Hold On To These Moments
The most beautiful walk in the world
I wrote a poem about my 2024 trip to Normandy, France, with my daughter, Lucy. On that adventure, we rucked 80 kilometers to honor the 80th Anniversary of D-Day. The poem below says what I’m about to try to detail far better.
Rucking is the military-inspired act of walking while carrying a weighted backpack. It’s been a daily part of my life since 2011. During the pandemic, Lucy and I began rucking together—urban hiking—walking and talking through the silent, deserted streets. For us, rucking becomes a bond. So, when I decided to travel to France for the D-Day Ruck, I mentioned it to Lucy, and she was all in. We both agreed it was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.
We started in Brooklyn, New York, sans rucksacks. We walked across the Brooklyn Bridge and up and down Manhattan as a warm-up. Then we flew to Paris, rented a car, and drove to Pegasus Bridge, where on the eve of D-Day, British Airborne soldiers landed gliders in a daring assault—capturing and holding the strategic landmark which was critical to the success of the beach landings.
From there, we drove in light rain to Grandcamp-Maisy, checked into our accommodation, and walked out to the English Channel. It was a beautiful day, gray and misty. We hiked along the shore to Pointe du Hoc. Though I knew the promontory would be part of our 80-kilometer ruck, I wanted to experience it without a pack on my back and without a time limit.
The path to Pointe du Hoc follows a multi-use greenway trail atop cliffs where tall grass waves in the sea-blown wind. As we ambled along the quiet, rugged coastline, shafts of light pierced the vast, cloud-swirled sky. At Pointe du Hoc, we read the interpretive plaques and memorials, then explored the barbed-wire-strewn battlefield where U.S. Army Rangers stormed and scaled the 100-foot cliff under stiff German resistance. Amongst the bomb craters and German casements, a solemn weight settled upon us. We resolved that when the going gets tough on our ruck, we will think of this place, of what happened here, and persevere.
The next evening, we set out from Utah Beach with people from all over the world who signed up to suffer together. We marched into Sainte-Mère-Église as dusk gathered under the iconic spire of the church where U.S. paratrooper John Steele’s parachute became snagged in the early hours of D-Day. There, we teamed up with Michael Easter for the long trek through the night. We walked down empty rural roads and busy autoroutes under light posts adorned with memorial banners honoring American soldiers. We kept ourselves occupied in conversation as the moon rose, finally arriving at the La Cambe German War Cemetery at daybreak. We paused to rest and refuel with peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. As the morning sun brushed across the stones and hedgerows, we pressed on.
As we trekked back to the seaside, Michael went ahead of us with another group. When we reached the beach, we followed the Liberté Greenway again to Pointe du Hoc and then onto Omaha Beach. There, we reversed direction along the cliffs for the final march to Grandcamp-Maisy.
As the sun slowly moved across the sky, it was just Lucy and me. We talked and talked and talked. Any lulls in our conversation became anguished silence, so we kept talking to keep our minds off the pain. About two miles from the finish, when we were at our absolute lowest, I pulled out my phone and played Eye Of The Tiger by Survivor. Somehow, the acoustics of the Normandy coastline acted like a surround sound speaker—music from my phone had never sounded better. The opening riff of the song hit us hard, like a bolt of electricity through our veins. We began walking faster and more purposefully than we had for the entire previous eighteen hours. Following Eye Of The Tiger was Tom Sawyer by Rush, and now we were walking on air. Next on the playlist was my all-time go-to, Over The Mountain by Ozzy Osbourne—I’d skated to that song in almost every single amateur contest I’d ever entered and never lost. The final anthem was Right Now by Van Halen, as we floated across the finish line, Lucy was beaming. Jason from GORUCK laughed and said, Who smiles after walking fifty miles?
We came in at around 19 hours—not even close to being the fastest, but we finished strong, together. Jason and I sat down and had a beer. He said, Some people didn’t think you guys would finish. I met his gaze and said, I’ve never quit anything in my life, neither has my kid. Jason smiled and said, Cheers to that. We clinked our plastic cups, and I thanked him for putting on an event that offered me the opportunity to spend such quality time with my daughter—something I’ll always cherish.
Brooklyn Heights To Pointe du Hoc
DSM to LGA,
Brooklyn Heights to the Brooklyn Bridge,
Brooklyn Banks to Greenwich Village.
KazuNori.
Get up and do it again.
Tompkins Square,
Washington Square,
Little Island to The High Line,
Hell’s Kitchen,
Mama’s TOO!.
Back through Central Park,
Sugarfish.
We’ve got to hold on to these moments,
And make them last.
Before they become the future,
Before they become the past.
JFK to CDG,
Room service: burgers and frites.
Sleep.
A rainy day at Pegasus Bridge,
Grandcamp-Maisy to Pointe du Hoc,
The Liberté Greenway at dusk.
Sundown, head down, wild dreams,
Crêpes and Americanos fuel another day.
Utah Beach to Sainte-Mère-Église,
Marching under a blanket of stars.
Moonrise,
La Cambe German war cemetery.
Sunrise,
To the most American of shores,
Pointe du Hoc to Omaha Beach.
We’ve got to hold on to these moments,
And make them last.
Before they become the future,
Before they become the past.
Retrace our footsteps once more,
Over hallowed ground.
A lifesaving baguette,
Eye of the Tiger,
The most beautiful walk in the world.
Sunset on the English Channel,
You and me.
Sleep until we can’t anymore,
So happy we couldn’t feel sore,
Crêpes and Americanos,
Back in the car.
Giverny with Monet,
Paris along the Seine,
Penne with smoked salmon and Perrier.
It’s never goodbye, only until next time,
And I Love You Always, my Goose.
CDG to ATL to DSM,
Brooklyn Heights to the Brooklyn Bridge,
Pointe du Hoc to Grandcamp-Maisy,
You and me,
You and me.
We’ve got to hold on to these moments,
And make them last.
Before they become the future,
Before they become the past.
Thanks for reading!
For the record, I was NOT one of the people who thought you wouldn't make it. What an HONOR to spend some time breathing that air with you and Lucy and so many others. :)
Miss you!