Freedom Run

by Jamie Summerlin

  After driving across, I hopped back out, went to the edge of the bay waters on the east side and started heading toward Rehoboth Beach once again. Another online follower of the run who lived in the area, Dave Zeitlin, joined me for the first five miles on the east side of the bay as we ran past some beautiful (and expensive) boats and homes along the shore in Stevensville, Maryland. After drifting away from the water, the road began to open up and I had about 12 miles of open road ahead. I was flanked by corn fields on either side, and I noticed that the stalks were now taller than me. It was interesting to reflect back to when I first noticed tiny green buds sprouting out of the dirt early in my run across America. Now the corn stalks were more than six feet tall. It was an introspective moment as I compared the growth of the corn to my own growth during the past three months.

  Since there were no trees along this stretch, the heat was really beating down on me and it would only get worse. It actually ended up being the hottest day of the entire journey, with the temperature exceeding 100 degrees. I consumed salt tablets more often and sucked down as much Gatorade as possible, going through nine gallons during this run, more than triple the amount of fluids I drank on a typical day.

  I was glad that, aside from walking in the parade, I was off my feet most of the previous day. Since I had no recovery days built into my run for the previous 100 days, my body had adapted to having a short recovery time. So extending that recovery period by not running July 4 really gave me some fresh legs.

  When I ran from Coos Bay, Oregon, to Annapolis, Maryland, I was focused on getting from point A to point B but was never really concerned with how quickly I got there. But this was different. I had a burning desire to complete this 100-mile run in less than 24 hours since I missed that benchmark at Burning River. Throughout my journey, and even during my training runs in the two years leading up to this, I never really looked at a watch when I ran. But during this last leg, I found myself constantly checking the time on my phone and trying to calculate when I would finish.

  I did a couple of radio interviews during this portion of the run with radio stations that had been following me throughout the journey. Usually I would slow down and walk as I gave an interview over the phone, but I knew every minute was precious and I couldn’t afford to slow down, so I talked as I ran. I’m sure my answers were shorter than normal and listeners could hear heavy breathing.

  A Sticky Situation

  Around 2 p.m. I came to a freshly paved asphalt road. I was already hot and sweaty and was now literally in a sticky situation. My shoes were sticking to tar as I ran, reminding me of Burning River, when my shoes also stuck to the tar on the road. With each step I took, I could hear the Velcro-like sound of my shoes peeling away from the blacktop. The smell of the warm blacktop was almost overwhelming, and the heat radiating from the road just zapped my energy. I tried to run along the white line on the side of the road as much as possible, but even that little trick wasn’t doing much to cool my feet. At 3 p.m. I checked the weather and wasn’t shocked to see that it was 99 degrees.

  When I crossed into Delaware a half hour later, it was my 16th and final state on this journey. But running into a new state didn’t seem to have as much significance to me as it typically did because my motivation was 100 miles and 24 hours, not another state.

  My mileage from 3-6 p.m. wasn’t piling up very fast. I slowed down considerably, much of that intentionally to try to keep from overheating. I took more frequent (every three miles for a while) and longer (20 minutes a couple of times) aid stops. I knew this was cutting into my pace but I hoped the longer periods of rest would pay off the final 30 miles.

  At the 52-mile mark it was 5:30 p.m. I stopped and changed my shorts and shirt. I had lost so much salt through my sweat that there were patches of white salt stains on my dark blue running shorts. I also iced my left groin during this aid stop. A couple of weeks earlier I had developed the start of a sports hernia in the groin area of my left leg. During those couple of weeks it would be painful the first mile of each day’s run but would then subside. This 100-mile run, however, was causing it to flare up even more.

