Since the events of Sept. 11, my life has been completely turned upside down. I make no apologies for the plain fact that I felt helpless, anger and frustration.

My husband is a American Airlines 777 first officer based out of Miami.

Although I don't work for American, their is no doubt that their is a feeling of comraderie among all those connected by the American Airlines.

After hearing about the terrorists acts, I knew I needed to do something. I had to show myself that I would not be afraid. I wanted to contribute something positive in honor of all those people, just like you and me, whose lives were yanked visciously and abhorrently away from them.

And being a runner, albeit a really slow one, I knew I could run for how ever long it took, where ever I could, to show an act of defiance in the face of those sick disgusting nuts who dare to make us scared.

So, I non-revved from Jacksonville, Florida to Shreveport, Louisiana last Thursday night and caught up with the Flag Run at 4:30 a.m. at "the Waffle House across from the Louisiana Downs Racetrack." Talk about finding the proverbial needle in a haystack... I didn't even know that you pronounce Louisiana: "Lousana" before my quest for the run began a few weeks earlier.

At this aforementioned Waffle House, bedecked with rather greasy Halloween decoration, I sat chatting with the Waffle House cook, who was smoking a cig and talking about catfishing. For about 40 minutes he talked, while I peered into the darkness, wondering what the heck I was doing while nervously munching on a Powerbar.

When I saw the flashing lights of the police escort and firetrucks coming down Highway 80, I said adios to my Waffle House chef and made a run through the parking lot. As the run approached, I got very emotional. I was quite obvious to me that the American spirit was alive and well, perhaps a bit wacky, but nonetheless determined.

I joined the run, in complete darkness, and ran along Highway 80, waving at honking cars, smiling faces and cheers from 24-laundrymat people, early risers and who knows who else. As our run made to the Texas Bridge, a bridge that connects Bossier City and Shreveport, the energy was running high. The number of runners grew. The number of onlookers grew. The Gemini Krewe was there, in costume to greet us and adorn us with beads. The High School cross country team joined in. Military runners, shouted cadances to rev us up even more.

But the onlookers.

People got out of their cars to salute the flag. We stopped for school children and veterans to hold the flag. People took pictures, shot video, wiped their eyes, clapped their hands. Groups of military folks joined in our run.

As daybreak broke and rush hour flowed, small crowds gathered on the sidewalks, waving their own little flags. Women dressed in red, white and blue. A Harley Davidison rider joined our procession. Office workers, with steaming cups of coffee came out of their industrial park offices and waved.

And the onlookers.

All American. All going somewhere. All respecting the beauty of the flag. All taking a small time-out to pay homage in some way to what the flag represents. In the rural areas we ran by, residents stood at the end of their driveways, their houses set too back to see, yet there relationship to the flag was just at close as mine.

All the Americans, who took the time to stop their cars, stand at attention, salute in complete respect for the act they saw pass before them.

Once we crossed the Texas state line, the Texas team was there to take the flag and run it across their huge state. A very impromptu ceremony began in the middle of the road, with onlookers, fellow Americans: including firefighters; flight attendants; pilots; a pilot's wife (that would be me); attorneys; glass salesman; city workers; air force personnel; triatholetes; marathoners; construction workers; housewifes; tv newsreporters; policemen. All these people gathered around a firetruck across from a machine workshop, adorned with a flag.

And there, at about noon, we all said the Pledge of Alligience.

No one should ever doubt the sheer endurance of the United States.

Below you'll find the email I shot back to my Florida Coordinator, Marty Menendez. Without his support, I could not have pulled this off. Marty, my main man!

I got back late last night (actually early this morning, like 1 a.m.ish) What a wonderful experience. I got on every plane, made every connection and found the Flag Run in front of "the Waffle House across fromt the Louisiana Downs" at 4:30 a.m. Friday. They were very ahead of schedule!

I ran from there, although much slower than most, all the way to the Texas border. It is an experience that I'll carry with me for the rest of my life.

Some thoughts....

It was amazing to see so many runners who weren't even remotely connected to the the airlines (employees, spouses or friends) who were participating.

I will never forget seeing the run approach, in pitch darkness along Hwy 80 with the police lights flashing. My adrenaline began to rush and my tears started to flow.

Onlookers removed their caps, clapped their hands, wiped their eyes, waved flags, cheered, honked their horns, stopped their cars, hight-fived, held the flag, rode along on their Harley, saluted the flag, joined the run for a bit and snapped pictures. Through these gestures, the run brought American citizens together, under the symbol of our flag.

What started out as a pipe dream lead me to an experience of comraderie, absolute determination and sheer resolve. That's what the fabric of this country is all about.

I am so proud to be a part of it.

Thanks Marty. I couldn't have done this without your great communication. I am collecting donations now from friends.

Of course I'd love to run again. I'll watch the timeline to see if I can make it happen. I am a slow runner (10 minute mile) and I don't want to slow the run. It was very fast through Shreveport.

Thanks again,

Stacey Goldring
Jacksonville, Florida

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