Courtesy Duane Garvais Lawrence

Lenice Blackbird, a 25-year-old member of the Omaha Tribe in Nebraska, left her home in late June to isolate after being diagnosed with COVID-19 — and she never returned. Her body was found a few days later in the woods near a cabin in Macy, Nebraska, according to reports in the Siouxland News.

In September, her mother, Donna Blackbird, stood with friends and family on the Omaha Reservation, holding a poster decorated with Lenice's face and a red handprint—widely used to symbolize Missing and Murdered Indigenous Women (MMIW)—and told her family's story to Duane Garvais Lawrence and his Facebook Live audience.

Lawrence added Lenice's name in red ink to the back of the RV he'd parked nearby, and the next day, he ran and biked in her honor. The 54-year-old resident of Toledo, Washington—who is a descendent of the Colville and Assiniboine tribes—was running and riding across the United States to raise funds and awareness for women like Lenice who had been killed.

Government statistics have found that in some communities, Native American women are murdered at rates nearly 10 times the national average. According to a 2016 National Institute of Justice report, 84 percent of American Indian or Alaskan Native women have experienced violence in their lifetime, including 56 percent who have experienced sexual violence.

"Our sacred life-givers are at the highest rates of being raped and murdered and killed across the United States of America," Lawrence told Runner's World.

Lawrence—along with Colville tribal member Willi Bessette, 39, and Lakota member Ethan LaDeaux, 21—began the cross-country trip in Blaine, Washington, in late August, and ran and biked until they reached Plymouth Rock, Massachusetts, on Oct. 3. Along the way, they collected cash and online donations through a GoFundMe for MMIW Washington, a non-profit advocating for legislation and other actions.

Courtesy Duane Garvais Lawrence

"Not only are they continuing the awareness, they're also becoming role models for other young men," Earth-Feather Sovereign, an activist and the executive director of MMIW Washington, told Runner's World. "I call them our prayer warriors, because with our community, we say everything that you do is a prayer."

A Call to Action

Lawrence's passion for the issue was ignited two years ago, when he was working as assistant chief of police for the Cowlitz tribe and a copy of legislation known as Savanna's Act crossed his desk. The bill—which is named for Savanna LaFontaine-Greywind, a member of the Spirit Lake Nation who was murdered by a neighbor in 2017—calls for enhanced federal efforts to investigate and prevent similar crimes, and was passed by the Senate, but not the House, in 2018.

The revelations in the bill "made me sick to my stomach," Lawrence said. He knew he had to act.

Inspired by athletes like Rosalie Fish, a Cowlitz tribal member who has run high school races with the red handprint on her face, Lawrence came up with the idea for the cross-country run and bike journey. "It was laid upon my spirit, upon my heart," he said.

Lawrence had experience running, thanks to his days in the U.S. Marine Corps, and he already owned an RV, where he figured he could sleep most nights. Now he just needed someone to share the miles, or at least drive the vehicle. He asked Sovereign, but the single mother of four couldn't get away for so long.

Dave Barnett, vice chairman of the Cowlitz tribe and a standout distance runner at the University of Washington in the 1980s, caught wind of Lawrence's effort. "When I heard he was doing it, I wished I was in shape to go along," Barnett told Runner's World.

Instead, Barnett offered to fund the journey.

"For me, the cause is really important. Native American women go missing and there's not a lot of support systems out there, on or off the reservation. They fall through the cracks."

With Barnett's help and that of Kevin Knorr, of local bike shop Cycleworks, Lawrence acquired a bike—a 2020 Salsa Journeyman 650 Claris. He also stocked up with other critical equipment, including mirrors, biking lights, bike pants, and extra tubes and air pumps.

Duane Garvais Lawrence on a cycling leg of the journey. Courtesy Duane Garvais Lawrence

To these key pieces of gear, Lawrence added three eagle feathers, symbols of strength for the journey. He painted a red handprint on his face and wrote the names of missing women and family members and the number 18,609 on his arms. (The number reflects an estimate of MMIW based on National Crime Information Center data.)

A Creative Approach

On August 27, Lawrence drove to Peace Arch Park in Blaine, Washington—just south of the Canadian border—and put out a call on Facebook Live for others to join him.

After three days of waiting, Lawrence's wife, LoVina Louie, came up with a plan so he could start his journey alone. He could drive the RV half the distance he planned to run for the day, then run back to the arch and return, she proposed. So the next day, that's what he did.

He started with a 3.5-mile drive, then a seven-mile round-trip run back to the vehicle. That afternoon, he drove another 25 miles, then biked 50 miles. It was an ambitious distance, he admitted—especially since he'd forgotten to wear the bike pants—but despite some discomfort, he successfully returned to the RV that evening.

He continued until he reached Omak, Washington, a city on the Colville Indian Reservation about 300 miles away. There, he picked up Bessette, an old friend who'd expressed interest in response to one of his Facebook posts. Though Bessette had been a bit non-committal at first, something told Lawrence to reach out again. The call came at the perfect time, Bessette agreed.

"I was depressed before Duane got there," he said. "He gave me a new start mentally, physically, emotionally, and spiritually. It's like a new journey in life, a new chapter."

The first steps of running were painful, Bessette admitted. He'd played basketball and other sports growing up and now works in construction, but hadn't been running for years. "I remember I was so exhausted," he said. "I asked Duane, how far was that? He's like, that was only one mile."