  I was eager for the sun to set, hoping that would provide some relief from the oppressive heat. But I wasn’t the only one suffering from the heat. Around 7 p.m., with temperatures still in the upper-90s, the RV’s generator stopped providing power to the air conditioner. Tiffany took the RV to a gas station to troubleshoot the problem and finally determined that it was a failure somewhere between the generator and the power distribution box. When we plugged the RV into external power, everything worked like it was supposed to. It was getting late and they had me to chase down, so we all resigned to just be hot and miserable. In order to gain some relief, my mom and stepdad, who joined Tiffany for this 100-mile journey, would occasionally cram into the cabin, turn on the AC full blast and pull shut the curtain that we installed to divide the cabin from the rest of the motorhome. This helped to trap some cool air in the cabin, but even that didn’t help much.

  The equipment failure not only made life miserable for the family, but it also meant I wasn’t able to get any relief from the heat during my aid stops. In a way, that was a good thing, I guess, because I figured if I was going to be hot in the RV I may as well just get back on the road.

  Lightning Strikes

  During one stretch when Tiffany was still trying to troubleshoot the problem, I told her to drive ahead and try to figure things out. It was dusk and I realized I wasn’t wearing my headlamp or any reflective gear, but I thought I would catch up to the RV before it got too dark. Once the sun started to go down, however, it dropped like an anchor. Suddenly I found myself out on the road with nothing to light my path and I was unable to see the ground in front of me. I pulled out my phone and used it to provide a faint glimmer of light so I could make sure I had proper footing on the road. Because it was dark, I missed a turn I was supposed to make, which really frustrated me. Fortunately, I was able to go a bit further down the road and turn, eventually hooking back up with the original route.

  About this same time, some wicked streaks of lightning were flashing in the sky. The previous few nights, lightning was pretty common following the derecho. At this moment, however, I was thankful for the lightning because each bolt that spider-webbed across the sky provided a split second of light.

  Running with lightning in the area didn’t concern me, but my mother was definitely expressing her concern for my safety. “Can’t you just stop and finish this 100 miles over the next day or two?” she asked. I understood her having those motherly instincts because she had never seen me run an ultramarathon and was not used to seeing me push myself to my limits physically and mentally. But obviously the answer to her question was an emphatic, “No.”

  I was actually hoping the skies would open up and it would start raining so that I could get some relief from the heat. At 8 p.m., it was still 94 degrees. It did sprinkle a few times here and there, but never enough to cool me off. In fact, it probably had the opposite effect since it just made the air even more humid and muggy.

  After I caught back up to the RV at a gas station, I put on my headlamp and some reflective gear and headed back out. Shortly after that, I came to Georgetown, Delaware, where I would turn off Route 404 and head south on Route 113. I saw a sign near this intersection that read: “Rehoboth Beach, 20 miles” with an arrow pointing straight ahead. I checked my map and saw that since I was heading south I still had more than 35 miles before I would get to Rehoboth Beach. I thought to myself, “Why don’t I just keep going straight so I can get there quicker and not have to run the extra miles.” But, of course, I stayed on course for the 100-mile run.

  Running through the night, the temperatures began to cool slightly, giving me just a bit of relief from the heat. At 1 a.m., it was down to 81 degrees. Not only was I getting weary, but my crew was also growing tired. I was thankful that my mom and stepdad, Alan, accompanied Tiffany on the trip. It allowed her to get a couple of short nap
s in during the overnight hours, although Alan stayed awake the entire time and offered me some encouraging words a few times during this time.

  During the next stretch my mind became fatigued and started playing tricks on me. I had run for nearly an hour without an aid stop and hadn’t seen the RV drive up past me yet. I checked my phone frequently as I waited for them to approach from behind. It had been an hour and 10 minutes and still no sign of them. Five more minutes passed and still no RV. I began to get worried, discouraged and angry. “Where are they? Are they OK? They’ve left me out here for more than an hour without checking on me. They don’t even care about my well-being anymore.”

