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I said Double Time . . . March!
Jan. 4th, 2018 08:03 pm.03 miles. That's it. It is 1924 hours and according to my Fitbit I have a mere .03 miles to go to reach my daily goal of 1.5 miles. But I don't wanna. I just had a big bowl of spaghetti. It's warm in here. The internet is amusing me tonight.
But somewhere back in the monkey house of my brain, five U.S. Army Drill Sergeants have lept to their booted feet and are yelling at me.
"Son," says Drill Sergeant Redding, staring down from his impressive height of 12 feet, "get your ass in gear and head out!"
Drill Sergeant Colom face palms and moans "You are killing me, Berry . . . get moving!"
Drill Sergeant Rearden drawls "If'n you think we are just going to let you sit there and be lazy, y'all are dumber than my dog, an' he's pretty dumb."
Drill Sergeant Chin comes up with a maniacal grin and starts shouting "Belly! You too weak Belly! You skinny man made of sticks! Walk Belly, grow muscle! Do diamond push-ups!"
Finally, Senior Drill Sergeant Swanson ambles up, looks at me, and smiles. "Berry, stop fucking up my company. 'On The Road Alpha' means get on the fucking road. NOW."
I thought I was rid of them when I graduated from Alpha Company, 7th Battalion, 1st Infantry Training Brigade, 33 years ago. But know. They are always there in my head, cajoling me to push harder, find my strength, get past that next obstacle and move out at double time.
See, I was a bit of a challenge for my cadre. I showed up at Fort Benning's Reception Center and measured out to 6' tall and weighing a mighty 129lbs. That was before the haircut. I struggled to do five push-ups in the first few days of training. I was, as Drill Sergeant Chin noted, too skinny.
The Army's solution was terrifying in its simplicity. I was put on a triple meals plan. Every meal, I went through the line twice for full meals. After that, one of the Drill Sergeants would load me a third time with proteins and starches. Yes, there was vomiting involved. The good thing was I never noticed if the food was bad because I was shoveling it down my throat so fast I barely had time to chew!
Combined with A-7-1's commitment to physical training (we took that "on the road" stuff seriously) consisting of two full PT sessions a day plus a "voluntary" PT session on Sunday mornings, which was our only free time all week, meant that the results of this massive calorie intake were obvious within a week or so. I put on slabs of muscle, my performance soared, and I was better able to handle the rigors of Infantry One Station Unit Training (OSUT).
The triple meals tapered off, but I was constantly being watched and being told that there was more chipped beef, go get a plate, or that I could grab an extra hamburger. Over the 13 weeks of OSUT, I gained close to 40lbs. Because along with morning an evening PT, we were doing more field training. Long road marches carrying heavy rucksacks, learning how to move in combat both as an individual and as a team. We were active for 12 hours a day, most days.
In the last week of training, we got our civilian clothes back. Of course, being utterly sick of Army BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) we all put on our own clothes. Or tried to. I couldn't get my most comfortable jeans past my thighs. My t-shirt ripped when I tried to get my arms through the sleeves. The process of change is so gradual, especially in an intense training environment, that you don't see the changes. But there they are.
Down at the other end of the platoon bay, the opposite was going on. Jerome Guss, one of my fellow trainees, had come to Fort Benning weighing so much he was almost sent to a "fat ripper platoon" for weight loss before training. But Guss had pushed through and was now putting on the jeans he had worn on the plane here. He got both legs into one pant leg. There were plenty of jokes about I had stolen some of Guss' body at night, which made me wonder aloud if this meant I was now African-American.
That all was 33 years ago, but the memories are very strong. At the time, I really loathed some of my Drill Sergeants. But today, I wish I could thank them. They didn't just teach me to be an infantryman, they taught me to endure, and that where I think I have limitations is where I have possibilities. I owe them for the will to survive everything I've gone through. So they are welcome to stay in my head.
Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'm going for a short walk.
But somewhere back in the monkey house of my brain, five U.S. Army Drill Sergeants have lept to their booted feet and are yelling at me.
"Son," says Drill Sergeant Redding, staring down from his impressive height of 12 feet, "get your ass in gear and head out!"
Drill Sergeant Colom face palms and moans "You are killing me, Berry . . . get moving!"
Drill Sergeant Rearden drawls "If'n you think we are just going to let you sit there and be lazy, y'all are dumber than my dog, an' he's pretty dumb."
Drill Sergeant Chin comes up with a maniacal grin and starts shouting "Belly! You too weak Belly! You skinny man made of sticks! Walk Belly, grow muscle! Do diamond push-ups!"
Finally, Senior Drill Sergeant Swanson ambles up, looks at me, and smiles. "Berry, stop fucking up my company. 'On The Road Alpha' means get on the fucking road. NOW."
I thought I was rid of them when I graduated from Alpha Company, 7th Battalion, 1st Infantry Training Brigade, 33 years ago. But know. They are always there in my head, cajoling me to push harder, find my strength, get past that next obstacle and move out at double time.
See, I was a bit of a challenge for my cadre. I showed up at Fort Benning's Reception Center and measured out to 6' tall and weighing a mighty 129lbs. That was before the haircut. I struggled to do five push-ups in the first few days of training. I was, as Drill Sergeant Chin noted, too skinny.
The Army's solution was terrifying in its simplicity. I was put on a triple meals plan. Every meal, I went through the line twice for full meals. After that, one of the Drill Sergeants would load me a third time with proteins and starches. Yes, there was vomiting involved. The good thing was I never noticed if the food was bad because I was shoveling it down my throat so fast I barely had time to chew!
Combined with A-7-1's commitment to physical training (we took that "on the road" stuff seriously) consisting of two full PT sessions a day plus a "voluntary" PT session on Sunday mornings, which was our only free time all week, meant that the results of this massive calorie intake were obvious within a week or so. I put on slabs of muscle, my performance soared, and I was better able to handle the rigors of Infantry One Station Unit Training (OSUT).
The triple meals tapered off, but I was constantly being watched and being told that there was more chipped beef, go get a plate, or that I could grab an extra hamburger. Over the 13 weeks of OSUT, I gained close to 40lbs. Because along with morning an evening PT, we were doing more field training. Long road marches carrying heavy rucksacks, learning how to move in combat both as an individual and as a team. We were active for 12 hours a day, most days.
In the last week of training, we got our civilian clothes back. Of course, being utterly sick of Army BDUs (Battle Dress Uniform) we all put on our own clothes. Or tried to. I couldn't get my most comfortable jeans past my thighs. My t-shirt ripped when I tried to get my arms through the sleeves. The process of change is so gradual, especially in an intense training environment, that you don't see the changes. But there they are.
Down at the other end of the platoon bay, the opposite was going on. Jerome Guss, one of my fellow trainees, had come to Fort Benning weighing so much he was almost sent to a "fat ripper platoon" for weight loss before training. But Guss had pushed through and was now putting on the jeans he had worn on the plane here. He got both legs into one pant leg. There were plenty of jokes about I had stolen some of Guss' body at night, which made me wonder aloud if this meant I was now African-American.
That all was 33 years ago, but the memories are very strong. At the time, I really loathed some of my Drill Sergeants. But today, I wish I could thank them. They didn't just teach me to be an infantryman, they taught me to endure, and that where I think I have limitations is where I have possibilities. I owe them for the will to survive everything I've gone through. So they are welcome to stay in my head.
Now, if you will excuse me, I think I'm going for a short walk.
