ruck

It was a 4:40 a.m. wake-up for our 2nd 5 mile ruck carrying about 45 lbs. We headed off in the darkness piled down with gear at a rapid clip. I tend to spend the first mile imagining the stress fractures my hips are enduring and feeling like I'll incur damage that will leave me with a walker at the age of 60. These visions always include me wearing ugly stretch waist polyester pants and being angry with the way life turned out from that one unfortunate ruck march that broke me. I spend the second mile imagining the faces of my best pals at holdover company, and thinking of the good times we'll have together if I fall out, get recycled, and have to start over with them. Mile 3 I've moved on to remembering that if I get recycled and have to class up again it must occur by Monday when Alpha begins. If I miss Alpha, Bravo is said to be run by tyrants with fangs. Panic. Shortness of breath. Mile 4 I think about how life could be okay if I go to AIT as enlisted. What can I see myself as more? A plumber or electrician? Leaning towards plumber. Mile 5 I remember I suck at fixing stuff. I pray my way every step up cardiac hill. Jesus gets me up that hill. Another march survived.

I tell myself these days that either I become an officer, and it's a job that requires everything I am plus some. If I don't make it, the Army gives me a mechanical job that requires almost nothing of me but showing up--no soul required. Odd options here.