Last week, as the day of the 26th Annual Bataan Memorial Death March approached, all the work I put in to preparation seemed to pale in comparison with the immensity of the task I had set for myself. I read reports from previous Bataan Memorials by such luminaries as a Command Sergeant Major of the US Marine Corps (not known for wimpiness) telling about how it was one of the hardest things he had done. I began to doubt that I had prepared sufficiently. But still, I couldn’t bring myself to back out. Saturday, I set myself the task of pre-hydration and carb-loading. I alternated bottles of electrolyte-enforced water with plain water. I carefully laid out my clothes, and all the supplies I wanted to take with me. I double checked. I even triple checked! Everything was there (but something was missing, what could it be?) I read the info on the site again and this time I saw the blurb about one of the biggest inhibitors to a good march being lack of proper sleep. I decided to go to be about 7. I suppose lying in bed for hours and hours counts for something!
Three a.m. came pretty quickly Sunday morning! I got up and got the coffee going, dressed, read my favorite 4 Sunday comics, and ate a breakfast (bagels, raisin bran). We were warned to be through the gates by 5:30 am. At 4 am, we left the house for the 45 minute drive to WSMR (White Sands Missile Range). We were at the starting grounds at 5 am, as it turns out they really didn’t check us too closely at the gates. Scott remained with me for close to an hour and a half in the chill morning air. But as we approached the 6:30 am kick off, and we were all shepherded into our respective corrals, Scott had to go. Since he had to work, he left!
The opening ceremonies were amazing. The roll call of those survivors of the REAL Bataan Death March was read… ten were present this year. Then the roll of those who had passed in the past year, thirteen in all, was read. An historian told a brief account of the events leading up to the Death March, and those following. Soon enough, the time came to start.
We were lead out to the starting area by a band of bagpipes and two vans carrying the honored veterans. As we approached the starting gate, we had the opportunity to shake hands with the vets, five on each side of the road. It was a tremendously moving experience to look into the eyes of these veterans, eyes that saw and experienced so much horror. Having shaken hands with the five on my side of the road, I approached the starting line. I stepped across the sensor pads at about 7:30 am. (I will have to wait for the results to be published before I can be more specific.
As I walked I strove to keep my pace at a rate that would move me, but not burn me out. About three quarters of a mile into the course, I struck up a conversation with a young man. Darrin, a 28 yo software salesman from Denver, told me of his grandfather, a survivor of the Bataan Death March who had done the walk in spite of having been shot before capture. Darrin told me of the gruesome stories his grandfather had told before his death in about 2000. We struck an easy pace together and for the next four hours, we managed to keep up a 3 mph stride.
These first hours of the trek were cool and clear. I made sure to eat an orange slice and a piece of banana, as well as drink a glass of water and a glass of Gatorade at each of the aid points. At about mile 10, I stopped and changed my socks.
The first 6 miles or so of the walk are on reasonably level ground. During this part of the march, there is no noticeable gain in elevation. However, by mile 7 or 8, (I thought I’d remember, guess I don’t) the trail starts to climb. The path is uphill for the next 10 miles, gaining 1500 feet. It has been christened “Hell Hill”, probably for that reason… along this route, we began to see those who had fallen out, waiting for pick up in some cases.
Somewhere along this hill, at about mile 12, my lower back started to ache, a sharp, stabbing pain. I would stop, bend at the waist, grab my ankles, and then slowly twist my back from side to side. Invariably, someone would stop, usually a military officer or NCO, put their arm on my shoulder and ask “Are you okay, bud?” I assured each that I was fine, just having back pain. I kept going. Slowly over the next 3 miles, I fell further and further behind Darrin.
At mile 14, I think it was, I stopped and bought a hamburger and hotdog. They had run out of change, so I grabbed the nearest three soldiers and bought their lunch as well, over their objections. The guy at the till said he still owed me money, I told him to keep it.
At mile 15, I stopped for another back stretch. I was there when I heard a radio conversation with one of the medical tents. “He’s unresponsive, shallow breathing. We’re putting in an IV… Um, I think you better get us a medivac.” I got moving again, not wanting to hear the rest.
