My Story By Katie Aldridge
I am a mom who (sometimes) wins races. Naiveté for winning began with my very first race — a lucky victory at a local 5k, run as my four tykes played at the nearby park — launched my career of competitive road racing, which has recently evolved into a more specific, somewhat unusual, reason for striving to win. Over the years, victory has brought me clam chowder on Martha's Vineyard, hot dogs in Marshfield, MA, two chainsaw-sculpted bears from the Adirondack Marathon, and occasional paychecks from various Northeast races.
However, crossing the finish line of the Gettysburg North-South Marathon this past April (thirteen days after completing the Boston Marathon), I knew that by winning I had secured a different sort of prize: the hoped-for post-race newspaper interview. Surely, there are easier ways to fulfill my commitment to promote the cause associated with my recently published book, "No Freedom Shrieker: The Civil War Letters of Union Soldier Charles Biddlecom," but none that come as naturally to me as running. By mom- standards I am an elite runner; by elite-standards, I am just a mom who runs. It is lucky for me that not too many speedy women are training for Civil War-themed road races.
Since trading in my penny loafers for sneakers, I have shuffled over twenty marathons and shaved over two hours and twenty minutes off of the time it takes me to reach the finish line. Most marathoners will agree that completing a marathon for the first time signifies more than reaching a certain fitness goal. Finishing my first marathon connected me to a long silent and nearly forgotten voice — my own. Each race has had a unique purpose, whether to participate in a piece of road racing history, such as in Boston or New York, as an excuse to take a vacation (Martha's Vineyard), as training for a subsequent event, or as a means to gain an audience to promote a cause.
Jogging around and racing has thread together and shaped my life, and flooded over into my family's lives, to such an extent that I often thought I would write a book about it; but, unexpectedly, over the last three years my running and writing has turned down a different path — one that led me to a subject I knew very little about and an unusual motivation for training to win, not to mention how I plan my race schedule.
Let me explain: A century and a half of accumulated clutter, dust, and debris had accumulated in my five historic barns—under piles of straw, behind stairwells, at the bottom of grain bins. Among the disorder of knick-knacks, broken tools, scraps of wood, and critter nests, I discovered a red cardboard liquor box. On its lid scrawled in crayon was written, “Cousin Emmaʼs Old Letters.” My husband and I took the box with us on our way to race the Tufts 10k in Boston. On route, I opened the box and discovered Charlie (a.k.a. Charles Freeman Biddlecom of the 28th Volunteers and 147th Regiment New York Infantry), and thus began my marathon-length writing project and an end to the flexibility of my hamstrings. (Who knew that sitting to write would be as hazardous as over-training?) The abandoned box contained hundreds of letters: the oldest written in 1795 by William Savery (well-known Philadelphian Quaker Abolitionist); several letters of particular note mention "Aunt Susie" (a.k.a. Susan B. Anthony), and other New England- dwelling, Quaker Civil Rights activists; but, what captured my full attention and most of my spare time for the following three years, was Charlie’s voice as a Civil War combat soldier:
"Down, down goes the sun. Red, blood red, as in keeping with the work we are at, and everything idles until the hot, dry day tomorrow." ~ June 21, 1864.
Ten-milers were not long enough for me to wrap my mind around the idea that being on the front line of combat could forever morph a beautiful, red sunset into a horrific vision of death. Charlie wrote of marching more than twenty miles, for no apparent reason, in heavy rain, through ankle deep mud, without food. I tried to process his experience as I ran my twenty-milers, always scheduled around ideal weather and supported by neatly packaged, tasty gels, and fresh, clean water. Over miles of dirt roads and trails I shook out my thoughts about Charlie's life and my training log reflected my mind's wandering. Many times I was so intensely focused on the situation that Charlie was currently telling, that I missed a turn and a six-mile run would carry on for ten.
To keep myself focused for the hours of stillness required to complete the project, I had to drain my excess energy, which usually required a run in the morning and another jog, squeezed in between kids' activities, dinner, and farm chores. My training log indicates that I ran over 10,000 miles between the time I opened the box of letters and the day my editor peeled the manuscript out of my hands three years later. Before finding the letters, I considered myself a fairly serious, competitive runner. Over the course of this writing project, though, it became clear that my endurance training had merely prepared me to endure the endless hours of organizing and transcribing. My passion for running, while still a vital part of every day, took second place to the letters. Instead of training for speed, I ran in order to mentally and emotionally process Charlie's experiences. By publication time, I had run myself into anemia and shortened my hamstrings by several inches. Nonetheless, I knew I still had more running to do. Having found my own voice through running, and after spending three years processing Charlie's voice during my runs, it seemed only natural that I would use running to compel others to listen to Charlie's voice.
Charlie succinctly describes everyday life, writing with eloquence, an incredible vocabulary, and a flowing romantic tone in his letters, questioning why the war was being fought and his original intent in joining. Charlie's thoughts are as vivid and poignant today as they were when he penned them — and they will continue to be so as long as we have military conflicts. Charlie carried home the wounds and invisible scars that he suffered and these continued to separate him from his family, through a tragedy of misunderstanding and miscommunication.
My close friend Annie, an army-wife and elite-class running-mom, says that Charlie's letters serve to connect her to her own husband's experience — that by reading them she gains a better understanding of her husband; that Charlie's service was not fully played out on the battlefield — through his letters, he is still serving others and helping to bring awareness of the issues that soldiers face when returning home.
Well, that is about the way it is in the army, as well as in private life. Those that do the least and make the most parade about it get the praise; while the real workers go quietly on through life down to the grave and mankind think them but common men at best. ~ January 24, 1864
I run marathons, not for the prize or to prove that I am the fastest, but in hope of turning an ear toward the voice of a combat soldier, Charlie in particular, but not him alone. A share of the proceeds from Charlie's book is given to support the Warrior Writers program, directed by the Veterans' Sanctuary in Trumansburg and Ithaca, NY. Under the guidance of the Combat Paper Project, veterans shred their combat uniforms, beat them to a pulp, and press them into the paper on which they then express their personal experience of military life. Having found my own voice through running, I am working towards helping soldiers find theirs. *** Katie is scheduled to present her book on June 9, 2012, at The Bookstore Plus in Lake Placid, NY, before running the half-marathon the following day. Several Civil War- themed running events have been added to her calendar, including the Richmond Marathon this fall. Her book, "No Freedom Shrieker: The Civil War Letters of Union Soldier Charles Biddlecom" can be purchased in paperback at