I was sitting in my office; I had just completed my second marathon, the SV Marathon. My new running friend Jim Hildebrand had come by my office to congratulate me; he had just run the Marine Corp Marathon in Washington, D.C. Jim happened to mention that he had signed up for the Flagrun, a run across America carrying the American flag in honor of those who died during the terrorist attack on the Twin Towers in New York and the Pentagon. Jim works for United Airlines and wanted to show support for his fellow employees.

With some hesitation I did what I usually do, let my inquisitive nature take over. Onto their website I went and before I knew it, I had signed up to run several legs, to carry the flag in honor of those who died that dreadful day. Jim and I agreed to run the legs together; little did we know how wonderful, yet difficult and rewarding, the weekend would be.

Before I left for the desert, one of my patients asked me why I would go to the desert and run when I could be here at home, play golf or relax with my family. At that time, I really was not sure of my answer. So our journey began at 5:00 Friday morning, Jim and I heading for the desert of California, not knowing exactly who or what we would find there.

Our destination was call box 62-1023. Some 10 hours and 630 miles later, the call box is found in one of the most remote places I have ever seen. Some 80 miles into the desert, seeing a car pass every 15 minutes, the beauty of the mountains rising high above the desert floor miles away. As I stood and gazed across the desert floor, I thought of our military men and women in Afghanistan fighting for our freedom. The mountains, rocks, and desert floor all looked like the pictures I have been seeing on television of Afghanistan. Baron land that could hide anyone at anytime, hot by the day, cold by the nights. The greatest difference is that we live in a land that is free, unlike Afghanistan.

As Jim and I prepared for our run, scheduled some two hours from now, we made a decision to drive to the transfer point some six miles ahead of us. Maybe there we would find life. We approached a destroyed old gas station, before that it had been Rice Army airfield, abandoned in 1944. It had been used during World War Two. In the parking lot were two cars, so we stopped.

There we met the Charles, an airline pilot who flew for American Airlines. In the second car was Jim from Martinez, lying across the front seat getting as much rest as possible. He had driven down to the California/Az border to run some of the first legs into California. He was going to stay the night to help run the flag through the desert, not having assigned legs, just wanting to be there in case someone was injured or did not show up.

Within minutes we had other runners showing up at this abandoned Army base, runners who had either run legs or were scheduled to run and carry the American flag. We met airline pilots, mechanics, flight attendants, police officers, men and women from all walks of life, all there in the desert to carry the American flag. Jim and I were scheduled to run leg 7, a run of 18 miles and the longest run in California. We were told we would have two other runners accompanying us during the run, Dean and Joe. Little did we know what we had in store for us the next two hours plus. Dean, as we discovered during the run, was an ultra marathoner, highly trained at running great distances (his training schedules were runs of 45 miles, a day). His specialty was that of running hills. Joe, a pilot for American Airlines, was experienced in triathathalons. Both were very experienced and strong runners, and much younger.

We started our run, carrying the flag through the desert, at around 6:00 Friday night. The desert was warm; the stars were covering the sky, a light cool breeze blowing across the desert floor. About 13 miles into the run, Dean mentioned that the Flagrun staff said we were running about one hour behind, they wanted us to make up some time. Dean said he felt we were running a pace of sub 8 minute miles, the only problem was, of the 18 miles we were running, 15 was up hill. Not gradually, for 15 miles we were running up hill. From a sea level of 300 feet to a level of over 1500 feet.

The run was very hard, not because of the hill, but because of the pace. But through it all, it was worth every minute of the time we spent with Dean and Joe. Joe was the best friend of one of the American Airline Pilots killed in the crash of September 11. Most of the run was spent with Joe telling us how wonderful his friend was, a friend who had left behind a young wife and a one-month-old child. Joe said the flight to California on that dreadful was not completed; part of the run was to finish the flight to their destination.

Suddenly my reason for being there was starting to come together. This run was coming to an end as we crested the hill and could hear cheering from the next runners, Jim and I were exhausted and Dean, well he was going to run 8 to 10 miles more before he stopped, he wanted to get in at least 50 miles for the day.

SATURDAY

The next morning, after staying in a motel in 29 Palms where a Marine Corps base is located, we headed out for breakfast. We were some 70 miles from where our run had ended. As we approached the restaurant, there in front of us were the runners carrying the American flag. All night through the desert, new runners going strong, advancing the flag to its final destination, LAX.

Our next scheduled run was leg 38; about eight hours from now, plenty of time to eat a hearty breakfast and get some needed rest. While in the restaurant, we met a pilot for American Airlines, ready to retire in just a few months. He and his wife had come up from Carlsbad, California to carry the flag in memory of his fallen comrades. He proudly wore the flagrun tee shirt as well as a very large smile across his face. He limped as he walked across the room to shake our hand, a clear sign he had just completed his Flagrun leg and it had taken its toll on his knees. As a Doctor of Chiropractic I am very used to seeing this type of gait from someone who has arthritic knees. But he never complained once about the pain, he only spoke of his run.

After breakfast, Jim and I headed out to find the flag and runners. Not too far down the road we passed the flag, then headed to the next exchange station. There we found our new friends from Redding, Greg and Denise, awaiting the flag. They had run the night before but were going to help advance the flag throughout the day. We stopped and before long found ourselves running another leg with our friends and new runners, across and over a mountain. Fortunately, this run was downhill, I don't know if I could face another hill this morning.

