came from behind the mountains, flew directly over us and then straight up. I can still get chills just thinking about how incredible that was. It may sound totally corny, but at that moment with the flag waving overhead, the planes flying over and surrounded by men and women in uniform, I have never been so proud to be an American.

Race Start

The race officially starts with a cannon which I forgot about and they neglected to mention so I started the race with wet shorts….thanks for that. Seated along the starting area are Bataan survivors that you can greet with volunteers beside them asking you to please shake their hands gently, as many are now frail. It was such an honor to be able to personally extend blessings to these men and in turn they were thanking us for being there. Needless to say, it took me 15 minutes from when the cannon went off to get to the start mat but I was far too touched by these men to care. I can’t think of another race where I started off crying, and believe me, I was not alone.

I kissed my husband goodbye and off I went. Greg was doing a half-iron the next weekend so he opted to save his legs. The missile range is a restricted area so there was only 1 place Greg could be on the course. He was positioned at the road intersection at mile 8 and mile 20 which worked out great.

The Race

The first 2 miles are on the road and I spent most of that time darting in and out of hikers since I had taken so long at the start. The next 6 miles are thick crushed granite jeep roads – very runnable, just some maneuvering on the thicker parts. This part of the course is very flat and not all that scenic. All along the course are military personnel on ATV’s driving back and forth checking to make sure everyone is OK.

My favorite part of any race is visiting with other runners along the way. Some were military and some were not and everyone seemed to have a different reason for being there other than the common thread of paying tribute to the men of Bataan. I ran a lot of the time with a soldier from Ft. Bliss who said that anything over 15 miles was going to be unchartered territory for him. He ended up doing great.

Turning the corner at mile 8 is a huge aid station with seemingly enough volunteers for every runner. The volunteers at this race were not only plentiful but skilled and eager to do anything for you. The desire to volunteer at this march is so great that they actually have a waiting list to work the aid stations (can you imagine this, Joe?). One aid station has had the same team for 10 years. It is truly a labor of love and it shows.

Greg was a welcome sight just past this aid station. I tossed him some clothes and a kiss and it was off to the endless hill. Miles 8 to 11 are all on road and except for spots here and there, it is all uphill. At least this year I knew what to expect and focused on looking forward to the downhills that would eventually come.

At mile 9 I ran into Jay Norman which is exactly where I found him last year so we laughed knowing our pace hadn’t changed in a year. He was walking the road section but the man power walks as fast as I run which is quite sad. We visited for awhile about races and surgeries and he so thoughtfully asked about my son who was stationed at Ft. Carson in Colorado Springs last year at this time. I told him that Taylor had been deployed to Iraq since September. Jay said he would be thinking of him and I knew he meant it.

I headed off to the top and at mile 11 it turns off to another sandy road, this one with sections that make running an adventure. Running in sand isn’t nearly as fun as it sounds. Put another way, it sucks. I had earlier told some men from Springfield, MO that once you round the corner at mile 11, it is just a short distance until the downhills start. My bad. Turns out it was really mile 13 so that gave me incentive to speed up so they couldn’t find me and beat me up.

Mile 13-19 was to me, the prettiest section with some beautiful views, lots of downhills and nice rolling terrain. The sun was out in full force and the wind was picking up but strangely never at your back.

Mile 19-20 was back on the road and back to the big aid station where Greg was parked…my marital mirage. He mixed me up a bottle of fluid and said he’d meet me at the finish. There was a huge misting truck near this aid station which felt wonderful. This section is where you see the most people, tons of soldiers going the other way and everyone encouraging each other no matter which direction they were going. There were no strangers here. To see soldiers with missing legs or arms do this tough course was inspiring beyond words.

Mile 20 turns off the road and this is where the fun begins. The next section is called the Sand Pit which is pretty self-explanatory. Imagine running in a sandbox. I was mentally prepared for this section, but my feet were not. I knew I would lose all kinds of time here because it just used up too much energy and patience to try and run in the friggin’ sand. Even power walking was an exercise in futility. At that moment, I imagined my son saying “Geez Mom, I’m over here in the f***ing desert for a year and you’re pissed about a mile of sand.” My pity party was over. The aid station at mile 22 was a beautiful sight and I was thankful I had worn my gaiters. There were runners seated all over the place dumping sand out of their shoes.

I had really wanted to break 5 hours on this course and told Greg at mile 20 that it was going to be close. So now I have 4 miles to go and I am trying to do the math with a tired brain. I am having a devil of a time trying to calculate the pace I need to do because all my brain wants to do is shut down. Finally I figure out that it is not impossible if I don’t take any walk breaks. I think to myself how pathetic it would be if I couldn’t run 4 measly miles considering what the soldiers had endured.

Mile 24 is my favorite aid station as it is manned by Child and Youth Services. Signs that the children have made are everywhere and the kids are all passing out drinks, fruit and trail mix that they have prepared themselves. You can tell they are genuinely happy to be there. At this point, I have had more oranges than Anita Bryant but I know it makes them feel good when you take what they so lovingly offer so I take what I can get down.

Soon I see the water tower up ahead and know there is only a mile to go. I feel like I am doing an all out sprint, but in reality I’m sure it is modified shuffle. I know the finish line is near but I still can’t see it or hear it which has me worried. I am now certain they have miscalculated the last mile because I thought I had all kinds of time to come in under 5 hours. I have had this thought many times before so perhaps it is me that is miscalculating. Soon I hear the crowds and round the last wall and there is Greg telling me I am going to make it. I cross in 4:58 and find Greg and instantly start bawling for reasons I don’t really understand. I haven’t done that since my first marathon back in ’89. Perhaps it was from pushing myself, the emotions from this morning or thinking about our son and wishing he were here like he was last year. I started the race crying and finished it crying and whatever the reasons were, I was just glad it was over and so thankful I was a part of it all. It is a race like no other.

Post Race

After chowing down some good grub, downing a beer that tasted finer than Dom Perignon and visiting with some folks, we headed out. Parked beside our car was a lady sitting with a beautiful dog. I asked her if she would mind if I petted him and Greg caught my arm and said not to. He had already visited with her and said that it was a service dog and that her husband had told her to try and not to let people pet him. She said she had told her husband this morning that this was going to be impossible so she then said “oh, go ahead, he’s not here right now.” We laughed and the dog was as happy to get some loving as I was to give it. Later Greg told me that her husband had lost his leg in Afghanistan and that is why he had the dog. It was the final reminder of why we were all there - to honor not only the brave men at Bataan but to remember all those that have served and are serving our country now.

Please pray for all those serving in our military.