Paris

Croatia & Slovenia

Dodentocht 100k, 14 Aug 2007

Sometimes a marathon just isn’t long enough. I can’t remember what gave us the idea of doing the 100 kilometer (62 mile) Deathmarch, or Dodentocht in Bornem, Belgium. It might have been a comment from a marching legend, or a chance sighting of the patch worn proudly on a backpack. At any rate, I told myself that I wouldn’t leave Europe without completing the 100-kilometer march, or meet Death in the attempt. When I questioned the large group of marathoners at C Co, several people actually sounded interested, while most gave me a look that reminded me how much a marathon hurt to complete, and that two and a half of them in succession would be absurd.

Two other C Company Soldiers took me up on the challenge, and we completed training runs of marathon distance and even longer in the weeks leading up to the event. On the day of the march, Wilson, Hensley, and I drove up to Bornem, Belgium, and found our way to the registration tent. For such a long distance, the time limit to complete the event was 24 hours, and the march itself started at 9 o’clock at night. I stuffed my pockets with flashlight, map, gummy bears, and water bottle, and with our start cards on a chain around our necks; we joined the throngs headed to the start.

At the gun, we were jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with people, and it took miles of walking before we could get much clear space around us. Wilson couldn’t hold himself back, and took off running. Hensley and I played it a little safer and walked until the crowds settled a little more. It was dark almost immediately, and only the streetlights and stray flashlights lit our way under cloudy skies. The weather was perfect for running, and a T-shirt and windbreaker kept us warm enough when walking.

Along the flat trails and small towns, Belgians were out in force to cheer us on or just watch the hordes of crazy people in a crazy quest to walk all night and all day. The bars spread their music out into street parties, and we ran to the beat of the loudspeakers past the crowds dancing on the sidewalks. Families sat on their front lawns to watch the spectacle, among small tables littered with wine glasses and lit with candles. Every six miles or so, a checkpoint provided a relief from marching in the form of drinks and food. We munched on various snacks including apples, whole carrots, peaches, fruit pies, candy bars, juice, and water. We declined to eat the pureed split pea soup after a smell and a very small sip!

By 4 a.m. the crowds were gone, and only the fluorescent trail markers showed us the way. Hensley was feeling the pain of almost 30 miles, and I left him napping at a checkpoint after we changed our socks and put up our feet for a while. Rejuvenated, I set out to run as much of the second half as my body would allow. The skies cleared, and the sun came up, and when they told me I was 426th place at a checkpoint, I found even more energy, and started counting the people I passed, losing count at over 200 by the finish. I passed Wilson soon after sunrise, who was unable to run anymore but still determined to finish. Several hours later, I was in the same boat myself (along with most of the people on the trail), and limped the last miles to the end.

As I somehow found the strength to run the last half-mile to the finish, smatterings of applause followed from the appreciative crowd behind the barriers, some of whom would stay for the next ten hours to watch the rest of the participants limp on in. As I stopped the clock at 14 hours, 20 minutes, I was handed a prize of a whole pineapple and a finisher’s medal. I collapsed in the shade, and could barely stand up to cheer Wilson as he finished several hours later. We were both almost too exhausted to eat and drink, and dozed in a daze for more hours. The crowd grew to fill the square, and finishers were coming in almost too fast for the pineapple givers to keep up, when Hensley slowly limped through in the late afternoon. Congratulations were given all around as we all hobbled back to our car, because after all, only 60% of the people would finish the race, and we three had done it!

During the afternoon, the announcer had read off the nationality totals from the more than 10,000 entries in this 38th year of the Dodentocht. Topping the list was Belgium with over 7,000 participants, following by Holland with more than 2,000. Various other countries followed in smaller increments, including most other European nations. At the bottom of the list was the United States, with just three (3) participants. Way to represent, Charlie Company!

