In the Beginning, I was a Soldier

I joined the Army Reserves when I was 17. I grew up seeing my grandpa in the Army National Guard, and I always wanted to serve. I have always been a patriot. The Army was going to give me what I never had in my life: regimen. I never had problems with authority and I was a fairly self-disciplined person, so I figured I would have no problems in Basic Training. I love America beyond belief. It was a dream come true to serve. When I was sworn in, I knew that I was willing to die for our country.


HELL ON EARTH





No one can prepare you, no matter if they have been there or not, for what happens in Army Basic Training. The mind cannot wrap around what is done to you physically and mentally, unless you are there, and there's no way out. Having the right mindset is key. If you are there for the wrong reasons, you are going to fail. If you don't really want to be there, but you are being forced to because it's either that or go to jail, you will most likely go through training several times. If you think you are going to see the world and get free college, you may not make it. Success in the Army is determined by how strong you are in your mind and heart. Home of the Brave, indeed.



RECEPTION








[I remember seeing this sign from the highway as we were being bussed from St. Louis airport to FLW. I cannot describe the fear I felt at this moment.]



Usually that word implies "feeling welcome, wanted, or taken care of," hahahahaha, in the Army's case, Reception is the place where you are herded and shuffled around in a scary, sterile-looking place, and are subjected to a lot of mass confusion and you learn the Army's motto first hand: HURRY UP AND WAIT. In Reception, you get your shots, your uniforms, your dental and medical exams, and spend a lot of time being scared to death. Lack of sleep after a few days at Reception start off the 9 weeks of exhaustion that are ahead of you.

SHAKEDOWN

I will never look at cattle trucks the same. As soon as we were in-processed and divided up into our platoons, our Drill Sergeants came to Reception to pick us up. They had cattle trucks waiting for us, and we all packed in there like sardines. Of course, we didn't see HER til it was too late. A crazy looking female Drill Sergeant was hiding in the corner of the cattle truck, and she started screaming and cussing worse than any man I had ever heard. Our arrival wasn't received very well. We were told how horrible we were, what low-life pieces of crap we were, how we were civilian scum and didn't deserve to be in her presence. Of course, this is how they do things. The psychology behind military training is: They break you down in order to build you up. We were dropped off at a gym and all around us were Drill Sergeants screaming orders that were foreign to my ears, and descending upon us like a swarm of angry bees. Shakedown is a term where you have to be accountable for everything in your possession, to include your duffel bag, etc., and this occasion usually happens when you are first entering training. You literally have to dump out all of your worldly possessions, and EVERYTHING gets inspected, while the pack of rabid Drill Sergeants stomp around, scream and make you completely confused.

HOME SWEET HOME





Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri. Soon to be known as "Ft. Lost in the Woods" and "Ft. Misery," was now my new home. After arriving at our company's barracks, we were subjected to insane rituals of running up and down 10 flights of stairs carrying about 80 lbs on our backs, then getting "smoked" outside in extreme heat, and back into the torture chamber inside. [ARMY TERMINOLOGY: Being SMOKED is when you forced into extreme exercise, physical torture of all varieties; mostly in outrageous, uncomfortable, and impossible situations. This would include doing push-ups, flutter kicks, "front, back, go," on pavement, in dirt, and in the rocks, for horribly long lengths of time, usually with someone screaming in your face, as your muscles fail.] Upon returning to our barracks, we thought all was well when the DS sat us down and talked like normal human beings, to give us a sort of "for housekeeping purposes" introduction to Basic Combat Training. We thought, "oh, whew, maybe it's going to be ok." That thought was short lived, and we knew hell had begun when the Drill Sergeant purposely closed all the windows in the classroom and began smoking us again. Mind you it was summer of '96 in Missouri. Does the term "slipping around on tile floor in your own (and others seemingly) sweat" mean anything to you? All of what was happening to us was painful. Tiring. Excruciating. I knew there was a purpose; however, it didn't make "exercise" or "working out" enjoyable or fun the way it is for me now. I had the OMG-a-crazy-man-is-screaming-inches-from-my-face, so I better do it motivation. All I could do was think about when the hell was I going to get out of there and get back home??? After hours of torture, the Drill Sergeants let up. I settled into my bunk as best I could, and prayed for the best. The next 9 weeks would make or break me.




STRIPPED





[this is not my exact bunk, nor is it my photo- I do not take credit for it- but it's very similar to how I lived, and I do believe it was taken at FLW]



In a matter of days, I had lost my identity and freedom. I was dressed just like everyone else in a uniform, and I wasn't allowed to wear makeup or earrings. I had lost my first name, and I was merely a number. I was a no one. Immediately, I realized what I had to do in order to survive. Shut my mouth. Do what I was told. Ask permission for EVERYTHING. Make no move without being told to do so. Implicitly follow instructions. Work as a team member- not an individual. Remain vigilant for the unexpected, and be flexible enough to deal with fast-paced changes. Stay motivated despite exhaustion, pain, weariness, and fear. Eventually having the self-discipline to stand at attention for hours on end, despite wanting to wipe the sweat out of my eyes, because it was my DUTY to do so- THAT came easily.

