Grueling and exhausting. Two grim words to describe my run at Omaha beach today, though it was also of course, a moving experience for me to be running the infamous stretch of sand.
After a day of touring Normandy with my two kids which loved to be held, one of whom is a teething toddler, I was exhausted. I already felt like I had done a major bicep, back, and shoulders workout, on top of a 4:30 am wake up. On top of that, I didn’t know if the beach would even be open today with all the dignitaries visiting and subsequent road blocks.
Ultimately after the tour was done, my husband drove me to the beach. Setting my Garmin and snapping a few photos, I was off.
I planned on doing 3.5 or so miles to the east, then back and 3 miles down and back. I set off on the sand, and ran the entire thing on the beach. Thankfully I was able to find a good amount of hard packed sand, though the way the tide runs in and out creates shallow sandbars with little ripples of sand covered in a thin layer of water, with occasional rivers traversing down.
Though I did try to keep my feet dry at first, as I crossed the beach it was impossible to keep them dry. At the easternmost end, I believe past Fox Red I ran into a bunch of rocks with kelp. This whole time on the bluffs I didn’t see any pillboxes or big antigun batteries like at Calais, though I knew they were on top of the bluffs beyond my view from the tour we did. At the westernmost end, past Charlie, I again ran into rocks though less kelp.
Basically from the surf, you just see a lot of damn sand. Sand and sand and then bluffs. A lot of it. It’s so much to cross. I know it looks different today than 75 years ago, as the shingle is gone and the shelter it provided. The greenery on the bluffs is probably grown up more, and of course the mines and concertina and Belgian Gates and hedgehogs are no longer there. Still, looking at the bluffs from all parts of the beach, I can’t imagine the terror.
The swells also weren’t as bad on this day, I believe it was 5 foot swells during the landing but as I ran it was only 1 foot or so. I know of the stories of bodies rolling in the surf, and how fast the tide came up and down to drown wounded men, however today was a different ocean.
It was hard to imagine what took place here. Maybe I rebelled against it, though I tried to force myself to remember what really happened on this sand as I listened to accounts through my headphones. Blood in the sand. Boats lowering the ramp and you had to advance while the person to your right and left are immediately killed. Body parts and dropped guns, guns which would be picked up by following waves of Infantry, many of whom had to drop their gear or drown while offloading from their landing craft. Mass confusion, sights enough to cause hysteria and vomiting even on top of the seasickness, not to mention the hypothermia from the English Channel.
As I wrote this 3 hours after my run, a hot shower already taken, my wet feet and wet socks through the run were miserable. Definitely part of the experience, but miserable. I can still feel them aching, throbbing from the cold and uneven sand I had to cover.
I can’t help but compare this to my Bastogne Half experience. Alone in the pastures and woods, I felt like I was closed in by the history. Reminders and odes of thanks were written in stone at numerous points. Also as a run goes, the scenery changed numerous times from pastures to fields, towns and woods.
Omaha beach is a giant flat wet unscenic run. While there were D day remembrance Jeeps going up and down, a few people waved as I ran past, Blackhawks flew past a few times… It still felt bleak. In the best and worst way possible. I can see more how soldiers and sailors looked out at he bluffs and had little hope. I tried to imagine gunfire and blasts and shelling and the cold fatigue, but it was too much for me to comprehend.
Even running there, cold feet, exhausted, ankle a little twisted, hungry because I forgot two GU energy gels… I still have no clue how those men did it. The extreme fortitude, the resignation to the only path they were given, fighting against that complete cold, wet, all consuming fear while watching death all around.
All I can do is say thanks. Try my best to be better, for their sacrifice. I’ll never be able to imagine or understand but I can teach my kids to appreciate it. Freedom is not free, and today I got a big reminder of that.
The Inspired Dr.Mom 