The Death March 100k Dodentocht

Bornem, Belgium

See photos here

Sometimes a marathon just isn’t long enough.   I can’t remember what gave us the idea of doing the 100 kilometer (62 mile) Deathmarch, or Dodentocht in Bornem, Belgium.  It might have been a comment from a marching legend, or a chance sighting of the patch worn proudly on a backpack. At any rate, I told myself that I wouldn’t leave Europe without completing the 100-kilometer march, or meet Death in the attempt.  When I questioned the large group of marathoners at my company, several people actually sounded interested, while most gave me a look that reminded me how much a marathon hurt to complete, and that two and a half of them in succession would be absurd.
 
Two coworkers took me up on the challenge, and we completed training runs of marathon distance and even longer in the weeks leading up to the event.  On the day of the march,  Wilson, Hensley, and I drove up to Bornem, Belgium, and found our way to the registration tent.   For such a long distance, the time limit to complete the event was 24 hours, and the march itself started at 9 o’clock at night.  I stuffed my pockets with flashlight, map, gummy bears, and water bottle, and with our start cards on a chain around our necks; we joined the throngs headed to the start.
 
At the gun, we were jammed shoulder-to-shoulder with people, and it took miles of walking before we could get much clear space around us.  Wilson couldn’t hold himself back, and took off running.   Hensley and I played it a little safer and walked until the crowds settled a little more.  It was dark almost immediately, and only the streetlights and stray flashlights lit our way under cloudy skies.  The weather was perfect for running, and a T-shirt and windbreaker kept us warm enough when walking.
 
Along the flat trails and small towns, Belgians were out in force to cheer us on or just watch the hordes of crazy people in a crazy quest to walk all night and all day.   The bars spread their music out into street parties, and we ran to the beat of the loudspeakers past the crowds dancing on the sidewalks.   Families sat on their front lawns to watch the spectacle, among small tables littered with wine glasses and lit with candles.  Every six miles or so, a checkpoint provided a relief from marching in the form of drinks and food.  We munched on various snacks including apples, whole carrots, peaches, fruit pies, candy bars, juice, and water.  We declined to eat the pureed split pea soup after a smell and a very small sip!
 
By 4 a.m. the crowds were gone, and only the fluorescent trail markers showed us the way.   Hensley was feeling the pain of almost 30 miles, and I left him napping at a checkpoint after we changed our socks and put up our feet for a while.  Rejuvenated, I set out to run as much of the second half as my body would allow.   The skies cleared, and the sun came up, and when they told me I was 426th place at a checkpoint, I found even more energy, and started counting the people I passed, losing count at over 200 by the finish.   I passed Wilson soon after sunrise, who was unable to run anymore but still determined to finish.  Several hours later, I was in the same boat myself (along with most of the people on the trail), and limped the last miles to the end.
 
As I somehow found the strength to run the last half-mile to the finish, smatterings of applause followed from the appreciative crowd behind the barriers, some of whom would stay for the next ten hours to watch the rest of the participants limp on in. As I stopped the clock at 14 hours, 20 minutes, I was handed a prize of a whole pineapple and a finisher’s medal.   I collapsed in the shade, and could barely stand up to cheer Wilson as he finished several hours later.   We were both almost too exhausted to eat and drink, and dozed in a daze for more hours.  The crowd grew to fill the square, and finishers were coming in almost too fast for the pineapple givers to keep up, when Hensley slowly limped through in the late afternoon.  Congratulations were given all around as we all hobbled back to our car, because after all, only 60% of the people would finish the race, and we three had done it!
 
During the afternoon, the announcer had read off the nationality totals from the more than 10,000 entries in this 38th year of the Dodentocht.   Topping the list was Belgium with over 7,000 participants, following by Holland with more than 2,000.  Various other countries followed in smaller increments, including most other European nations.  At the bottom of the list was the United States, with just three (3) participants.  Hey, that's us!

Ireland

 

 

 

Volksmarch Poem

Volksmarch SAGA

Waking up early on a Saturday morn,
Have I really willingly from my bed torn?
I hop in your car with a bleary-eyed grin,
You sip at your coffee with a touch of chagrin.

We’re off to go walking, too late to wonder why,
Though the day is so new, still black is the sky.
Once again our weekend sojourn is about to begin,
We plug in the Lady, car wheels start to spin.

