To Hell and Back

By: Chuck Burkhardt
Posted In: Sports

White Sands Missile Range, N.M. – During World War II, 75,000 American and Philippine troops were captured by Japanese soldiers in 1942 on the peninsula of Bataan in the Philippines. After three months of continuous fighting without food, medicine, or ammunition resupply, the Japanese soldiers forcibly took the allied troops over against their will. Overwhelmed by the number of POW’s, the Japanese had nowhere to put them. It was decided by the Japanese high command to march the prisoners north to various imprisonment camps. This long, treacherous, and deadly trail became known as The Bataan Death March. Prisoners were denied rest, food, water, and medical attention. Easily treatable and preventable diseases such as malaria and dysentery killed troops faster than those on the front lines encountering bullets, artillery shells, and chemical warfare. Murder, starvation, and extreme exhaustion snatched the last breath out of many troops. One out of every three prisoners died on this march. The participants of the Bataan Memorial Death March march in their honor and memory.

The course of the Bataan Memorial Death March is ranked as one of the toughest, unforgiving, and physically demanding marathon routes in the continental United States. Thin mountain air, extreme sun exposure, poisonous snakes and insects, uneven terrain, and unexploded munitions such as bombs, mines, and artillery shells are just some of the hazards that pose threats to all of the marchers.

My team and I left Friday morning March 23, 2007 at 6:00am from T.F. Green in Providence. After some extremely long layovers and a few turbulent airplanes, we finally landed in El Paso, TX International Airport at 7:00pm. Our training Master Sergeant picked us up in a government van and raced us over to White Sands Missile Range, NM over 40 miles away to register for the march. While he was waiting for our plane to land, he made friends with a female astronaut who lived on White Sands Missile Range. He explained our situation to her and she gracefully offered her home to our teams as lodging for the weekend.

On Saturday, the night before the march, there was a hint of anxiousness and anticipation lingering in the dry mountain air. For most of us this was our second time here, but for some it was the first time doing anything like this. Ensuring that our combat boots fit properly, checking for leaks in our hydration units, and looking for tears in our additional equipment and uniforms were just some of the safety checks we performed before we left.

Sunday morning we woke at 4:30 a.m. Everyone slept in his or her uniform to save time. All 12 of the team members and our two instructors were out the door by 5:30 a.m. and walked two blocks to the start line. With a free continental breakfast staring us in the face, we shoveled in as many muffins and apples we could get our hands on. We passed over the start line at exactly 7:01 am and began the long journey ahead.

The beginning leg of the race isn’t too rough; it’s just extremely long. Packed down earth with some loose rocks and potholes made up this first section. In the distance, we could see the mountain we were about to traverse staring back at us in complete silence. One word came to mind, up. The race starts off around 4000+ feet above mean sea level. After four hours of continuous marching we had surpassed 5100+ feet above mean sea level.

Trekking pass each mile marker was a victory within itself. After passing mile marker 14, we were able to see the finish line down in the valley, only a mere 12.2 miles away. From this point all of the team members were convinced that each mile marker was being moved further and further apart from the last one. Blisters, fatigue, heat exhaustion, and dehydration were starting to take their toll. The light team, that I was on which is composed of five members only carrying CamelBak’s, started to have some minor aches and pains right around the half way point and the heavy team, which is made up of five members with an additional mandatory 35lbs of dead weight started to feel the same pain. Watching the members of The Wounded Warrior team pass us on the trail made us stop complaining and made us just suck it up. The Soldiers and Marines that make up this organization have lost limbs in Vietnam, Afghanistan, and Iraq. A Marine with two prosthetic legs passed our team and we knew we didn’t have a thing to complain about. These Soldiers and Marines showed the true strength of our country’s armed forces.

The most physically demanding section of the course isn’t the six miles up the mountain or the loose rocks and potholes that are scattered throughout the course, it’s the small, one and half mile stretch of loose beach like sand accompanied by a slight incline that seemed to go on for an eternity. Every step was sliced in half by the sand slipping beneath your boot. The final two miles follows a dividing wall all the way to the finish line. This wall seemed to dwarf the length of The Great Wall of China. At each turn, when you thought the wall was going to end, it suddenly extended itself right before your eyes.

Upon reaching mile marker 26, an overwhelming sense of relief and accomplishment drowned out all of the frustration and inner doubt that had built up over the duration of the march. Screaming, cheering, and clapping supporters lined up on both sides of the trail the last two tenths of the final mile. Instantly, an unexplainable burst of energy overcame all of us and we sprinted across the finish line. 26.2 miles and 7 hours 51 minutes 30 seconds later, our team had successfully completed the Bataan Memorial Death March.