thedrifter
12-01-03, 10:01 AM
BACK TALK: A lesson learned: There’s much more to being a Marine than physical skill
By Bob Newman
Special to the Times
I spent most of my 20 years in the Marine Corps doing jobs in which being in top physical shape was a requirement.
There were reconnaissance and instructor tours at Landing Force Training Command, Pacific; Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape School; and the Staff NCO Academy. All were filled with hard-core athletes who could run, jump and swim pretty darn well.
You ran at least 10 miles at lunchtime, swam a mile, did extreme calisthenics for an hour without a breather and hiked in snowy mountains in 30-degree weather by day. Then you paddled an overloaded inflatable boat all night and humped 20 miles with 130 pounds of weapons and gear on your back.
If you couldn’t keep up, you weren’t around long.
We were into it. Others weren’t.
We didn’t think we were better than those who couldn’t match our physical skill; we just lived in a world in which being a “stud” was part of the program.
You were either one of those guys who could perform, or you were one of those other Marines. We didn’t want to be one of those other Marines.
Of course, all this took its toll. My back, neck and knees are just about destroyed, and I spent the last four years of my career gutting out the pain while working at the Staff NCO Academy’s advanced staff NCO course. My peers were doing the same thing. We were older and paying the price for being physical extremists in our younger years.
We ate pain relievers all day long. It hurt, but we didn’t want to accept that we were aging, and our students expected hard instructors. There was no way we would let down the students.
During physical-training sessions, we often grouped students based on how fast they ran. One day it was my turn to lead the run for the slowest group. We started running, with me in the lead and one of the students calling cadence.
The group was down from the start, their voices weak. I went a quarter mile and stopped the group. I stepped out beside them with an angry look on my face, and they expected me to curse them out for being slow and weak. I didn’t.
Instead, I told them they shouldn’t give a rat’s patootie about being slower than their peers. Maybe the other Marines could run faster, but maybe the Marines in the group I was leading were better at their jobs and were better leaders than many of the fast guys, and maybe they were smarter academically as well. I told them that just because someone is a physical stud doesn’t make him Superman and the greatest leader since Lt. Gen. Lewis “Chesty” Puller.
This was serious motivation for the group, and we had a good run with a lot of Marines sounding off loud and proud.
But I also learned another lesson about fitness during my time at the advanced course.
About two weeks into a course, I couldn’t help but notice one of my gunnys looked slower than he should. At 30 years old, he was trim and appeared to be in fine shape. So after he fell out of a run one day, I called him into my office and started ranting, saying I knew he was faster than he was letting on.
He stood there and took it, then asked if he could reply. I told him I expected him to do so.
“Gunny, I am HIV-positive and am showing signs of AIDS. Some days I feel weaker than others,” he said.
I felt like a fool.
Instead of asking about his health and welfare, I assumed he was a slacker.
I never made that mistake again and greatly admired the gunny for hanging in there as best he could.
I wonder if I would be as tough if I had AIDS.
I hope that Marine is still out there giving his best.
http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/archivepaper.php?f=0-MARINEPAPER-158443.php
Sempers,
Roger
:marine:
By Bob Newman
Special to the Times
I spent most of my 20 years in the Marine Corps doing jobs in which being in top physical shape was a requirement.
There were reconnaissance and instructor tours at Landing Force Training Command, Pacific; Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape School; and the Staff NCO Academy. All were filled with hard-core athletes who could run, jump and swim pretty darn well.
You ran at least 10 miles at lunchtime, swam a mile, did extreme calisthenics for an hour without a breather and hiked in snowy mountains in 30-degree weather by day. Then you paddled an overloaded inflatable boat all night and humped 20 miles with 130 pounds of weapons and gear on your back.
If you couldn’t keep up, you weren’t around long.
We were into it. Others weren’t.
We didn’t think we were better than those who couldn’t match our physical skill; we just lived in a world in which being a “stud” was part of the program.
You were either one of those guys who could perform, or you were one of those other Marines. We didn’t want to be one of those other Marines.
Of course, all this took its toll. My back, neck and knees are just about destroyed, and I spent the last four years of my career gutting out the pain while working at the Staff NCO Academy’s advanced staff NCO course. My peers were doing the same thing. We were older and paying the price for being physical extremists in our younger years.
We ate pain relievers all day long. It hurt, but we didn’t want to accept that we were aging, and our students expected hard instructors. There was no way we would let down the students.
During physical-training sessions, we often grouped students based on how fast they ran. One day it was my turn to lead the run for the slowest group. We started running, with me in the lead and one of the students calling cadence.
The group was down from the start, their voices weak. I went a quarter mile and stopped the group. I stepped out beside them with an angry look on my face, and they expected me to curse them out for being slow and weak. I didn’t.
Instead, I told them they shouldn’t give a rat’s patootie about being slower than their peers. Maybe the other Marines could run faster, but maybe the Marines in the group I was leading were better at their jobs and were better leaders than many of the fast guys, and maybe they were smarter academically as well. I told them that just because someone is a physical stud doesn’t make him Superman and the greatest leader since Lt. Gen. Lewis “Chesty” Puller.
This was serious motivation for the group, and we had a good run with a lot of Marines sounding off loud and proud.
But I also learned another lesson about fitness during my time at the advanced course.
About two weeks into a course, I couldn’t help but notice one of my gunnys looked slower than he should. At 30 years old, he was trim and appeared to be in fine shape. So after he fell out of a run one day, I called him into my office and started ranting, saying I knew he was faster than he was letting on.
He stood there and took it, then asked if he could reply. I told him I expected him to do so.
“Gunny, I am HIV-positive and am showing signs of AIDS. Some days I feel weaker than others,” he said.
I felt like a fool.
Instead of asking about his health and welfare, I assumed he was a slacker.
I never made that mistake again and greatly admired the gunny for hanging in there as best he could.
I wonder if I would be as tough if I had AIDS.
I hope that Marine is still out there giving his best.
http://www.marinecorpstimes.com/archivepaper.php?f=0-MARINEPAPER-158443.php
Sempers,
Roger
:marine: