Marathoners do so for a higher purpose
11 November 2004 (Danie Harrelson)

It's sometimes called the “Marathon of the Monuments.” A fitting name for a course that winds through some of the most celebrated tributes to men and women who, in death, now seem larger than life.

The 2004 Marine Corps Marathon drew more than 20,000 runners to Washington, D.C. Many of them ran on behalf of someone or something. They ran in memory of a fallen brother or sister, son or daughter, father or mother, friend or neighbor.

I ran in memory of a stranger.

Pfc. Chance Phelps died while fighting April 9 in Iraq. The story of the 19-year-old Marine who called the Grand Valley home barely more than a year compelled strangers such as me so much that we joined Phelps' brother-in-law in running on the fallen soldier's behalf.

And so we ran, past Arlington Cemetery, where so many Marines lie. Phelps talked of little else but being a Marine before he graduated from Palisade High School in 2003.

And so we ran, past monumental tributes to Abe Lincoln and George Washington, FDR and Thomas Jefferson. They are historical giants who helped preserve and protect their country.

After 9-11, Phelps' mother Gretchen Mack said her son felt compelled to preserve and protect his country.

And so we ran, past the more than 58,000 soldiers' names inscribed on The Wall, and the Korean War and World War II memorials to those who survived and fell.

Phelps fell a mere 32 days after he arrived in Iraq.

And so we ran, down Jefferson Davis Memorial Highway to the finish line. The final stretch of concrete led us past cheering spectators five and six and seven people deep, all waiting to welcome runners home.

The course ended at the Iwo Jima Memorial.

Take a closer look at those six men in bronze this Veterans Day, and perhaps you'll see what escaped my notice for so long.

The statue, a depiction of one of the most famous photographs in history, captures the resolve of six brave soldiers raising the American Flag at the top of Mount Surabachi on the Island of Iwo Jima, Japan, during World War II.

I always assumed the flag was upright, that those men were only holding it in place. Not so. What the photographer captured was backs straining, arms pushing, hands reaching.

Those soldiers have not yet finished what they started.

The same goes for U.S. troops now stationed half a world away. Conflict rages on. The objective remains painfully obvious, but the mission is not yet accomplished.

The long march toward change requires backs straining, arms pushing, hands reaching. Chance Phelps understood that when he left for Iraq earlier this year. He knew he and his unit were in it for the long haul when he arrived at his sandy post.

He believed in it so much that he died trying.

Now others have taken up the task the Marine left behind. And so they must. We cannot abandon to chance what we started.

Those of us who ran the 2004 Marine Corps Marathon in Phelps' memory intend to return next year with more faces running on behalf of the young man whose courage and sacrifice brought us together.

No doubt the conflict in Iraq will not have subsided when we step up to the starting line next October. That affords us no excuse to stop.

The flag is not yet upright. We have not yet finished what we started.

And so we run.