I first heard about it last September. A small corner of the finance social media world was talking about this event that they referred to as #MFTF. I knew a couple of people who were in that group, so when I met them in Montreal this summer at a conference, I asked them about it. Between the comments “It hurts for a few days after” and “My pinky toe still isn’t right months later” I was on the cusp of intrigued and wary. Should I #MFTF?
I was on the phone with Ryan this summer. “Hey, you should really come down to Pennsylvania and do March for the Fallen! It will be a great event.” Did I mention that Ryan’s company is one of the driving forces behind #MFTF AKA March for the Fallen? I gave him the easy back-out answer of maybe needing to travel to see clients in September and I couldn’t afford two trips away. This was about 75% true. I needed to buy myself time to ponder whether I would/could do it. That 75% evaporated soon after, mostly because I didn’t need to travel just yet, but also because I was now ready to join.
It was one thing to say I was doing it and quite another to get ready. The March for the Fallen isn’t some garden variety quick hike. It was 28 miles (!) up, down and around the gravel trails and roads of a US Army Reserve base in Central Pennsylvania. Yes I said MILES. Luckily my friends at Alpha Architect had a handy 8 week training regimen on their website to help people like me.
The training program was working fantastically. The weekly 20 km walks were going great, and then about 2 weeks before the march, I was hiking the Bruce Trail when it started to rain. I was about as far from shelter as I could have been so I had to trudge on. When I finally got back to my car about 4 hours later, my left heel was badly blistered. I will save you the gory details, but just know that I was now concerned about even making 2 miles. I shut down training for the last two weeks to let things heal as best as possible.
By now you are wondering what this March for the Fallen is all about. It is a commemorative ruck march in honour of military members that were killed in action in Iraq and Afghanistan. You can do the full 28 mile hike either carrying a 35 pound pack (true ruck march) or no weight at all. There are shorter distances as well but it really is set up for you to go as far as you want. As a rookie, I was smart enough to go without weight. My goal was to finish the full 28 miles in under 9 hours. I hoped my not-yet-fully-repaired heel would survive. Our team of 125 was only part of the over 700 participants, many of whom were military themselves or members of gold star families there to support. Our team got dogtags with the name of a soldier being remembered by someone in our finance community. I got Ralph Mena from Hutchinson, Kansas.
The march starts out winding around the base but soon heads into the hills. Each mile is marked by a solemn sign with the picture and name of a fallen soldier. I remember looking at one of them around mile 18 and commenting on how young he looked. The first 7 miles are a great warmup with small rolling hills. Mile 7 is also when you start the long, winding climb in a relentless rise of over 500 feet in elevation gain. It’s not climbing a mountain, but it’s no walk in the park either. Michael Lecours made this fantastic profile of the first half of the course to give you an idea of this.
By the halfway point, I was feeling great and kind of enjoying things. Sure, my feet were a bit sore but the rest of me was moving along great. I had climbed the highest point and done it in good time. This is when they inflict some pain on you. Shortly after the halfway point, you have to go down. I mean all the way down. The steep hill forces you to either go slow, or trot down taking small steps to limit the stress on your knees and ankles. I did the trot. 16 miles into the course and I was starting to feel it. My legs were feeling good but my feet were getting sorer. I could feel each and every tiny pebble as I walked over them now. Then came the real test of the course.
Mile 19 starts at the bottom of a small little valley. It ends at the top of the toughest hill on the course. Not physically tough, but mentally tough. As you stand at the bottom it just seems to endlessly go up. My legs were aching. The sun had come out and it was a lot warmer now. Those little pebbles from a few miles back were now replaced by peanut-sized stones that felt like tiny knives poking through my shoe. I think I muttered at this point that I was leaning towards regretting my decision to #MFTF. A little dark humour goes a long way.
It was at this point that the beauty of doing something challenging like this really shined. I absolutely, unequivocally wanted to finish the full 28 miles. During the climb I had managed to catch up to a group that included Wes and Katie Gray as well as map-making specialist Michael Lecours. We pushed, pulled and encouraged each other to get through the final few miles. Those last 3 miles walking back into the base on the hot asphalt felt like 100 miles. I walked in a step or two behind Katie and Michael. Exhausted and sore but also feeling an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. I had done a physically tough exercise that became more of a mental challenge the further I went. I even met my time goal. My time? It’s the title of the post.
Was it worth it? Absolutely. I needed that challenge for myself. For my own pride and sense of accomplishment. To know that I could still stand at the bottom of an endless hill, drained from making it to that point and yet still keep going. Keep climbing. Keep battling. There is a lot of value to facing that and overcoming it for my life and career.
I also needed the reminder that people hurt so much more than I did after walking 28 miles. I needed the reminder that people have given their lives for causes they believe in. That’s not a commentary on war. It’s just the truth.
More importantly, the march also showed me a side of America that is completely skipped over in the current polarized climate of politics of anger. When you live here in relatively idyllic Canada, we can get a bit jaded about our friends in the United States. I met people from all over that came to the middle of Pennsylvania for a bunch of different reasons, of all different ages and with many different political beliefs. Everyone was warm, supportive and caring. Therein lies the truth of the real United States. It isn’t about the politicians or the famous athletes, musicians or movie stars. It is about the people in your small group that work to improve their small part of the world. That was a pretty important lesson to be reminded of and it only took me 28 miles of walking to remember.
I wanted to remember Ralph Mena, too, the soldier on the dog tag I was given. I looked him up post-march to try and find out about his family and his life. He was 27 years old when he died. The official army description was of “non-combat injuries”. I sat there in my army bunk when it dawned on me what that actually meant. Non-combat injuries can mean all kinds of things like vehicle accidents or heart attacks but the vast majority of the times it means a suicide. It is one the biggest causes of death of not only military personnel but also police, firefighters and paramedics. Ralph was, sadly, added to that statistic on May 4, 2010.