I first heard about that part of our country from my dad, who spent his formative years in Arizona and New Mexico while his father was involved in the space program. When I was young, my dad would lie on the floor of our TV room and show me the full-page photos in his Arizona Highways magazines, telling me about life in the desert: the Gila monsters and dust devils, the way you could see for miles, the green chile enchiladas, and how the fast-flowing waters created something called an arroyo, or gully, in the sand.
I recently had my first opportunity to visit the Land of Enchantment for the Bataan Memorial Death March, a marathon for ruckers that takes place on the White Sands Missile Range. This event had been on my radar for years, so it felt like a sign when not one, but two of our partners—Memories of Honor and Fox Force 55—invited me to join. For rucking weight over 26 miles in the desert, I knew I needed to train, to dial in my hydration and nutrition. What I didn’t realize was how much I needed to visit this part of New Mexico.
I traveled with a longtime friend and cameraman Nick Schrein, and we spent the Friday prior to the event seeking out strange UFO diners with amazing food, attempting to access the correct gate of the White Sands Missile Range for packet pickup, and chasing down interviews plus product shots as a favor to our marketing team back home. It’s not every day that you find yourself in a place that feels so beautifully rugged and desolate.
That afternoon, Nick and I hit up White Sands National Park on the way back to Las Cruces. It was surreal to experience these ancient white dunes in the middle of the desert, formed over millions of years through geology, climate, and the presence of gypsum.
At my dad’s funeral 24 years ago, photos surfaced of him as a happy-go-lucky seven-year-old playing on those very dunes with his siblings and cousins. It’s hard to describe how being there made me feel. Standing on that same sand, I felt closer to him than I had in a long time. I had the sudden urge to call my grandparents—his mom and dad—and tell them I had finally made it to the place they once called home. It felt like some of that sand settled into the cracks of my heart, filling a space I didn’t know was empty.
We returned in time for dinner with the entire Memories of Honor team, composed of Gold Star and military families who traveled to remember and honor fallen loved ones at the 36th annual Bataan Memorial Death March. The next morning came fast, with a 0200 wake-up to make it onto the base before traffic backed up and the gates closed. While it was still dark, we heard the Filipino and U.S. national anthems sung over loudspeakers in memory of the approximately 75,000 service members from those two nations who became prisoners of war in the Philippines during World War II.
At dawn, cannons boomed and over 4,600 people stepped off from the start line, beginning our journey in the desert together. The aid stations were right out of the tv show M.A.S.H. and besides all the amazing volunteers and event organizers, the oranges were the real MVP snack.
I thought about how Amy Cotta from MOH encouraged us to leave in the sand what was no longer serving us, to push through the pain and agony knowing we were in this together. Nick and I recognized fellow ruck club leaders along the way as we took photos and conducted interviews on the move. We battled through the dreaded sand pit on the first loop and celebrated with a freshly grilled hamburger offered by folks in Battling Bastards sweatshirts. We crossed the finish line just under our goal time of nine hours, with our MOH and FF55 friends cheering us on. Nick had carried over 40 pounds of camera gear, and I had 20 pounds of non-consumable weight in my rucksack.
I didn’t know how much I needed to go to New Mexico. I thought I was coming for the challenge, for the history, for the experience—but I left with something deeper. The desert, vast and unrelenting, had given me more than I expected: a connection to the past, a renewed sense of purpose, and a reminder that some journeys take us exactly where we need to be.
