My epic failure

This is my recollection of SFAS, based on my memory, and little notes I took during my time there. For critics out there, I don't care. You don’t have to read it. But some people wondered what happened a decade ago, and what it was like, so the day I got back I spent a day drinking beer and putting down my thoughts. Tenses get confused and some dates are uncertain and blend together, due to the impact of sleep deprivation and general exhaustion. In short, SFAS is like a 12 round boxing match against a superior opponent who can knock you out if you slack off at all. You keep swinging the entire time, and can't quite catch your breath between rounds. Each round you come out worse off than before, and this smug motherfucker keeps punishing you. The crowd is unsympathetic, and your corner is dangling the towel right in front of you the whole time, asking "do you give up yet?" Anyhow, this is what I remember:

Day (-1): Flew into Ft. Bragg, while waiting on my connecting flight, I ran into two friends from West Point, Greg and Bill.  Both were heading to SFAS as well, so we took a few minutes to catch up before the flight. At the baggage claim, I contemplated the fact that I did not have a ride from the airport. After blurting out “IS ANYONE GOING TO BRAGG?” two Air Force TAC-P’s offered to give me a ride. As I recall from Health Class in Jr. High, something about getting into cars with strangers… they have the best candy? I don’t know; I wasn’t paying attention.

Signing in was the first test of SFAS, I swear. It was Friday night at this point, and most of the post was closed down. After bouncing around several buildings, I finally located the building number that was listed in the welcome email… It was a coffee shop. I thanked the Air Force guy for the ride, and headed in with my bags. I walked in and found a prayer group, which is a pretty strong indicator that I was in the wrong place. One of them invited me to join them, so we ate chicken and hung out. Most of these guys were either SF or attachments; they were an extremely chill group. One of the group was a SF Sergeant Major; he helped me out after we’d eaten. There was a barracks attached to the back wall of the coffee shop, upstairs was a CQ office with a white board labeled SFAS. I signed in, they said to find a room, and first formation was 11:15 the next day, with an 11:00 room inspection. At this point I still had my phone, and I was told that they wouldn’t take it until after the APFT (physical fitness test on Day 1). Lucas (3) called me that night, and we had a pleasant conversation, which abruptly ended when my wife discovered that Luke had taken her phone. I slept on a single bed with a bare mattress; it’s a good thing I brought a poncho liner in my carry-on bag.

Day 0 – In the morning there was a very informal formation, they took accountability of the people there. They called the officers aside, and told us that we weren’t really needed until the next day. 3 officer candidates and I decided to get on the bus to Camp McCall anyway; I didn’t get all dressed up that morning for nothing. We went to the Central Issue Facility (CIF), and were given a rucksack (hiking backpack), some canteens, and a handful of equipment. We got back into the bus and headed out to Camp McCall. When the bus rolled in, the cadre told us to pick a hut, announced chow times, and then disappeared. The huts fit 16 Soldiers, and consisted of fabric reinforced with a metal frame, a hinged door on one side, and a zipper door on the other side. There were heaters on the outside of the huts that run warm air through an inflatable cylinder on the ceiling. There was no furniture at all except for cots, which were made up of green fabric stretched by a collapsible metal frame, which are surprisingly comfortable for sleeping on.  When not in use, all personal items went in your bags, which were placed neatly on top of the cots, nearest the wall. Training hadn’t really started yet, so we were just hanging out and getting to know each other. At this point we had changed into uniforms with all identifying information removed, and white engineer tape sewn onto our right chest, both shoulders, and the pockets of our pants. No name tags, no ranks.

I made my first friends in line at the chow hall that day. I was still sizing up my fellow candidates and wasn’t sure what to expect. I was talking to two heavily tattooed guys, both about my build, one was a bit shorter, and was an MP. The other was a cavalry scout, with a few scars on the top of his face, along his hairline. When we sat down to eat, the Cavalry guy stopped and prayed before he ate, which I found very reassuring. Although I’m not at all religious, it was a relief to see that these guys were not all extreme type-A personalities, and were capable of being humble. Throughout my time there, we hung out a bit, and I was upset that only one of them ended up being selected.