  Finally, at about 2:30 a.m., the RV approached and I was able to get a brief rest. But during this stop, as I was calculating my pace and time remaining, I realized I was now in jeopardy of not finishing in less than 24 hours. I had run 87 miles, and since I began this run at 5:32 a.m. the previous morning, I had three hours to run the final 13 miles. At Burning River, I had run 85 miles at the 21-hour mark, so I was two miles ahead of that pace. But in the back of my mind I was thinking about how I crashed at the 89-mile mark at Burning River and, as a result, it took me nearly four hours to run the final 15 miles.

  Sprint to the Finish

  Because of the time crunch, I knew I had to stretch out the distance between my aid stops and shorten the time I spent refueling. Each of my next couple of aid stops were only three or four minutes long. I only took enough time to refill my fluid bottles and head back out on the road.

  I was entering the Fresh Pond area of Delaware Seashore State Park and would be running on a sandy walking trail. The RV obviously couldn’t be on this path, so Tiffany had to drive around and meet me on the north side of the park before I could rejoin them and get on Coastal Highway, which would take me north toward Rehoboth Beach and was flanked on the right side by the enticing roar of the Atlantic Ocean. When I entered the park I felt like I was running inside a dark box. It was pitch black outside, except for my headlamp, and the trail path was narrow and absorbed the light from my lamp. My senses were heightened and with every shadow I saw or noise I heard, I glanced all around, preparing myself for any animal (or human) that may run out from the trees toward me.

  I was glad to exit the park area and get back out on the road. But then I became frustrated because I was now right along the coast of the Atlantic, meaning I was literally a few steps away from completing a true coast-to-coast run. But because we scheduled the route for 100 miles, I still had about 10 miles of running to go.

  At this point I was joined by my cousin’s husband, Ben Pyle. They had a house in the area and he wanted to run the last several miles with me. I was happy to have company and encouragement during these last several miles. Ben has the build of a tight end in football as opposed to a long-distance runner, so he said he would push me as best he could but for me not to wait around for him. When we headed out I looked at the time on my phone: 3:40 a.m. “I’ve got 112 minutes to run 9.7 miles,” I told myself. I quickly did a rough calculation and, factoring in another aid stop, estimated I would have to run quicker than 11 minutes per mile to break the 24-hour benchmark.

  We pushed forward for the next four miles until we caught up with the RV for a quick aid stop. I looked at my phone again: 4:23 a.m. I knew time was dwindling, so I refueled and we were back on the road by 4:27 a.m. “I’ve got 65 minutes to run 5.7 miles,” I told myself in somewhat of a panic. My leg muscles were cramping, my energy was zapped but my determination remained strong.

  We labored another few miles, finally crossing over a bridge that brought Rehoboth Beach into view in the distance. I looked at the map on my phone and saw I had one mile to go. The time: 5:20 a.m. “I’ve got less than 12 minutes to run this last mile,” I shouted in my head. I feared that my body would shut down at any moment, but I knew I had to push hard. I looked over at Ben and said, “I’ve got to go!”

  “That’s fine,” he said. “Go for it!”

  In that last mile, not only did I draw from every ounce of strength in my body, but I also drew motivation from several different sources: my desire to prove to people that I was good enough, which was cultivated by my rocky relationship with my stepdad; my failure to meet the 24-hour benchmark one year earlier at Burning River; my family, friends and followers who expected me to finish in less than 24 hours; but most importantly, all of the incredible veterans I met prior to and during this journey whose stories of heroism were what this entire run was really all about.

  That inspiration carried me those final 5,280 feet. I ran past the boardwalk, where the RV was parked and my family was gathered to cheer me on, and onto the sandy shore of Rehoboth Beach. I continued down to the water, meeting the morning tide of the Atlantic Ocean, and looked at my phone: 5:29 a.m. Tears streamed down my face and I was overcome with emotion, realizing I had completed the 100-mile run in 23 hours, 57 minutes!

  I tugged my shoes and socks off and allowed my pale, white feet to be consumed by the frothy waters of the ocean, ending this journey the same way it began. In between soaking my feet in the Pacific and Atlantic, I had covered 16 states and the District of Columbia, 3,452 miles and approximately six million steps. But much more important than those numerical milestones were the generous people I met, the veterans who inspired me and the opportunities I had to say thank you to America’s heroes.

