Agony of Success

I am so busy.  I don't know how it happens, but everything gets done.  Or it has so far.  My papers get written, my tests get taken, my homework is done...  I even do my laundry.  There are papers to grade, beds to make, clothes to pick up off the floor.  There are classes to attend, notes to organize, supplies to collect, and things to buy.  There are letters to send and water bottles to fill and pushups to do.  There are dorm meetings and floor meetings and club meetings and floor dates.  There are friends to visit and projects to finish and chapels to attend.  I never have any trouble falling to sleep at night.  It's the waking up that troubles me.

0600 my alarm buzzes three mornings a week.  Gotta get out of bed, put on my swishy PT uniform, fill up my water bottle, get to the track.  One hour of formations and stretching and running and sit ups and pushups and more formations and cadences and HOOAHS that come from deep inside your chest.

Every time I put my uniform on it becomes more natural.  Awkward at first, I now walk proudly in my digital tan-green camo, shoulders back, chin up.  Hat on outside, of course.

Last weekend I got really familiar with my gear.  Although my heels have not decided to make friends with my boots yet.  The boots usually win.  We left after class on Friday afternoon and drove to WMU in Kalamazoo.  Awkward and out of place, Charlie Company huddled together away from our fellow Bronco cadets until we marched out to the repel tower and tied our Swiss-seat harnesses.  Then it was confusion as we all got into lines to repel 30, 60 ft down the smooth wooden tower sides held on by our own rope knots around our hips.  It was very secure, as my bruised waist will attest.  Before loading, gear in our laps, onto the navy blue ROTC school bus for the drive to Ft Custer, we were issued our "rubber duck" M-16 fake rifles.  Never point the muzzle at anyone.  Never leave your weapon unattended.  Never drop your weapon or put the muzzle in the dirt.  Cuddle the thing like a teddy bear in your bunk.  Pretend it's a matter of life or death.  Maybe it is.  I aced my written land navigation tests.  I guess I'm just a test-taking pro.  Turns out I can actually read a map, if I try.  Slept in my uniform long underwear in my Army-issued sleeping bag at the end of a barrack full of cadets, mostly male.  Woke up, raced to formation, stood at attention.  Marched my ruck in formation to the FLRC.  Field Leadership Recreation Course.  I had to look that up.  I have no idea what all these letters mean.  Ever.  FLRC- mission scenarios with props and a setup and a goal to complete.  Get across the river with your ammo box.  Escape a POW camp.  Work together like a true squad.  Strong mind, strong body.  Hua.  MRE breakfast sitting on my ruck.  MRE lunch sitting on my ruck.  Freezing fingers, but the MRE heaters kept them warmer.  MRE-meal ready to eat.  Army rations.  I knew that one.  Bus ride to the land navigation course.  We call it land nav.  The one thing the Army doesn't shorten to an acronym.  LN doesn't sound cool enough, I guess.  Mathematicians are fine with it, even though it means the "natural log" and should therefore logically be an NL.  But I digress.  5 hours of hiking down trails, pushing through brambles, thorns, and dead trees, and getting lost.  My feet are waging constant war with my leather boots.  Guess who suffered the most damage.  That's right.  Night land nav.  3 more hours of hiking down trails, pushing through brambles, thorns, and dead trees, and getting lost.  This time at night with nothing but a dim red flashlight to help out.  Red doesn't mess up night vision.  I didn't know that.  It's true though.  A glowstick war passed the time while we waited in formation for the bus to take us back to barracks.  I don't think anybody made it out unscathed.  Some were worse than others.  We looked like the night sky, glowing with speckled stars on a deep, dark field of black.  Only our stars were dangerous glowing chemicals.  So much fun.  Slept in my long underwear again.  There're called poly pro.  What does that even mean?  Had to skip out on the second ruck march as my feet were convalescing from their hours-long suicide mission fighting back against my boots.  Just accept it; they're not going anywhere.  Which means I missed the GAC.  Grenade Assault Course.  They didn't give us any grenades.  They gave us rocks.  Because that's just how gung-ho the ROTC program is.  Boom.  Made it home.  Ate lunch in the dining hall and it tasted incredible.  Took a hot shower and shaved every single hair off my legs.  I needed to feel feminine somehow.  Hobbled around campus all Monday with calves as tight as coiled steel.  But my Engineering bottle rocket flew 122 yards, so I was pretty pleased all the same.  Wednesday morning I passed my APFT.  That's out of the way.  Now I'm just 3 short forms away from contracting and getting my full ride and my stipend.  And applying for a summer culture and language program on the Army dime.  If I can make it through the application process.  But that's a story for another day.  Today I took a test and kicked it's butt, I have a lab write up to assemble and a squad meeting tonight.  Plus a meeting with my advisor to discuss my academic schedule for the next four years.  Does it tell you something about me that I have been looking forward to this for weeks and have already planned out all of my 7 remaining semesters and developed a schedule for this spring?  I know my course catalog like the back of my hand.  Looking forward to course registration.  And seeing my parents!!
HUA!
CDT Wood