Each of us was assigned a number when we turned in our paperwork; I was assigned “222” or “Triple Deuce.” That evening we had a briefing on the rules and expectations. Run everywhere, at all times. Take all instructions from the whiteboard in the center of the camp. Formation times, uniforms, and instructions are written there, and it was expected that everyone check it regularly. Every night there was fire guard, which is where one candidate from each tent stands outside and watches the white board for instruction. Creating the schedules could become a bit of a headache because lights out and wake up are not announced in advance. 

Day 1 – 0500 APFT – our first real test as candidates. It was similar to the APFT at airborne school; we formed lines based on our roster number and faced away from the grader for the pushups and sit-ups. We had our camelbacks with us so we could remain hydrated, and we were all wearing full winter PT’s. We would ground our jacket and road guard reflective vest (with our numbers sewn on) when we reached the front of the line. The cold was distracting, but not unbearable. It was still dark out, and slightly below freezing, but not chilly enough to hurt our performance. I left my gloves on for all three events. Pushups were graded strictly, your chest had to hit the ground, and your arms had to lock completely out and very briefly pause between repetitions. My grader cut around 12 pushups, but he did tell me why so that I could correct myself. At the end he told me my score, 63. Others were not so lucky, and did not know if they had passed or failed pushups.  This was the first APFT I had heard of that graders cut Sit-Ups. The person holding feet was absolutely forbidden from offering encouragement to the candidate being tested. I completely rocked the sit-ups, 88, which is good because a total score below 240 points was considered a failure. Entering into the run, I only had 186 points instead of my usual 200. We walked over to the run route, which is on an airfield. The course was a straight line forward and back, but staggered by a few hundred yards, so the turnaround point was not the half way point. The course was not flat, but slightly curved like a half-pipe, with a strong, cold wind blowing directly toward the starting line. Two groups took off in the run, separated by 6 minutes. I watched the first group take off, and had a few minutes to reflect on how ridiculously fast they were moving. The bulk of the groups seemed to be moving at a 7 minute mile pace, perhaps even sub-7, a pace significantly better than any unit I’ve been in since West Point. I am only speculating at the pace because we were not allowed to wear watches, and were not told our times at the finish line. I finished toward the back of the pack, beating maybe 20% of the group. I crossed the finish line twice, because the plastic “Championship” chip I’d tied to my shoe didn’t beep (which is how they record scores), so I wanted to be sure my time had counted.

After the APFT, we changed uniforms and held a formation. Somewhere between 10-15% of the candidates got pulled from formation, and were never seen again. Ok, that may be overly dramatic, they were moved to the “Shack of Shame” which is just behind a chain link fence that surrounds the compound, where they spent their time playing spades and napping. The rest of the day was spent taking Scantron tests in math and English to measure IQ, education, etc. A “Class Leader” was assigned, (to candidate #1) whose primary job was to make announcements and take accountability of the class. It’s a shitty, thankless position that no one wants to get.

Day 2 – Morning formation was in ACU’s, wearing running shoes, with a headlamp (flashlight), and eye-protection. We conducted a run, somewhere between 4 and 4.5 miles. It was still dark out, and the majority of the course was along small sandy trails surrounded by trees. It was a bit hilly, but nothing incredibly steep or difficult. I finished in the back of the pack again, but running has never been my strongest area. After the run, they asked if anyone needed a medic. We had classes for the rest of the day. At this point, everything seemed very easy, and we were all anxiously waiting for the shoe to drop.