As we were running down the mountain, we were passed by a school bus full of high school kids. We saw them cheering and waving; cars and trucks passing us on both sides of the highway blowing their horns, people yell "God Bless America." My reason for being there was becoming clearer and clearer. As we approached the next exchange point, there at the exchange point was the school bus, the kids in formation, starting to play the Star Spangled Banner. They were a local high school band, enroute to a band competition, which, after having seen the flag, stopped to play the Star Spangled Banner.

Crowds of people were gathering to welcome the flag, my purpose now was very clear. Throughout the morning the flag moved westward toward LA, Jim and I following from transfer point to transfer point. I decided to do a short leg, 1.7 miles followed by a longer 6 mile run. I left Jim to run the leg prior to the 1.7 and headed to the transfer point. Once there, I met a family, the mom preparing to run. She said she was a flight attendant for American Airlines; she just wanted to be part of this Flagrun and support her fallen comrades. She was not an experienced runner at all but was determined to carry the flag through her leg. The pride and the determination that these runners were exhibiting were incredible. After the run, we said our good byes and I continued on, never thinking that our paths would cross again.

Throughout the next six miles, veterans stood on the roadside saluting the flag, car horns blowing, people lined the streets cheering, fireman stood in formation in front of the firehouse as we passed, then got onto the fire trucks and fell in behind the flag. This was the most incredible display of patriotism and support for USA and the airlines that I have ever seen. I was hoping this day would never end.

I was scheduled to meet my family later in the afternoon; I wanted my kids to be part of this great experience. My last leg of the day was scheduled for 5:53 that evening, a short run of 2.9 miles. My thought "could my 11 year old son and 9 year old daughter possible run that leg with me"? I met my family some two hours before my next scheduled run, then we backtracked in search of the flag. Shortly, we saw a crowd gathered in front of a fire station, many wearing the Flagrun tee shirts. I knew the flag was not far away. We rounded the corner, about ½ mile down the road was the lights of the Highway Patrol car and right behind was the American flag.

I quickly got my kids out of the car, including my 4-year-old daughter, and the four of us waited for the flag. We would run the last ¼ mile as a family. As the flag approached we stepped in line with the group of runners, a Marine was carrying the flag. As soon as he saw my son he handed him the flag and Andrew proudly carried the flag to the exchange point. Once there, he handed the flag over to the next runner and off it went. I had carried Angela, my 4 year old for that ¼ mile so that all three of my children could participate in this great event. We headed on to my last scheduled run of the day, a run of 2.9 miles.

When we arrived at leg 38 it was dark. My two oldest children, Andrew and Angela insisted on running the leg. After they assured me that they could, they were given reflective vest, shortly the flag approached. It was truly a thrill for me to run this leg with my children and it was a thrill and honor for them to complete leg 38. They were two proud and happy kids with two proud and happy parents. It had been one great and truly emotional day for the Hamilton family.

SUNDAY

I left Jim on Saturday night to fend for himself and went to my wife's cousin's house for the night. My plans were to get up at 4:30 AM and meet Jim at leg 50, then go back home and meet the flag at 2:00 at Dockweiler Beach. But those plans changed quickly in the morning. The alarm clock was not working correctly and I woke up one hour late (I'm glad because I was plenty tired). I spent some time with the family, then headed out to find the flag. I located the flag some 12 miles from the end, which is where I joined in again. This time however, the crowd of runners had grown larger. We had been running with a group of 4 in the desert, groups of 10 on Saturday, now there must have been 50 runners and growing as the flag progressed toward the final destination.

As we ran I noticed runners with badges that said family on them. I ran some six miles with a 16-year-old daughter and wife of one of the pilots killed on September 11. I ran with the brother of a flight attendant whose life was also taken during this tragic event. There were other family members running to complete the trip to California in support of their loved ones. It was at that moment that I thanked God for my blessings.

This run had become very emotional for me. Our run led us to LAX where we circled the terminal, all 100+ runners. As we circled the terminal passengers and airline employees stopped what they were doing and stood and clapped. I saw Pilots saluting the flags, I saw flight attendants standing clapping and crying. It was a very emotional event and one I was proud to have been involved. As I passed the American Terminal I looked to my right and there stood the flight attendant I had run with on Saturday. When I saw her, I stopped to say hi, I had been running for over three hours, was completely soaked with sweat. She looked up, dressed in a clean pressed uniform, without hesitation gave me a hug and said, "Thank you".

We continued on toward Dockweiler Beach, now only about a mile away. As we looked down the street we could see flags of all colors. They represented the different states that the flag had been carried through. Holding these flags were the Pilots and flight attendants from both United and American Airlines. They joined in and we walked the last ½ mile. A little further down the road were the family members that did not run of those who died.

The flag had now been carried for 3900 miles; it was now placed on stage under the pictures of those American and United employees who had died in the senseless terrorist act of September 11, 2001.

I am proud that my family and I were allowed to be a part of this wonderful, yet heart breaking event. We met many wonderful, loving, caring patriotic men and women from all over the United States who were there for one reason, to demonstrate their support and love for the United States and families of those that died. I ended up running what I estimate to be 45 miles in the last three days; my friend Jim around 55 miles, if we could have held out we would have run the entire state. The men and women were wonderful, the love and unity so strong, it literally changed our lives.

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