Day 1 (For Real!)

Well, it's been a few days....well, weeks, since I've posted last. So for all one of you that have been waiting patiently to hear all about the rest of my Air Assault School, here you go....finally.




DAY 1


I have to be up at 0200 (2am for you civilian types). Even after the Day zero craziness and being dead tired...it was hard to fall asleep before 2000 (8pm). If you're a math whiz, that means no more than six hours of sleep.

Now, I love my wife, and love to hear from her. HOWEVER, when my phone vibrates nearly off my side table, waking me up in sheer panic, it kind of, well, sucks. And that's on a normal day. Today, it is compounded by the fact that the when the text message hits my phone, it's 0130. Once my heart rate slows down to subsonic, I, well, want to throw the phone against the wall. No offense to Allison. That extra half hour would have been welcomed.

Regardless, I'm up now. I eat some oatmeal, powder down my feet, and head out to post. There's no one on the roads at 0300 except cops and drunk drivers, so I try to avoid both. I have the radio on, and the jockey comes on with this report, which I will paraphrase:
"It's going to be blazing today folks, 98 degrees and high humidity....dangerous heat. A good day to stay inside!"
My truck thermometer reads 85 degrees. At 3am. Soak that in for a minute. 3am. Great.

The Army has categories for heat which dictate the amount of hard work vs rest that Soldiers are supposed to do for safety reasons. Black, or heat category 5 (HeatCat5), is as bad as it gets. It's already heatcat5 when we form up for the pending ruck march. They tell us to roll up our sleeves and pant legs to help let the heat escape. We still have on our kevlar helmets, so all the heat gets trapped around our head. I'm looking forward to this less and less. Who am I kidding? I never looked forward to this. I HATE ruck marches. I can walk fine. I mostly just get bored. I half joined the Transportation Corps so I wouldn't HAVE to carry my gear. I can throw it on a truck and drive it there. I'm not even kidding. It seriously was a reason.

It's "only" six miles. We have an hour and a half. It is not a walk. You have to run at least part of it. By run, I mean some kind of straight leg shuffle so the ruck doesn't bounce up and down on your back. I'm already sweating. Profusely. We haven't even moved to the starting line. I stopped by a truck and marked my territory on its tire. Time to move out.

< This is what I looked like.




This is what I felt like. >



We take off when they say go.
Now....we have been told all day yesterday that the course was flat and easy going. They lied. It wasn't ridiculously steep hills, but rather a combination of mind ******* that serves to drive your morale into the ground.

Issue One: Slow, Rolling Hills This means hills that have a long upslope, but at such a shallow angle that the downslope doesn't have any foreseeable mental or physical benefit.

This SUCKS

Issue Two: Gravel Those pesky little broken rocks roll ankles, reduce traction, get stuck in treads, and basically frustrate anyone who has to walk on them for long distances

Issue Three: Curving route to turn around/finish Easily the worst of the three. It's dark, so the flood lights at the turn around point can be seen from miles away. It never gets closer. Remember how the lines at the amusement park wind back and forth, back and forth, and you slowly step forward like cattle in a chute? Yeah...just when you think that over this hill is the end....the road takes a right turn and you've got another mile to go. Oh, and when you get there....turn around and go back to the start. You're only halfway done.

So close, but soooooo far away...

By the way, we are carrying an 8lb dummy rifle (rubber, for training, also called a "rubber duck") and our 1 quart canteen. At the turn around point and at the turn around, you have to turn it upside down over your head to make sure you are drinking all your water (so you don't die of dehydration...how nice).

I've made it to the turn around point. I'm hot. Extremely hot. I'm sweating like you wouldn't believe. I take a quick knee to fill my canteen and contemplate not getting up. It's only been three miles! Really? I feel like I've been running a marathon in a volcano with a truck on my back.

I've been running intervals and down most hills. There are chemlites set out in an alternating pattern, red/green along the road to keep you on the path in the pitch dark. I run from one red to the next, then walk to the next red. My mouth and lips are dry, even if I drink water. Not a good sign. Dehydration is right around the corner.

As I start the last three mile trek back to the finish, bad thoughts enter my head.
"If I just pass out now, it can all be over"
"If I break my leg, I can stop walking"
"Is a heat injury all that bad?"
"Maybe I should have been a math major"
"I wonder if I would look good in a tutu?"

Scary, I know.

You what is really scary? Hearing people yell "MEDIC!!" up and down the route and seeing people literally falling by the wayside. Don't worry, the instructors and medics are all over the course, because this apparently happens all the time and they are experienced. None of us stop, because if we do, one, we may not start again, and two, we may miss the time limit!

As I round the last corner, it is a slight upslope and turn towards the finish line. A big timer is at the end, so you can see where you're at, finally. We aren't allowed to have watches or cell phones or any type of device to pace ourselves. You just go as fast as you can and hope for the best. As I round the last turn, the black hats at the finish are yelling to hurry up and counting down. I'm running out of time. With a surge of what I can only imagine is pure will power, as my body had given up on me at least a mile back, I run (in reality, a sad shuffle, but not a walk) up the hill and to the finish. Probably about a hundred yards or so. Remember earlier when I said your canteen had to be empty? Yeah, at the finish to. So, out of breath from running, dead on my feet, and time counting down, I'm chugging warm water, about two cups or so, as I cross the finish line, holding the canteen over my head and yelling my roster number. "Three!!!" "Three!!!" "Did you get me down?! Roster Three!!" Remember we had 1.5 hours to finish. I came in at 1:59:40. That's right, twenty seconds to spare. Thirty-six people miss the time. You aren't dropped from the course, but you get an automatic -20 points.

I am in physical pain. My body is shutting down, and I know it. I will never be able to describe how bad I was feeling physically, and emotionally/mentally overjoyed at the same time. I've never felt so weak. The event isn't over yet. There is a detailed packing list layout of all the stuff in our rucksack. Negative points given here are hard to overcome, especially if you've missed the time on the ruck march.

Included is a full canteen. I've dropped my ruck to the ground and sat on the ground. I know I need water, desperately, but it is so far away. I'm not even sure I can stand back up. I slowly stand up after about twenty minutes and stumble to the water jugs. I fill my canteen and head back to my ruck. I don't dare drink any, because the canteen has to be full.

I'm not worried about the inspection, because I have packed and repacked and checked and rechecked everything before we started. As expected, I have no issues. My hat, called a "soft cap", is a little worn, and since NOTHING else was wrong, I get docked ten points for it being "faded". Ludicrous.

We move to the buses, and then to the classroom, which is ice cold with air conditioning. We are all soaked with sweat. I feel like I jumped in a lake and then ran into an Arctic winter. I'm shivering. All of us are freezing! We're dead tired, but we dig in to the Air Assault handbook, starting with basic rotary aircraft and lifting capabilities. Every time we go on break for 10 minutes, we sweat again. Then we go back into the cold classroom. I'm going to get pneumonia for sure.

We find out later that it reached 103 degrees outside, with a heat index of 115 degrees. But at least the day is over. One more classroom day and then our first big test. Right now, a shower. Food. Ibuprofen. and Sleep. Lots and lots of sleep.

After this being so bad over only six miles, am I going to be able to do this again? Twice?! There is the culminating event that is the same course, twice, to make it 12 miles. Oh boy.