How Did I Get Here?

Wednesday

If I’m going to do this running crap, I can’t use it as an excuse when it comes time for mandatory exercise. Especially when I’m the one enforcing participation.

Would anyone care that I ran a marathon 3 days ago? No, they would just know the Company Commander wasn’t out at the Battalion PT session.

I was still so friggin’ tired. I won’t be fully awake for another few days so this post-marathon week is just a daze. It just so happens that the once-a-month PT session with the Battalion was today and that meant I lost even more precious sleep, having to get in the office by about 0545.

As a little bonus, it was raining for about the 4th or 5th time since I got to San Diego. People were already parked near the PT field when I came in with their lights on, like some kind of pick-up football game. They were waiting in their warm, dry cars hoping someone would come along and tell them PT was cancelled due to inclimate weather.

Yeah, right. We are Marines and sometimes we have to remind the young ones of that fact. How would it look, really, if we said “You know what? It’s drizzling a little so we’re gonna just canx PT today.”

What are we, Air Force?

If it ain’t rainin’, we ain’t trainin’!!!

And furthermore, if I can get my 38-year-old ass out there only three days out from a marathon, none of you bastards have even the most remote right to not be up for a little run.

Standing out in the light rain, a week prior, would have been a bit more miserable, I have to admit. After going through the Miami monsoon, this warm SOCAL spit seemed minuscule by comparison.

It hurt to run from the first step. But what could I do? I was at the lead of my Company which was the lead element of the Battalion. I would run on bloody stumps before I let them see me even wince.

The Colonel got the idea in his head that we needed to get everyone’s pulse up so about 1 ½ miles into it, he stopped and then instructed everyone that we would go at a dead sprint by Company, every Marine for himself for ¼ mile.

When he said go, I bolted. I THOUGHT it was just that I was in the front to begin with that I was ahead of everyone but as I accelerated (with every muscle in my body screaming “What the FUCK?!”), I noticed that no one was passing me.

I snuck a look over my shoulder and most of the Company was far behind me. There were two that were still ahead of me, one being the Guidon bearer who had the disadvantage of carrying a wooden pole with a flag on it. The other was a young Marine who decided to make his move but it just so happened at that moment that the flag-bearer switched position on the Guidon and unknowingly blocked his would-be-passer’s way. The guy double clutched which gave me just enough of a step to accelerate past them and pour on everything I had left.

I surged forward leaving both of them behind me.

A few moments later, I was coming to a bend and my body suddenly wanted to know when we were going to be done. When we rounded the corner, I saw two cones on either side of the path and wondered if that was where we were supposed to stop. I was the lead man so I wasn’t sure so I kept up my pace while I snuck a look behind me to see if anyone had stopped at the cones.

Nope.

Rounding the next little corner, it suddenly became apparent where the finish was: at the concrete barrier where the PFT turn-around point was.

And it was still a ways away.

My body was not too happy about this.

I never slowed down, even sped up a little, opening up my carburetor and pouring all the gas straight into the engine. I would pay for this but for now, the most tired and one of the oldest Marines on the course was handily kicking everyone else’s ass.

But then I heard footfalls and two Marines raced past me like I had fallen down.

One was my First Sergeant who is a physical specimen I can only marvel at and another was another well-built Marine I didn’t know.

Fine, you can have it. I was full throttle and I would be happy with 3rd place. My body had taken a vote and Mind really didn’t have a choice in the matter.

When I crossed the finish line, I was destroyed. But I had to stay standing and cheer on the others that were coming in.

Of particular note were the ones that came jogging in, obviously not playing the game. It took everything I had not to punch them in the neck and simultaneously kick them in the groin.

Yes, my complete fatigue was taking its toll.

We finished up the run and afterwards, the Battalion had set up breakfast consisting of water, orange juice, coffee, fruit, bagels, and pastries.

This put me in an interesting position. Did you not notice what day it was? It’s, of course, the Starbuckiest day of the week so I couldn’t exactly waste my coffee-drinking performance on Einstein’s. I mean, come on.

So I abstained and then made a quick drive to SB’s to do my weekly duty.

Back in my office, I sipped the Breastmilk of God Himself while wondering if I was going to recover anytime soon from the morning’s events.

The answer was “Hells NO!” and I went home at the end of the day feeling like the bottom layer of a full porta-potty left out in the desert for a month.

Third place. Humph.

Free Advice for Today: “Volunteer. Sometimes the jobs no one wants conceal big opportunities.”