Armistice Day

Today I FINALLY got back out running after two weeks of struggles. Annie has to be at work at 6 AM and lately she's been getting scared walking by herself in the morning. That's understandable since there's not many people out at that hour and Baltimore is a forbidding city in the dark. I've also been worrying about her too, so I've started getting up with her and either walking her to work or driving her down there, depending on how we feel. It takes a weight off both our minds that she's safe, but it means I can no longer run in the morning. Which actually is OK because I have had zero success in motivating myself to wake up and run in the mornings. I just can't be bothered for some reason even though I go to bed fully intending to wake up and run.

But I have found a solution. There is a gym at my office that employees can join for $25 per month, which is a steal. It's fully equipped with treadmills, weights, and locker rooms with showers. So, I joined last week and am going to start running midday. I can go down to the gym, change and head outside to run when it's warmer and lighter. I can then come back and shower before going back to work. And I have lots more motivation in the afternoon than I do in the morning. For now, it's a good solution.

Unfortunately, my lack of running means I'm going to have to not run Richmond on Saturday, but honestly there's no way I could complete 13 miles at this point. I've let my fitness erode too much and would risk injury if I tried to push 13 miles out of my body. So, there's always next year, but it's a nice $70 penalty for laziness, to be sure. My next race is the Green Valley North Turkey Trot on Thanksgiving Day, which I will be ready for, I believe. Annie may still run that with me, we'll see.

In closing, here in the U.S. today is Veterans Day, where we celebrate the memories of those who have given so much, and some who have given it all, for our country and our freedom. It's no small statement to say that there is no higher sacrifice to make for one's country than one's life. Even those veterans who came back from war in 1918, 1945, 1953, during the years of the Vietnam War, 1991 and today gave some piece of themselves, great or small, for the greater good. For that reason, every day should be Veterans Day.

In Europe, November 11th has an even deeper meaning. While Veterans Day in the U.S. is a celebration of Veterans, it's a day of remembrance in Britain, France, Germany, Italy and across the Continent. It's difficult to equate Armistice Day in Britain or France with an American holiday. If we held a day of remembrance on April 9, the day marking the end of the Civil War, it might be the same. 600,000 Americans died in the Civil War and the country was fundamentally changed forever. 700,000 Britons and 1.4 million Frenchmen died in World War I, effectively sealing Europe's fate for the rest of the 20th century. Another 1.2-1.5 million Germans died in the war. It's almost impossible to visit a town in France or England today and not find a monument with the names of the town's war dead from the Great War somewhere. To this day, most people in Britain purchase red poppy pins that they wear in the weeks leading up to Armistice Day. The proceeds go to help today's British veterans and it's a national sign that they haven't forgotten the enormous sacrifice that generation made.

Every major war can be told through some form of communication. The Revolutonary War was told through letters and diaries of soldier and Founding Father alike; the Napoleonic Wars were told in huge historical texts compiled over many years; the Civil War was the first war to be photographed; World War II and the Korean War were caught on black and white film; Vietnam was fought in living color; the Gulf Wars were fought on live television. World War I is unique in my mind in that much of its horror and sadness and nobility is told through poetry. I've never been a fan of poetry, although I certainly appreciate the insight and talent it requires. But some of my favorite prose comes from poets who fought on the front lines in France and, in some cases, who died there.

I would suggest finding and reading The Penguin Book of First World War Poetry (Revised) to get a flavor. It's possibly some of the best war writing you'll ever read, if for no other reason than it conveys the sadness of the Great War better than any book ever will. My favorite poem of the WWI poems, and possibly one of my favorite poems period, is The Soldier, by Rupert Brooke. Check it out:

The Soldier

If I should die, think only this of me:
That there's some corner of a foreign field
That is for ever England. There shall be
In that rich earth a richer dust concealed;
A dust whom England bore, shaped, made aware,
Gave, once, her flowers to love, her ways to roam,
A body of England's, breathing English air,
Washed by the rivers, blest by suns of home.

And think, this heart, all evil shed away,
A pulse in the eternal mind, no less
Gives somewhere back the thoughts by England given;
Her sights and sounds; dreams happy as her day;
And laughter, learnt of friends; and gentleness,
In hearts at peace, under an English heaven.