Pat's Run - A Living Tribute To Pat Tillman Is Growing

'Pat's Run,' a Living Tribute to Pat Tillman That Just Keeps Growing

4/17/2010 6:05 PM ET

John Walters
College Football Writer

TEMPE, Ariz. -- With each succeeding year since his tragic death, Pat Tillman's army continues to grow.

On Saturday morning more than 28,000 people lined up outside Sun Devil Stadium to participate in the sixth annual Pat's Run, a 4.2-mile run (Tillman wore No. 42 while at Arizona State) that is staged in his honor. So popular has the race become since its 2005 inception, when 5,000 runners participated, that a few hundred runners had already crossed the finish line before the last of the bib-clad had even crossed starting line.

"I think there has been a new generation that has discovered Pat's legacy," Kadi Tierney, executive director of the Pat Tillman Foundation, told the Arizona Republic. "I think in a time when we are short on sports heroes, and heroes in general, Pat's story is timeless."

You know the story: an undersized linebacker at Arizona State who became an unlikely NFL starter at safety for the Arizona Cardinals before turning his back on a $3.6 million contract to enlist in the Army in 2002, only to be killed by friendly fire in Afghanistan on April 22, 2004. That's correct: No. 42 died on 4/22/04.

Tillman's story is timeless, and Pat's Run is very little about one's time.

Whereas most road races are self-oriented ("Can I improve my P.R. [personal record]?"), Pat's Run is a living memorial. Runners descended on the Valley of the Sun from all over -- the NYFD sent half a dozen men from a firehouse -- to pay tribute not only to Tillman's sacrifice but to those men or women they knew more intimately. One runner wore a shirt with a photo of his brother, who was killed in Iraq, on the front. Below the picture were the words "All gave some. Some gave all."

As I stood in the starting corral on Saturday morning, the Foo Fighters' "My Hero" began playing over the loudspeakers. The race was scheduled to begin at 7 a.m., winding its way in an oval that would circumscribe the dry Salt River bed located just north of Sun Devil Stadium. However, as race organizers looked out onto the adjacent 202 freeway, they spied a steady stream of vehicles carrying Pat's pilgrims who were still furtively attempting to make it. The race was delayed to accommodate them, and the gun did not go off until just after 7:20 a.m.

Four miles and change is not a very far distance to run (doubtless, though, that some participants were grateful that Tillman did not play tight end), but that only afforded more people the opportunity to salute Tillman. Five-minute milers. Moms pushing strollers. Men walking dogs. A dude who donned an ASU helmet and football pants for the entire run.

Inside Sun Devil Stadium, the only venue Tillman called home during both his collegiate and NFL career, a sizable number of players from the current Arizona State team ringed the final thirty yards of the run to cheer people on. Although, of course, being college-aged men, they had other incentives for waking up before 8 a.m. on a Saturday.

"I'm just enjoying the view," defensive tackle Saia Falahola told teammates as his neck swiveled to scan the crowd.

And that's fine. Pat's Run is not a 4.2-mile funeral procession, nor is it in the least bit funereal. It is a chance to say thank you. And perhaps it provides a kick in the pants, for those who participate, to recall how Tillman spent his 27 years and remember that time is the only commodity.

As I came upon the first-mile marker, along the Mill Avenue Bridge, a large banner hung emblazoned with a quote.

The words are not Tillman's, but rather were spoken at his memorial service by his friend, Chief Petty Officer Steve White. "That one little dash in there represents a lifetime," read the quote, referring to the space between the dates on a grave stone. "How do we spend our dash?"

Each year, and in growing numbers, people turn out for Pat's Run to honor Tillman for the manner in which he spent his. Some year soon there may be 42,000 who run to salute the man who once wore 42.