Š Miss Robot Photography / Image Courtesy of Anna Judd I assembled a team of people to help me execute the project. I enlisted the help of Robot Mofield, an phenomenally gifted photographer and filmmaker, and we began to interview veterans on film, attempting to gain a first-hand understanding of the problems that they faced. We went to VA hospitals and veteran homeless shelters, trying to learn as much as we could, so we educate others about the problems as well. We solicited sponsorships from health food and athletic companies, and at the last minute, secured a 31-foot RV from a health food company called Frezzor that would serve as a support vehicle and our home on the road. I trained very hard for the year before I left, as my goal was to run forty miles per day, six days a week, for one hundred days. I felt that it was important to make the mileage high in order to garner the attention necessary to make the project successful. The route took me through the deep South in the early summer months, and we planned to arrive in New York before it got unbearably hot. Little did we know the journey would present more obstacles and trials than we ever thought possible. Both my self-confidence and naivete made me believe that I was somehow invincible avoid injury and obstacles simply by willing things to go smoothly. Within the first two weeks, I has lost all of my toenails and sprained both of my ankles. In the end, it took 155 days to run from one coast to the other, and my average daily mileage was about 27 miles per day. Like any great piece of art, there existed in our journey across America a delicate balance between extreme violence and extreme beauty. The exhaustion and physical pain of running so much was offset by the unspeakable natural beauty we encountered. The horror and despair in war stories shared by veterans were softened by accounts of love and brotherhood. The immense stress I felt at the task I had to accomplish was counterbalanced by overwhelming support I received from friends, family, and the veteran community. Thousands of people across America formed a protective cocoon of support around me as I made my way from one coast to another. Whenever I felt that I was out of strength, someone was always there to pick me up, to give me the courage I needed to keep forging ahead. Robot became like a sister to me, we were able to experience the un-
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conditional love and camaraderie that so many veterans had told us was impossible outside of combat. Our friendship deepened in a way that linked us forever, a bond that feels stronger than blood. From very early on, runners started showing up to join me as I ran through their towns. Most of these were runners were members of Team Red, White, and Blue, an organization dedicated to building networks of support for veterans and civilians through physical activity. In nearly every major city we ran through, members of Team RWB would show up to escort us through. Sometimes, random cars would pull over to the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, and people I had never seen before would appear to act as both my guides and my friends. Friends from California started flying out to help drive the RV, so Robot could ride next to me on her bicycle, both keeping me safe and documenting the journey. There were thousands who ran with me, joining me in an effort to raise awareness about PTSD, the veteran suicide rate, and the need for community. We learned a lot of lessons on the road. Some were about America, some were about humanity, and some were about ourselves. Because we avoided the major highways, and traveled mostly on the old, two-lane highways, we were able to see the part of America that was in a state of decay. The old roads weave through towns of industry and farming that were once prosperous and booming. When the new, bigger highways were constructed, commerce moved with the flow of traffic, slowly hollowing out the each community until it became an empty shells. Lines of run-down brick factories and boarded-up buildings would sometimes dominate entire streetsI learned to never listen to fear-mongering, as some of the most amazing experiences I had were in neighborhoods that people warned me were dangerous or too poor. I learned that I was capable of both enduring and accomplishing things I had never imagined. In Arizona, I ran with an Apache man who opened up to me about growing up on an Indian reservation, and introduced me to his beautiful family. In Louisiana, I walked with a corn farmer for 30 miles as he told me about his ancestors that fought with the Confederacy during the Civil War. A few days later, I ran with an African American man who told me about his experience growing up in Jackson, Mississippi during the Civil Rights movement. It often felt that each new vista that appeared was a different periods of history. After we passed through Dallas, and began our descent into the South, things got a lot harder. The air conditioning unit was knocked off the top of our RV when our friend accidentally drove it under a low bridge. Coincidentally, entering East Texas was like passing from a sauna into a steam room. The weather was brutal. At the end of the day, when I needed to cool down in order to recover, the temperature in the RV wouldn’t allow it. I would toss and turn all night in puddle of sweat, slapping hungry mosquitos off of my body. In Alabama, we were involved in a fatal accident, when a man slammed into our RV going about 120 miles per hour, and died right in front of us. The back panel of the RV was completely ripped off and stayed that way for the remainder of the trip. Bit by