At mile 16, I said goodbye to Darrin who had fallen back to walk with me. The next two miles were murder. My back was spasming. I would stop and stretch every half mile or so. Finally had to sit down and then lay back. The hot sand on my back seemed therapeutic.
From the aid station at mile 15 to regaining the hardtop and starting back downhill at mile 18/19 was psychologically the hardest for me. Each bend I thought would be the last, each downhill turn was the end of the climb, or so I thought until passing around the bend and starting back up another hill.
Hitting the aid station at the hardtop, I scarfed down 2 banana halves, and 2 orange quarters, then downed two glasses of gatorade and one of ice cold water, squared my shoulders, and set off downhill. I made the next 3 miles in just over an hour, and only one back stretch stop.
Somewhere around mile 21, I hit the sand pit. It wasn’t as bad as the reports claimed… but it was. By the time I’d gone a quarter of a mile, I was barely trudging. My back was on fire, and I seriously began thinking about waiting for one of the mules to come by so I could quit.
“I will not quit, I will not quit, I will not quit, I will not quit” became every breath. In the back of my mind though I was thinking “But I won’t argue if they make me stop! Please. Make me stop!” They didn’t, and I kept on.
From the sand pit, most of the walk is a blur. I discovered that if I walked with an exagerated stiff back, the back didn’t hurt as much. But I was noticing the blisters. At around Mile 23 was another aid station. I filled up on fruit and fluid, topped off my own water bottle. Took a dose of Advil that I should have taken, and stopped to use the portajohn. Coming out of that, I noticed the outside of my left heel felt like a super coarse strip of sandpaper was scraping me. I had to sit, and change the sock (should have much sooner).
Soon after mile 24, the course turned, and ran along the back wall of the housing area at White Sands Missile Range. By now I was limping, stopping to stretch, but absolutely determined to finish. With each turn I thought the end was there, only to see another 20 miles of wall. Maybe this was the worst part, psychologically speaking.
And then… it was over! My sister-in-law, Terry, was there cheering me on, and the tunnel finish was just ahead!
I MADE IT!
I! _________! Made! It!
I have to hand it to the organizers. The volunteers who met us every two miles with food and drink and a “Keep up the great job!” “Thank you for walking!” “You can do it!” “You’re almost there!” (This last was at the FIRST Aid station… elicited a LOT of boisterous laughter!) The volunteers were great! I wonder if I could have done it without them? It’s incredible how their upbeat attitude would bolster me just when I needed it.
The great young men and women of our Armed Forces who walked this march, some carrying packs that looked bigger than they were, are an awesome group of people… of course they are. They’re United States Soldiers, Sailors, Airmen, Marines! I was so proud of them all. Some would be laboring along, sweat pouring down their faces, looks of agony on their faces, and they’d see me or someone else, and stop to offer aid and a friendly word. AT one point, a sergeant major stopped and sat beside me. “You doin’ okay, sir?” I smiled and nodded “I’m fine, sergeant major. My back is a bit sore, is all.” A little while later the sergeant major stopped to help a colonel who had stopped.
Seeing me walk by, he smiled and said “Keep it up gramps!” My jaw dropped, and I started to laugh. He continued “Out here sir, we’re all the same!”
There was military from around the world: Great Britain, France, Germany, Estonia… probably more that I didn’t see. During one of my back stretches, I felt someone’s hand on my back. As I looked up a young man said “You kin do it, yah? I bet you can, mein herr!” A very young looking German soldier grinned at me, helped me to straighten up, slapped me on the shoulders and took off. And later, I passed a tent staffed by German soldiers (Holloman Air Force Base is just a few miles away, and is home to a large contingent of German Air Force), one of them approached, handed me a chilled Power Bar and a bottle of water. I never turned down water! Big old grin “You can do it, sir!” he said, then moved on to the next marcher behind me.
Today, I’m doing pretty good! I expected muscle aches and fatigue, but I have none of that. I do have serious blisters on my feet, and I can barely walk. N,ext year, I promise not to wear brand new socks, and to take the Body Glide with me, and to change my socks more frequently. I pledge to work on the back muscles too. Because…
Yes, there will be a next year!
On The Road II 