Once at the starthalle, we’ve done this before,
I don’t think I need your help anymore.
You grab another coffee to wake yourself up,
I’ll find some cake, with cherries on top.

The process is simple as long as you’re here,
We’re gonna go walking, there’s nothing to fear.
First we need a startcard, to carry along,
Then stamps at Kontrolles, to prove that we’ve gone.

Don’t forget your camera, some Euro and phone,
Even on the trail, you’re not so alone.
Fill your pockets with flyers, that’s Werber in Deutsch,
Ipod and/or water, it’s really your choice.

To find the trail, just follow the signs,
Meant to be obvious, wild colors and lines.
Great arrows on pavement, in white spray paint,
Chalk lines as well, or trees encircled in tape.

Once back at the Starthalle, a stamp in our books,
So often we turn them in, to jealous looks.
The prize is a paper, a patch, and a pin,
Yet another empty book, to begin again.

The trail can be anything from rocky to flat,
We curse on the uphills, and then run after that.
The forests are peaceful and so are clear streams,
Wandering through vineyards and fields so green.

The trails in the towns sometimes follow a street,
Past churches and playgrounds and places to eat.
Bridges and train tracks, around graveyards of old,
Flowerbeds and tractors, barking dogs so bold.

If we get hungry there’s plenty to eat,
Homemade cakes and pies are oh so sweet.
On the trail we drink tea, and maybe a beer,
Plenty of cheese-bread and bratwurst here.

In winter needing layers of clothing gets old,
With frost and with fog and with blustery cold.
In summer the sun blows the clouds all away,
We revel in sunshine, wear glasses for shade.

Sometimes it’s windy and raining and cold,
Let’s hope our shoes don’t have any holes.
This European weather is hard to predict,
I hope my raincoat survives all these drips.

Along the path we pause to play around,
Feeling spry today? Then try the playground!
Loggers give us too many obstacles to count,
More points to the one with the best dismount.

Sun warms the hay bales, how ‘bout a nap?
Instead let’s try rolling them, it’ll be a snap.
We moo at the cows and baa at the sheep,
Stop to pet horses and want them for keeps.

Windy days under windmills are thrilling,
And campfires keep our hands from chilling.
The trail stretches always endless ahead,
Sometimes on hillsides we pray for a bend.

We pass by many just ambling along,
Couples hand in hand, and some are alone.
Hordes of people, all on the same walk,
Clubs in matching jackets, engaged in talk.

Germans wearing knickers and feathered cap,
Then I always try to get you to wear that.
We laugh at the costumes and cry at the pain,
Of walking and walking and walking again.

A 1SG volksmarch is open to all,
Soldiers and families, large or small.
A 5k’s enough with a stroller to push,
Take your time, don’t be in a rush.

Our friends and family reluctantly come,
Lured by the mention of pastries and sun.
Often, too, they lay still sleeping in beds,
After the chill of morning air hits our heads.

In the darkness of winter, it’s a Fackel day,
We all burn bright torches to light our way.
The trail crosses a field with a blanket of snow,
The long chain of our torches reflects the glow.

Sometimes we swim in a pool, please don’t drown,
Add a bike trip as well, it’s a triple crown.
But mostly we walk, through good days and bad,
Talking and laughing about the times we’ve had.

At least eight times a year, a marathon week,
42 k is the distance we seek.
1SG marathons draw a big crowd,
The talk beforehand is boisterous and loud.

We empty our pockets and walk along slow,
Bring along friends just to lighten the load.
A Ziploc of gummies is worth the weight,
When plodding up a hill, we just can’t wait.

We slip in the mud and sully our pants,
Wish for a camera to record our rants.
A whole day of walking just to earn our prize,
The coveted patch is a sight for sore eyes.

Now friends ask us often, what is it we seek?
What brings us together, out week after week?
Why we get up so early, travel so far from home,
For the sake of some patches, a stamp in our tome.

You say it’s the need to come again and again,
To enjoy the outdoors, away from everyone.
We mention the passion for friendship, for freedom,
I shrug and gesture, say, “Hey, it's just fun.”