In Memory of Airman First Class Elizabeth Nicole Jacobson
March 26, 1984 – September 28, 2005  ·  Operation Iraqi Freedom

Memorial Day 2026  ·  Boston Marathon Tough Ruck

Carrying Their Names – What the Boston Marathon Tough Ruck lessons give: Gratitude, Grit, and Getting to the Finish Line

A tribute to the fallen, and to the gift of showing up even when it is hard.

You have events you do for fun, events you do for fitness, and then there are events that resonate inside of you. The Boston Marathon Tough Ruck is definately the latter, for me.

For those who haven’t heard of it, the Boston Marathon Tough Ruck is a 26.2-mile ruck march held in partnership with the Boston Athletic Association the Sunday before Marathon Monday, winding through the Revolutionary War paths of Concord, Massachusetts. Participants carry weighted rucksacks and walk the full marathon distance, many in full military gear. Every finisher earns an official Boston Marathon medal, and every participant is raising critical funds for the Military Friends Foundation, a nonprofit that supports the families of fallen service members and first responders in their most vulnerable moments. It is, without question, one of the most meaningful events I have ever had the privilege of participating in.

This year was my second Boston Marathon Tough Ruck and this year, it looked nothing like the first.

Last Year: Sunshine, Old BDU’s, and Pure Joy

Last year was one of those perfect New England spring days, all sunshine and the kind of energy that makes 26.2 miles feel almost possible before you even take your first step. I wore my old BDU’s (battle dress uniform), because I am an Air Force veteran and I wanted to represent, and those old BDU’s became a quite a conversation starter. Young soldiers and airmen and marines, carrying packs 3x the size of mine, would come alongside and we’d laugh about old uniforms versus new ones, and I’d cheer them on, and they’d cheer me on, and the firefighters too, and the DSC members who were rucking that year, and everywhere you looked there was this gorgeous pride for what everyone was doing and why. It was a beautiful day in every sense of the word!

This Year: Cold Rain, a Sick Body, and a Name on my Yellow Ribbon

This year was different. Cold, gray, and rain from the first step to the last. Special bonus: I woke up that morning with a pounding headache and an earache that made me consider, for one brief (and shameful) moment, whether I really had to go.

I really had to go! When I say I am going to do something, I do it. So I went.

To say it was easy is a bit of an understatement. This year I couldn’t be the person I wanted to be out on the course. I couldn’t cheer on the young soldiers the way I had the year before. I couldn’t seek out the DSC members I knew were out there rucking in that miserable rain and give them the energy they deserved. I had my head down for most of those 26.2 miles, and it was all I could do to just keep moving forward. And I did feel bad about that because our DSC members showed up in the cold rain too, and they crushed it, and they did it with the kind of attitude that makes me so proud that, even now it brings tears to my eyes. DSC crew, George, Mike, Lisa, Bart, Heidi, Lydia, thank you.

What kept me moving when my body was telling me to stop was the yellow ribbon pinned to my ruck with a special name on it.

Airman First Class Elizabeth Nicole Jacobson

U.S. Air Force  ·  17th Security Forces Squadron  ·  Born March 26, 1984  ·  Killed in Action September 28, 2005

Elizabeth was born in Orlando, Florida, and grew up in Riviera Beach. She was funny, always laughing, the kind of person who made everything more fun just by being in the room. She was a theater kid. She won a writing contest. She had already decided on the names of the two sons she was going to have someday, Hunter and Austin. She had plans to come home and build a career in law enforcement.

She enlisted in the Air Force on December 9, 2003. She was assigned to the 17th Security Forces Squadron at Goodfellow Air Force Base, where she worked hard to earn a position on the convoy section. She had only been working it for a couple of weeks when her vehicle was struck by an IED near Safwan, Iraq, on September 28, 2005.

She was 21 years old. She was the first female airman killed in the line of duty in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom, and the first Air Force Security Forces member killed in conflict since the Vietnam War. The Air Force has since established the Elizabeth N. Jacobson Award for Expeditionary Excellence in her honor.

“I want to die happy, and have a productive life. I hope nobody wishes I was never born. I hope my kids never tell me they wish I were like their friend’s mom.”— Elizabeth Nicole Jacobson, in an email to friends and family

She never got to have Hunter and Austin. She never got to have those kids look at her with a special mix of exasperation and love that Zoe gives to me. She never got to build her career in law enforcement or feel the Florida sun on her face again. A teammate who was with her the day before she died said this: “She had a heart as big as Texas. She had drive and determination. She gave everything she had, until the day she was taken.”

So, on a cold rainy morning in April, when I wanted to put my head down and feel sorry for myself, I thought about Elizabeth. I thought about the fact that she never got to feel rain on her face again. And here I am, a 55-year-old woman, who has gotten to live so much life. The rain, the headache, the earache, some physical discomfort to ruck in her memory? Ya, I was fine.

The Other Names I Carried

I also carried two other names on that ruck, and their stories matter too, in a different and equally important way.

My grandfather, Gordon Smith, a WWII veteran who served as a sniper on the European front. My grandfather was one of the most inspiring people in my life, and I am deeply grateful that unlike Elizabeth, he got to live a long and full life. He got to have grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, and all the years and love that a man like that deserved.

And John Olson Senior, an Army veteran who served in a capacity that was classified enough that the details remain known only to a few. John also got to live a full and meaningful life, surrounded by people who loved him deeply.

Three names. Three very different stories. But all of them deserving to be carried and remembered for those 26.2 miles.

A Quarter Mile from the Finish – A fun surprise

About a quarter mile from the finish line, I spotted a very special DSC member, George, and we were both excited to see each other. We talked about how the ruck had gone, commiserated over the rain, and fed off the energy of knowing the finish line was close. Turns out we had both rucked a better time than the year before, PRs in the pouring rain, which felt exactly right. And then, maybe thirty feet from the finish line, George looked over at me and said, “Hey. You wanna jog it in together?”

I said, heck yes I do.

And we did.

There are no words for what it feels like to cross a finish line like that, with a Boston Marathon medal waiting and three names on your ruck and someone you care about running right beside you. It felt great in a way that a sunny day never quite could have.

This Memorial Day, I am thinking about Elizabeth Jacobson. I am thinking about the 21-year-olds who gave everything and never got to come home. I am thinking about the families the Military Friends Foundation supports, the ones left behind trying to rebuild after an unimaginable loss.

And I am thinking about the gift of getting to show up, even when it is hard, even when it is raining, even when your head hurts and your heart is heavy, because showing up is something not everyone gets to do.

Rest in Peace, Elizabeth. Thank you for your sacrifice. We’ve got your name and won’t forget.

To learn more about the Boston Marathon Tough Ruck or to support the Military Friends Foundation and the families of our fallen heroes, visit toughruck.org