It’s been a couple of days since the Dutch Baby was laid to rest softly at the feet of the Blue Platoon. As the weight was lowered, Twenty Four men who came together for an “event” shared exhausted smiles, a few speechless hugs, and a deeper understanding of who they were.
YHC, is not a “rucker” and was certainly unprepared for what has taken place.
Somehow proud, in awe, and in disbelief all at the same time.
So many questions.
So many answers.
Like a great book or an extraordinary movie that won’t leave your thoughts alone once you have finished it. YHC knew this event was going to take a long time to unpack. “Go home and write down what you learned here” our Cadre said. “Don’t let this event go wasted. Remember what you learned.”
To help YHC remember and to maybe help some PAX out there understand what this event is about, here is a recap:
It was about 10 days out from the event and my brand new Ruck Sack arrived in the mail. GrowRuck. I had signed up on a whim because Cousin Eddie kept poking at me. Halfway committed and partially to silence the constant EH chirp from one of the best EH MF’rs on the globe. The thought to order the pack was in reaction to a previous text that read;
July 18th – “You thinking about starting to train for growruck anytime soon?” -CE
I hadn’t
I borrowed some weight from my buddy, Flex Seal and took a two hour walk around the neighborhood. Uncomfortable. Sore feet. No problem.
1600 hours arrives and as we’re walking toward the Startex, GMO asks “Is that a cotton shirt?” “It is” I reply. GMO then insists he has a shirt and I should change. Aye.
PT.
40 merkins. No problem
50 situps. No problem
2 miles in 18 mins. Got it.
Form is a necessary evil. Doing something correctly is the foundation of a man’s character.
As the merkins began I was smooth and fast.. 1, 2, 3, 4,
32, 32, 32, ????
Cadre – “Lock those elbows!”
33, 34, 35
35, 35, 35
Cadre – “Keep that back straight!”
60 merkins later, my card read: 42
Same with the situps.
56 out of 70 isn’t bad, right?
passed. (barely)
Next up, 2 mile run.
No problem.
Was it 85 or 89 degrees? No shade..
PT is over and with barely hanging on, I am spent. We haven’t even placed the weight on our shoulders yet and my mind begins to question the point of these boys playing army in the f’n blazing sun. Paying to be out here while some jackass yells at us like a bunch of kids.
Next up: A round of quick instruction with packs on. Merkins. Crab Walks. More yelling. More merkins. Hold plank.
As we were told to recover after planking and headed to fall in, we looked back and one of our brothers lay facedown motionless on the field.
Medical assistance was immediate and the help rushed in. We were instructed to hydrate and keep moving. This was not our concern.
The lump in my throat grew and as the siren from the ambulance approached, the man inside me begged for reasoning.
Why are you here?
You didn’t train,
What is the point?
That man just died. (he in fact did not die)
This is ridiculous.
The men around me were in great shape and well prepared and I was not.
Fear spread like cancer and picked men off one by one.
I was waiting for someone to run up and tell me I had to go because my wife saw what happened on the live feed and insisted I stop.
I stepped deeper into myself and told my mind to take the rest of the night off. This was grown up stuff and I needed to focus.
Clarity when called on is like water to your soul. Suddenly there was silence. Suddenly I was alive.
Men dropped around us and our platoon was whittled down to 24. The heat pounded but so did we.
Our Cadre told us again and again that we were going to be “unlocked” and what they had prepared was going to be difficult. We didn’t know what was coming and I sure as hell am thankful for that.
As the sun went down we settled into form. One man’s burden became a shared ownership of pain.
Who are you here for? The man on your left and the man on your right.
The weight through the night got heavier and somehow lighter. As men navigated dark roads and grey minds, the unit became one.
The creek came with slippery footing and grinding weight we trudged through.
“You’re feeling sorry for yourselves and no one cares” our Cadre would rain down on us. “Stop being selfish, stop thinking of yourself.”
It’s amazing how little pain you feel when you are concerned for your brother more than yourself. It is unbelievable how strong you can be when you are being strong for your brother and not yourself. It’s unfathomable how much a man can accomplish when he works as a team with his brothers who share a selfless mission.
The lesson would come later but the “pain cave” was only real when you let it inside. The “ouch couch” tried to weasel it’s way into your mind and invite you over for a cozy rest and the “hurt locker” would yell occasionally and justify some much deserved attention.
Next came the logs and the march to the Apex of our journey. Somehow the arrival at the Muthaship was more celebratory than ominous. We knew it was coming. It’s the poster child for the event. We knew it was going to suck. It’s bigger in person. It’s steeper too. We don’t got those in Hick’ry.
The cramps lasted the night and at one point I thought I had a hernia.
After the ship, we rallied down to an empty lot and placed the logs back into their trailer and silently prayed they would not return. (Not at all aware of the torture or name we would soon come to know as “Dutch Baby”)
We suspected it was the wee hours of the morning because the parking lots were empty and the clubs were closed.
There was a long march and soon we found ourselves back in familiar territory. Our PL was called away and returned.
“We have to carry a Dutch Baby?” he said. “I don’t know what it is but it looks heavy”
It was.
I’m not sure of the mileage we placed under weight of the DB but it was pretty close to “f’n forever”.
We arrived at a rest point for our Sunrise Service. Feeling a bit energized and foggy, the reality of what we had accomplished this far danced in my mind.
120lb sand bag, 80lb sand bag, 60lb sand bag, 3 water weights, an ammo case of gold, a big ass log, a friggn’ Dutch Baby made of iron and lead forged in the sewers of Charlotte by Dredd and his minions. Through the streets, through the sewers (or creek) up a space ship, and through the woods.
None of those items would have made it a mile on my back alone. None.
One of our platoon brothers shared about his drug addiction and what he was battling in his life at that moment. 6 months clean and prior to F3 carrying that weight alone.
Just like the physical weight we had all just shared, the lesson whispered into my mind:
“Why are you here? For your brother on the right and for your brother on the left. “
The weight is not always physical blocks and bricks. Sometimes it’s divorce or drugs.
No man should carry that alone.
…
It took every one of the men in our platoon to carry the weight.
But we carried it.
For the man on our left.
For the man on our right.
The last mile and a half was brutal. Every man under weight with no breaks and chaos ensued. We kept pounding.
So many lessons and this recap was only a tip of the iceberg.
To my brothers in the Blue Platoon; Thanks for carrying my weight. It was an honor to help carry yours.
-Short Sale
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