perspective

mileage today: 18

on the iPod: "fix you" -- coldplay

This whole 'training-for-a-marathon' has been great. I've worked hard. I've had fun. I've worn myself out. I've listened to so much great music. I've lost a few pounds. And once I damn near had an accident in my pants.

And I'm proud. I was that unathletic, lazy kid growing up. Spent a lot of time doing a lot of nothing, but never did my time involve organized sports or athleticism on any level. I was reminded daily that playing sports was the cool thing to do. But that was just the tip of the iceberg for me in terms of not doing (or being) what was cool. So now, as I train for one of the ultimate athletic events, i'm proud.

But at the end of the day, it's nothing really special. It's not profound. It's just running. That's it. In fact, if a person looks at it in terms of the big picture, it's merely one morning out of three hundred and something. Right?

I was reminded of this in a very real and visceral way this morning, as a local organization has posted American flags and the biographies of fallen soldiers from Arkansas throughout the trail system. I noticed one very early on, it must have been within the first half mile along the Lake Fayetteville spillway. In the blackness of 5:20 a.m., the flag was faintly visible from a distant parking lot light. I thought nothing of it. But as the morning emerged and the miles increased, I noticed more flags. There were lots of them.

These American flags had laminated placards attached and I made the assumption that they had some sort of pro-military message on them, but didn't take the time to stop and look. I just ran. As usual. After a water stop around mile six, I finally slowed down to read one of them out of curiosity. As I looked and read, I stopped dead in my tracks and didn't move. I couldn't.

Next to very basic information like name, age, hometown, and where they were stationed, was a picture of the soldier. Also listed was the date on which he died. The entire presentation was very basic and simple. Nothing at all was flashy or pronounced.

But it didn't need to be flashy or high-end, because of the picture of the soldier. It spoke volumes. Wearing dress uniform, or camouflage, or an officer's jacket, it didn't matter; the stoic, proud face of each soldier conveyed a sense of pride, honor, and purpose beyond anything i'll ever understand in my running shoes and wicking technical shirt.

So I began to stop for a few seconds at each placard and read. I must admit, somewhat embarrassingly, that the names and hometowns of these fallen American soldiers didn't stick with me, but their faces did. I couldn't forget them as I tracked the miles. I thought about what their childhood might have been like and how they came to find themselves serving their country. I thought about their last moments on this earth. I thought about their troops with which they served. I thought about their grieving families. I thought about the sacrifices made so that I could live in freedom.

Soldiers die every day on foreign soil so that I live free. I can choose to be a teacher, spend my time running, live in the city of my choosing. I can do myriad other mundane, bland activities without worry or fear. In the last few miles I realized these flags were everywhere.

It put things into perspective for me. It reminded me that my goals and objectives are minuscule when compared to young Americans who are in the middle of conflict, giving up their lives for social change and liberty. They are true heroes. I hope I won't soon forget them. Maybe i'll even think about them in Chicago. I, like every American, owe them so much. Thanks.