I had the good fortune to both run on Saturday November 10, and to walk the final mile on Sunday November 11. Both were rewarding in different ways, and offered unforgettable vignettes.

I ran legs 34 and 35, through Calimesa, CA, just west of the Banning pass and south of the San Gorgonio Wilderness. We were mostly on local streets, just next to Interstate 10. It was gratifying to hear the horns of many cars and 18-wheelers who saw the flag from the interstate, anonymous individuals who somehow knew what it was all about. Reverent neighborhood people saluted along the way, and many shouted supportive words from their back yards, cars and bikes. Clusters of people gathered on the sidewalks couldn't wait to "give us five" as we ran past, exchanging a loving energy that said, "Keep on truckin'; it's gonna be okay." At a couple of places, we stopped to talk to folks, share photo opportunities, and let many people, especially children, gain connection and renewal from holding these special flagpoles. One man said he had followed the run from Boston, past Ground Zero, all the way to this little community, and for all that distance he had not yet touched the flag. Now he could, and he was nothing but grateful. People who may not have been used to saying "God bless you" seemed to say it or convey it instinctively.

It is hard to explain how two long, round pieces of wood with strips of cloth on the end of them could be so powerful, but they both spoke to us as we passed them amongst ourselves as we ran. Just the fact that they had been touched and carried through over nearly four thousand miles of Americana by countless individuals from all parts of the nation's palette, necessarily brought forth feelings of humility and belongingness. The American flag seemed to say: "I'll always be here, no matter what it takes", and bespoke bravery, dedication, and perpetuity, while the manifold thin black strips with the names of the fallen seemed to be a variety of different voices saying, "I'm gone, just doing what I was supposed to do, but you all carry on and keep the faith," representing sad sacrifice and a reason to honor their beings by actions in our time, just as caring people have always done.

One thing that kept occurring to me was the selflessness of so many different people, most of whom did not know each other until these moments. The support people who performed all the mundane organizational tasks were delighted to be a part of this. One such woman, Patrice, had driven two hours from San Diego just to help on these two legs. At least three times in the 6.7 mile jaunt, she drove her car up to where we were, jumped out, then ran like a deer ahead of us (and our pace was solid!) to take pictures, then ran back and did it again. Just because. The police escorts, driving at a snail's pace in front of and behind us, were remarkably patient and always cheerful. One of the guys who ran with us had run some seventeen miles the day before, and was just going to keep running wherever they needed him. It all struck me the same way the early CNN images of the New York man in the street did, being interviewed just before he headed into the rubble: he was compelled to go help someone he didn't know, at his own risk, drawn to something greater than himself. How magnificent.

On Sunday, the final day, I donned my airline uniform and met up with several hundred people waiting in a park adjacent to LAX in the early afternoon.. The runners and many of the victims' family members had made the rounds past the LAX air terminals, and these additional folks (including more family members) would join them with the flags of the 50 states plus territories, and we would all then walk the final mile to Dockweiler Beach, just west of the LAX runways. There was a great deal of warmth and camaraderie, and it didn't matter whether you were in running shorts or uniform, American or United or US Airways, military or civilian, from the northeast or a SoCal local; we were all there together. The rains earlier in the day had fortuitously cleared the air, and as we approached the beach we saw two boats offshore shooting water cannons into the air, giving a respectful Pacific salute to the procession that had journeyed all the way from the Atlantic. A solo bagpiper added to the quiet solemnity of the occasion. Surrounded by the hundreds of supporters and participants, and recorded by all manner of news media, the family members sat in chairs on the sand in front of the stage, with the continuum of ocean waves providing a reassuring backdrop. Above the stage were large photos of all the AA and United crews and staff who lost their lives on 9/11. Seeing my friend Karen Martin up there hit me hard, but I had met a friend of hers during the mile walk, and she had left us both with an image of her laughter and unconventional ways, and that indelible imprint moved from black-and white into color by the actions of misguided madmen.

Others will document the particulars of the considerable stage presentations, but I will offer a few details and impressions. AA First Officer Mike Burr, who originated and spearheaded this incredible event, was appropriately honored, as was Media Coordinator First Officer Todd Wissing and a whole host of other selfless individuals. I liked Mike's comment about the scores of children he had encountered along the way, saying that he and many of his buddies with military backgrounds had thought they would teach the kids about patriotism, when in fact, it was the kids who ended up teaching them. We thanked the couple who had personified the spirit of the trek by providing their motor home as a support vehicle all the way across the country. Two talented women sang moving songs about faith and unity with great sincerity and unbelievable vocal range. A variety of inspiring messages was delivered, some soft and some forceful. California Lt. Governor Cruz Bustamante fittingly brought the storied journey home; LAPD head Bernard Parks honored normal people for doing extraordinary things; famed marathoner Bill Rodgers reminded us to keep on running and never stop; and New York Marathon President Dan Mitrovich presented a tribute through which he saw all of us by knowing one of us. It is the one time I can think of where the interruptions of the roar of departing airplanes was a welcome addend rather than a nuisance (one speaker said, "Isn't that a great sound?"), underscoring the continuity of life by people who now really understand the cost and value of being free. As the surviving family members, airline employees and individuals of many other disciplines reflected and watched this finale through unpredictable waves of tears and emotions, the Americans United Flag Run of 2001 had been a moving, loving, healing tribute to those we lost, as well as an inspiration full of rich, unforgettable images to those who must carry on. I think we are all grateful to have been part of this extraordinary experience.

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