  Off in the distance, the orange glow of the sun was beginning to peek over the horizon of the Atlantic Ocean and into the pinks, purples and blues that formed the eastern sky. The sunrise signaled the beginning of a new day. While I had just completed an incredible journey, I knew the completion of the mission also signaled the beginning of a new chapter in my lifelong pursuit to honor and assist America’s veterans.

  Epilogue

  The last step of my run across America was really just the first step in my quest to honor our country’s veterans. Although I always held a tremendous respect for those who served in the military, what my journey did was allow me to sharpen and intensify that appreciation. After the run, everything that I did and planned to do in my life, I wanted it to raise awareness of the sacrifices veterans have made.

  Before I even departed on the run, I expressed concern about how I would adjust once the run was completed. I also often contemplated throughout the trek about how satisfied I would be in returning to my IT job after having experienced something so life-altering. I really didn’t feel like I was capable of being satisfied by slipping on a shirt and tie and returning to the traditional workforce. Don’t get me wrong; I was grateful that my employer allowed me to take the time off from work yet still return to my previous post, especially after Tiffany lost her job during our trip. But I knew that I would be cheating my employer if I wasn’t fully immersed in the job.

  A couple of months after my return, I made the decision to commit myself personally and professionally to serving veterans. As a result, I left my IT job to pursue work that would enable me to become more fulfilled. I am now the President of the Board of Directors of Operation Welcome Home, a non-profit organization “for veterans by veterans” in north-central West Virginia that strives to alleviate common barriers to services and employment that veterans face.

  Operation Welcome Home is a parent organization to CamoToCap, a program that was formed largely due to a need I saw during my run across America. The majority of people in our country have a desire to assist veterans, but many of them simply don’t know where to start. One question that was commonly posed to me while on the run was, “How can we help the veterans in our local community?” CamoToCap was started to be one of the answers to that question. It was created to allow local communities to ease the transition of veterans returning to civilian life who desire to pick up or even begin their pursuit of a college education. On a state level, Wal-Mart has partnered with local communities to place collection bins in their stores where supplies can be donated to veterans for the CamoToCap program, which has been adopted by a few colleges
in West Virginia and is something we hope to launch nationwide soon.

  In addition to pursuing new career paths and launching new initiatives, I have continued to raise funds to benefit veterans through the non-profit that was set up before my journey across the US. Two weeks after completing the run, I received a phone call from a man who committed long ago to donate a dollar per mile for the run. He told me he was inspired by my story and achievement and he was rounding his donation to an even $3,500.

  Later in the summer of 2012, I was given the opportunity by Cliff Sutherland, owner of Triple S Harley Davidson, which gave me some financial support during the run, to get on stage at the MountainFest Bike Rally before a concert by country singer Trace Adkins to briefly share my story. The money raised from that event surpassed $5,000. Opportunities such as that continued to present themselves and allow me to broadcast the story of the run and my continuing mission to honor and assist veterans. I have been invited to speak at veterans’ gatherings, business meetings, academic events, Labor Day festivities and running races. I was also fortunate to be able to partner with Subway restaurants in the state of West Virginia in November 2012 as the chain used the month to honor veterans and raise funds for the Wounded Warrior Project.

  Later in the year, I was extremely humbled to be chosen the grand marshal of the Morgantown Jaycees 2012 Christmas Parade. Thirty years earlier, I was riding my bike with my friends down the streets of Burnsville as if I was the grand marshal of a parade. Seven months earlier, I was participating in an impromptu parade through Imperial, Nebraska, on Mother’s Day. Five months earlier, I was a participant in the July 4 parade in Annapolis, Maryland. Now here I was serving as the grand marshal of the biggest parade in the area, with its theme being “honoring our heroes.” It was truly a neat experience and capped a whirlwind five months since the end of my run.