I had no life or existence beyond what they allowed me to have. I had to earn the right to have respect from the Drill Sergeants. I had nothing other than that which they provided me. I was a civilian learning how to soldier. Drill Sergeants are expert soldiers. They know all. That is the nature of Drill Sergeants. They must be experts in order to teach civilians the ways of soldiering, and in turn, potentially save lives in combat. The respect that they command is beautifully fierce. If you have never met a Drill Sergeant, or been graced by their presence, you are missing out. They are truly outer worldly. Yes, they are still human beings, and have lives outside of our training and barracks, but when you are the one getting trained by them, it's very hard to imagine them at home with the kids! I feared Sgt. Rogers and Sgt. Diaz-de-Leon. I respected them and I hated them. In the end, I came to love them. It took a long time and a whole lot of push-ups later for me to feel that way!! Many people in training were like stubborn and wild horses that had to be broken. Luckily, it didn't take much to break me of my nasty civilian habits and mindset! The trouble with the breaking is, some people can't take it, and it pushes them over the edge. I just found a nice place in the recesses of my mind to retreat to when it got bad. I put on the figurative protective coating on, and kept going.


COMFORTABLY NUMB





[this picture was taken about 30 minutes after we experienced the gas chambers!! I am on the right side, 2nd row up, 3rd person from the right.]





As the days and weeks went on, I truly began to love the regimen, the discipline, the structure, and the consistency of Army living. I became used to being yelled at.[No matter what one did, the DS yelled. Even if you give the right answer to the wrong question, you are WRONG! It's all part of their mind game; their psyche breaking routine.] I became robotic and numb. I found a way to cope with the fear and pain by blocking it out and emotionally detaching, while still taking it all in and thriving. The daily grind became routine. Predictability was not something I was used to in my life. I grew up with chaos and disorganization. Despite the seemingly chaotic manner in which the Drill Sergeants herded us around and used confusion tactics to keep us on our toes, there really was a method to their madness. Waking us up at 2am with a fake fire drill just to make sure we were all following bedtime uniform protocol... a pain in the ass at the moment, yes, but worthwhile to make us realize had we been in a combat situation, we would need to be ready to jump into action at a moment's notice. Getting GIGGED [ARMY TERMINOLOGY: Gigged means getting busted or in trouble for a seemingly tiny or mundane detail] for dust bunnies under our beds or a tiny piece of lint on our uniform seemed to be crazy and asinine. But it served a purpose: PAY ATTENTION TO DETAIL. Finally all the madness made sense. I began to really fit into a rhythm, I knew what was expected of me, and the training was so methodical, I was able to do it in my sleep.




INTESTINAL FORTITUDE

Laying in my bunk at night, I often pondered life, and came to realize all that I took for granted in my "previous life." It was amazing how many walks of life we all came from, how different we all were, and how in the Army your former status and life back home didn't matter there. You could've been a great athlete, a brilliant map reader, or a championship marksman- all great skills that are helpful in the Army, but if you don't have HEART you won't make it in Basic Training. Period. I saw so many people flounder in various aspects of BCT because it just wasn't in their heart to be there, nor were they able to dig deep within themselves to find the strength to carry on. The #1 purpose of BCT is to train and prepare soldiers for combat. You are there for that reason alone. If you were deployed into combat, you must be able to handle the stressful environment in which complete discipline is required. People's lives are dependant on the strength and capabilities of the unit. If you are running through a battle field and suddenly stop because you "can't do it," people could DIE because of you. You have to find the strength- mental and physical- the intestinal fortitude, within yourself to keep going. You must "suck it up," "drive on," and be "good to go," at all times. It "behooves you" to do what you are told without question. If someone decides to be a BLUE FALCON [ARMY TERMINOLOGY: a blue falcon is someone who goes off and does their own thing- an "individual,"] so many lives could be at stake. The Drill Sergeants had an amazing way of talking to us and making us think a whole lot deeper than we ever had before. They had funny terminology and words that came from another planet. Nothing that came out of the DS's mouths were by accident or without purpose. They were always using their authority and position to teach us a lesson. Our lives depended on how well they taught us to survive.