But soon he fell into a groove. With Barnett's help, he bought new pairs of Under Armour shoes, which eased the impact on his joints—and synced to the MapMyRun app to track mileage, so he'd know how often to swap them out.

"NATIVE AMERICAN WOMEN GO MISSING AND THERE'S NOT A LOT OF SUPPORT SYSTEMS OUT THERE, ON OR OFF THE RESERVATION. THEY FALL THROUGH THE CRACKS."

Every weekday morning, they'd get up, sing a spiritual song, and perform a cleansing ritual called smudging, where they'd burn a mix of sage, tobacco, and traditional medicines. After a breakfast of eggs and sausage cooked in the microwave, they'd trade off running legs in the morning, with the other man driving the RV to the next meeting point. Around 11:30, they'd stop for lunch, then take turns biking in the afternoon, both using the 2020 Salsa Journeyman 650 Claris bike.

At night, they'd pull into a Wal-Mart parking lot, where they could connect to power and wifi. And each weekend, they checked into a hotel, where they showered, rested, did laundry, and contacted family and friends back home.

A New Companion

In that manner, the pair ran and pedaled through the West. They stopped in Spokane, Washington; Missoula, Montana; and at the Crow reservation, also in Montana. By mid-September, they'd reached the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota, where LaDeux was living at the time.

A mutual friend of LaDeux and Lawrence named Mary Weasel Bear, who also lived on the Pine Ridge Reservation, saw Lawrence's posts on social media about his cross-country trip. She asked LaDeux if he wanted to go on a bike and a run, and he quickly agreed, thinking the two of them might travel from one side of the reservation to the other. But once she told him more about Lawrence and his plan, he packed his bags for the long haul.

"I knew about the movement; I have family members that are missing," he said. "This was a calling. I took it."

With the added reinforcement, the trio picked up speed—and a strong voice for their morning ritual. LaDeux, who describes himself as a song keeper of Pine Ridge, has a vast repertoire of traditional melodies. "When he sings in praise, it's touching. It gave me chills," Bessette said.

Ethan LaDeaux joined the group when they reached the Pine Ridge Reservation in South Dakota. Courtesy Duane Garvais Lawrence

From there, they stopped at several more reservations—including Rosebud and Yankton Sioux reservations in South Dakota, the Meskwaki Reservation in Iowa, and the Ponca Reservation in Nebraska. At each, tribal leaders, members, and relatives of missing and murdered women welcomed them, sometimes running with them, or riding alongside on horseback.

When their motivation flagged, the mission drove them forward. Slowing down on a steep hill, LaDeux reflected on words Lawrence had shared: that for every hill they crested, justice would be served for 10 women. He kept up the climb.

Bessette recalled feeling fatigued near Spokane, then looking over to see a poster for a missing woman from the Coeur d'Alene tribe tacked to a tree. "It reminded me that this is what we're doing—giving hope and closure to some families," he said. "It gave me a purpose."

Reversing the Tides

Before their final destination, the men had one more important stop: Washington, D.C. When they arrived on September 29, they prayed, sang, and danced in front of the White House, Supreme Court, and other important buildings, asking for the reauthorization of Savanna's Act. "We weren't there for politics," Lawrence said. "We were there for our women."

Courtesy Duane Garvais Lawrence

After they departed, the act passed. It was signed into law October 10.

Still, their mission wasn't yet complete. On October 3—timed to the 400th anniversary of the pilgrim's landing—they arrived at Plymouth Rock. Near the statue of Massasoit, chief of the Wampanoag Indians that sits on higher ground, they held a small prayer ceremony.

Sovereign flew in from Washington; the men presented her with $1,500 in additional donations they'd raised along the way, separate from the GoFundMe. Locals from the Mashpee Wampanoag tribe, descendents of those who welcomed the pilgrims, also joined them.

Together, they sang a powerful tune called "The Turnaround Song," designed to root out and reverse evil. They spoke the names of women lost, discussed treaties between Native Americans and the U.S. government that had gone unfulfilled, and prayed for better days ahead. In total, the group had covered about 1,500 miles running and biking.

The men then drove the RV back to Washington state, which took a little more than a week. Bessette returned to Omak, where he now regularly logs about 15 miles of running and cycling a week near mountains and lakes. LaDeux is staying, for the time being, with Lawrence and his family, and also continues his active pursuits. "Running and biking has become a part of my life," LaDeux said, "and will be a part of my life till I can't run anymore."

In fact, the trio are planning another cross-country expedition in June. They hope to follow the route of the Longest Walk, a 3,000-plus mile journey first undertaken in 1978 to protest bills that threatened Native Americans' treaty rights.

It's still in the planning phases, but this time, they aim to gather a larger crew. Sovereign said she hopes she'll be able to join for at least part of the journey. But regardless of the role she'll play, she's grateful for the men's efforts, and the rising profile of the MMIW movement.

"We all have the right to walk this land, feeling safe and free from harm," she said. Despite years of trauma and hardship for Native Americans, she maintains hope for the future. "I still believe that with better choices, we can all help heal each other."

CINDY KUZMA Contributing Writer
Cindy is a freelance health and fitness writer, author, and podcaster who's contributed regularly to Runner's World since 2013.