The Very first day Basic officially began I was chosen for Kitchen Patrol. Already have KP and it's my first day. I must have been a screw up!
Bright and early myself and about 10 others from the battery reported to the Dining Facility, or DFAC (Mess/Chow Hall for some). We were greeted by a Drill Sergeant who very much did not want to be there. I was assigned as a server. My job was to place spoonfuls of whatever into the plastic bowls or plates of the Soldiers coming through the line. When chow service had ended for the day we were to clean. Clean. CLEAN. The DS in charge made Gordon Ramsey look like a pussy cat. This Sergeant would not only lift out the drain plugs to check the bottom, but he'd stick his finger DOWN the train as far as he could, looking for grease or grime. We scrubbed every single square inch of that facility. We consistently failed his inspection until he either gave up, got tired, OR we did it - about 8pm, when we were released.
On days I didn't have KP, physical training started at 0600. At 0530 somebody - usually a Drill Sergeant would enter the bay and start screaming as if his hair was on fire. We had 25 minutes to get up, shave, and prepare for PT in whatever uniform and with whatever equipment we were told. Generally PT consisted of one of two things - Muscle Failure, or Run. On Muscle Failure days we brought with us our PT mat, and a canteen. We'd assemble on the drill pad, by squad. The Drill Sergeant conducting the session would command us to attention then: "Exxxxxxtend to the Lehhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhft….MAAAAARCHHHHHHHHH!!!" We'd shout with feigned enthusiasm as we went to double-arm distance before hearing the command "HARMS Downwaaaaaaaaaaard………….MHOOOOV!!!, LEHHHHHHHHHHHHHHFT FACE…...Exxxxxxtend to the Lehhhhhft….MAAAARCHHH!!!.....HARMS DOWNwaaaaaaaaaaaarddddddddddddddd….MHOOOOOOV! Riiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiight FACE…………FRAHM Front to rear couNT HOFFFFFF!! EEEEVEN numbers one step to the left…….unCOVER!"
Now we were in the PT Formation for stretching and warm ups. After several minutes of getting the blood flowing we'd follow the lead of the Drill Sergeant bringing upon ourselves untold levels of pain and suffering in the name of fitness.
One morning we got…lucky? Drill Sergeant Robbins called us down to PT Formation. He had rolled out a big projection style TV with a VCR atop. He said to us, "Privates, Today is your lucky day. Today you'll get to watch a hot chick strutting around in tights. But privates…this little girl will WHOOP YOUR ASS"
For the first time in my life, as the video played, I did aerobics. There are few things as funny as soon-to-be hardened Soldiers falling over themselves trying to keep up with a 5'4" aerobics instructor named buffy.
I didn't adjust well to basic. The stress was unbelievable for me. There were times I'd cry myself to sleep, silently. I hadn't made what I'd call friends - honestly, initially, everyone was there for themselves, to simply survive. My only link to sanity were the few letters I'd get from family and friends. Especially important to me were letters from my Dad. My Dad, you see, had gone through Basic Training in the late 50s - back when a private could get hit or beat-up a bit from a Drill Sergeant. My father, although only spending 2 1/2 years in the Active Army, was my lifeline. He knew what I was feeling and would share those thoughts and feelings with me via his letters. I recall about week two or three I got a letter from him which started "Dear Darin…you've been there a few weeks now and I bet you're asking yourself what the heck are you doing there?" Precisely. I had no idea. I surely did not WANT to be there. I'd often report for sick call, in lieu of doing PT. I'd find an illness. Sore throat. Hurting feet. Fever. Things would just happen. I recall being at the clinic complaining of headaches. I mentioned to the Doctor I was in a scooter accident the year prior where I suffered a big concussion. He said "Try these pills for a week. If they do not stop the headaches, we'll send you home IPS." "IPS?" I asked. "Injury Prior to Service". This was my ticket out of this hell. This was my ticket back to the place I felt safe - Mom and Dad's house. Walking back to my barracks from the clinic I was thinking about where I was, and what I was seeing. I was seeing and hearing thousands? Of privates just like me who were DOING it. I'd see privates in their last couple weeks of Basic, marching by singing LOUD and PROUD and looking every bit how I expected a Soldier to look. These guys looked so much older than me - although I suspect my age was average for a trainee. It was on that walk home I decided I was not going to quit. I decided it'd be very lame to get fired or laid-off from the ARMY. If the ARMY couldn't use me, who could? I committed myself to one act - if did ANYTHING for the rest of my life I, I promised myself the next time I was to see my parents again, I WILL be in my Uniform. I was not going to get off a plane having nothing to show for my time and effort.
Over the next few weeks I still got sick and still went to sick call - but NEVER mentioned a headache - and never took those pills, either. One problem I mentioned consistently was a numbness in my feet. Tingles. The front half of my feet felt 'asleep'. In fact, in 8 weeks of basic, my toe nails never grew. That's true.
One fever day - was over 102 - I got an IV from the clinic then was sent to walk back to my Barracks with a "Light Indoor Duty for the day" assignment. When I arrived to see my Battery had departed I asked the Drill Sergeant where they went, as I gave him my sick slip. "It's your lucky day Private - they all went to the NBC (gas) Chamber."
“… the greatest detractor from high performance is fear: fear that you are not prepared, fear that you are in over your head, fear that you are not worthy, and ultimately, fear of failure. If you can eliminate that fear—not through arrogance or just wishing difficulties away, but through hard work and preparation—you will put yourself in an incredibly powerful position to take on the challenges you face" - Pete Carroll.