OVERCOME and DRIVE ON

In the end, I made it through hardships and pain. I succeeded. I was transformed from a sloppy civilian to a lean, mean killing machine! If I had to, or was deployed into combat, I knew how to defend myself and my fellow soldiers. I could protect myself from a nerve gas attack. I knew basic combat First Aid, hand-to-hand combat, and I could road march with the best of them. I had pride in my country like never before, and I was willing to die for my fellow man. I knew how to do Drill and Ceremony; I was no longer "back on the block," as they said, I was beginning to look like a soldier. I had completed terrifying obstacle courses, some of which could only be done as a team. I could fire an M-16, a grenade launcher, and a M-60. I knew military protocol, procedure, and chain of command. A serious knee injury in the 3rd week could have stopped me from continuing if I had been a weaker person, but it didn't. A mishap with Sgt. Rogers in the 5th week caused a major setback initially. However, it pushed me to prove to him and myself that I had the heart to be there. The incident I am referring to is very embarrassing, but I feel that in order for this blog to be complete, I must add it:
Picture the setting. It's a hot and dusty day at the shooting range. Sgt. Rogers had been on vacation for a few days and was back just in time to start torturing us at the range. I was in my foxhole and had my earplugs in. My battle buddy was in there with me. Sgt. Rogers was screaming orders at everyone and completely going berserk. (Meanwhile people have loaded weapons, and scarily enough, there were people in training who were *gasp* suicidal.) I turned to my BB and said about Sgt. Rogers, "he's being a dick," forgetting that my ear plugs were in, so I said it very loud, apparently. In about 1.2 seconds, Sgt. Rogers grabbed me by the collar and pulled me out of the foxhole. After a vicious tongue lashing, he decided to make me the butt of every joke within the CADRE [permanent party, people who are stationed at that location, non-trainees], and call me out as many times as possible. That night was the worst experience of my life. He decided to be on CQ [CHARGE OF QUARTERS, the person in charge overnight], so that he could teach me a lesson. He called a meeting and first thing he said was, "Someone lied to me today. Who was it?" Of all things I learned in the Army: DUTY, HONOR, COUNTRY, RESPECT, DISCIPLINE, AND INTEGRITY, I knew lying didn't bode well with anyone. Earlier in the day, after being pulled out of the foxhole, he had asked me what I said about him. I said, "I didn't say anything!" That right there was a lie. So I knew when he asked in that meeting about someone lying to him, he was referring to me. As painful as it was, and as easy as I would have liked to have died right on the spot, I stood up and said, "I did." He was surprised that I had the nerve to confess in front of everyone. He told all my fellow soldiers what I had said. And he proceeded to punish & smoke them while I had to watch. He then made me go to my room and pack all of my stuff, as he told me he was going to send me home dishonorably. I stood before him in shock, but in strong admission of guilt, and did not shed a tear. He asked me, "What do you have to say for yourself?" as my friends were crying and grunting in pain and fear. I had already learned you NEVER, EVER say sorry to a Drill Sergeant, and they don't care if you cry a million tears. You are never supposed to show weakness. They don't want your apology. You are NOTHING to them, remember? I said, "I know I made a mistake, but I want to be here." He was quiet for a minute then he said, "you know what Private? You've got guts. Most of these other Privates would be crying and begging by now, but you stood here and took it. I'm proud of you! Now get your stuff out of here and get out of my face!" Hahahhahahaha- wow. What a shocker and life changing moment that was. By that point in training, I was slacking, not feeling motivated, and dragging ass so to speak. He put the fear of God in me. Or the fear of Drill Sergeants, anyway. He made me realize what I could lose because of a terrible mistake. He gave me the motivation I needed to dig deep and harness the strength within.


"THIS IS MY NOW, AND I AM LIVING IN THE MOMENT" (Jordin Sparks)





Graduation day was the best day of my life up to that point. I had learned so much about myself. If I could complete all the tasks required of me for Army BCT, I could literally do ANYTHING in life. All along, every tiny accomplishment was a huge deal; an accumulation of seemigly impossible tasks, with even more impossible requirements to get them done. Imagine the Amazing Race Military Edition on steroids, where you are expected to fail. That's BCT. They set it up with impossible standards, so that you will always have to reach higher, worker harder, and give it your all.

The morning of graduation, my platoon presented Sgt. Rogers with a plaque that had the words to the "Ballad of the Green Berets" on it, and "Summer '96 Charlie Cougars, 1st Platoon." We all had learned the words to the Green Beret, and we sang it to him. He actually pinched a tear. Unbelievable. He told us we were "FUCKIN HOOAH" (basically we were badass!), and we finally deserved to see the picture he carried around in his front pocket. He had told us at the beginning of training that he carried around a picture of his 1st kill in Panama. He also had told us numerous times that he was so wicked and crazy he could kill us with a blade of grass or his pinky!!! In hindsight, seeing a picture of a dead person sounds crazy, but back then and there, it was perfectly normal, and we were stoked that we had earned the man's respect. He showed it to us. Eek. I can't say what I felt when I saw that picture, because at that point in time, I was pretty emotionally turned off. I was just glad he was treating us like human beings finally. My family drove all the way to Missouri to see me, and my late Grandpa, Ret. SGM Prospero Chavez got to see me graduate as well. Sgt. Rogers came up to me in the barracks and I introduced him to my dad. He turned and looked at me, shook my hand, and said, "Thank you Private." My hands were shaking and my heart was pounding. Finally I found the air in my lungs and I muttered, "Thank you Sergeant." I was so taken aback, I waited until after he walked away to burst into tears and hug my dad. After graduating from Army training, and experiencing the greatest pride of my life, I moved on, became less disciplined, and relaxed too much. I went through my share of problems, including depression, post-Army injuries, and of course, weight gain, which brings me to the beginning of this blog. In 2009, when I began the journey I am still on, I found that once I immersed myself, it was so easy to tap into the discipline I have had all along. I already had the skills to succeed. I learned everything I'll ever need to know in life while I was in the Army.