Day 3 – Began with a ruck march. We were carrying a ruck sack with a minimum weight of 45 pounds, plus 4 quarts of water, plus a vest containing another 2 quarts, and a weapon. To be safe, everyone added a little extra weight, and all total, the equipment carried was in the ballpark of 60 pounds, give or take 5. The course was marked by cones, and we were not told the distance, but we were all pretty sure it would be about 6 miles. The terrain was both on and off the road, through hills and sand, across very tiny creeks, etc. Everyone ran nearly the entire distance. To my great frustration, I watched people immediately dump all the water from their 2 quart canteens, effectively removing 10 pounds from their load. I couldn’t help thinking “goddamn fucking cheaters” as I passed them. I ran about 90% of the way, walking only to drink water, and finished well into the top third of the group. The way these events work: there was a total time for the 2 runs and 2 ruck marches in the first week that must be beaten. Although I’m a weak runner, I reasoned that I would be able to make up for the run times during the ruck events. I felt fantastic afterwards, and my confidence began to build. We took psychological evaluations until 1400, and filled out some background check questionnaires… I think I was a bit too honest. I admitted to some pretty ridiculous things (which I dare not post online). Oddly enough, I wasn’t one of the 80 or so people who got called back for further questioning. What in the world did these guys fess up to? I can only speculate it must have involved barnyard animals and Charlie Sheen.

Late that afternoon we change into running shoes and split into two groups for Log and Rifle Physical Training (PT). My group had Log PT first. There were about 12 people on a 1000 pound (estimated) log, with teams arranged by height, which we carried into a pit filled with rubber shavings. After we put the log down, we could feel our skin burn.  The log had been treated with something that smelled like gasoline, and it burned the skin everywhere it touched. Before we started, they had us stand with our eyes closed, and made a little speech that was something to the effect of “you don’t have to do this, just raise your hand, and it’ll be over.”  We then began the exercises, which seemed like they were designed specifically to cause lower back injuries. For example, one exercise had you lift the log up to your chest, tuck your chin onto the top of the log, and lean forward and back. The tucked chin removes the natural arch in your lower back, which is just not how your body is designed to bend. I accidentally lifted my chin at one point, and the log upper-cut me in the jaw, HARD. You could easily lose teeth that way. The other exercises were no better, and the entire experience was rather… unpleasant. Every half hour we would take a water break, after which they would again ask who wanted to quit. We lost a few people, but not many. After about 2 ½ hours it was over, and we ran over to the rifle PT area. Rifle PT was an individual event, and I found it very easy. I didn’t miss any of the repetitions, and I think I did quite well. Unfortunately, I was at the far right of the front row of the formation, so whenever we had to run, lunge, or low crawl around the log outside of the formation, I had the longest distance to travel. At the half way point we got water, and a cadre member came out to talk to us. For about 5 minutes he calmly and logically explained that some of us had done poorly during the runs or ruck marches, and were already non-selects. He then asked why we would want to continue: Pride? Vanity? Ego? What good were they? I thought “Fuck yes, pride and ego. That, and for the sake of ‘don’t be a pussy.’” Eventually it was over, Log and Rifle took roughly 4 ½ hours. We went to sleep around midnight that night. (Note: I have significant, permanent back injuries resulting from this day)

Day 4 – Sore as hell. My back positively would not move. Upper and lower, the whole thing felt like it’d been welded together. The day started with a 6 mile run, much like the 4 mile from two days earlier. We were split into three groups, numbers 1-100, 101-200, and 200-285. I beat only 20 people in my group, placing me in the bottom 25%. We did literally nothing else all day long except ice our knees and whatever else was starting to ache. Periodically, they called in people to follow up with their psyche evals and background checks. To my horror, I was appointed class leader. Now I had to deal with the cadre during down time and attempt to get accountability at formations. Despite the amazing physical abilities of these candidates, they could not form ranks to save their lives, and it took forever to count them.  The culture of “fuck big army” seemed to translate to “I don’t know how to stand behind someone, and don’t understand why we have to make sure nobody is missing.” They had somehow gotten the impression that the information I put out comes for me, and that formations were called for my personal amusement. Needless to say, arguments and hostility followed the position of class leader, which was awesome because peer evaluations had the power to eliminate candidates from the selection process.

Day 5 – I wake up at 0430 feeling sick. I later find out that CIF does not wash any of the canteens that they issue, and that Soldiers were supposed to use bleach or boiling water to sanitize 1 and 2 quarts before use. That tidbit of knowledge explains why I have gotten sick at every single military school I have ever attended. Woops.

Back on point, I managed to force down a biscuit for breakfast, abandoning the other 1200 calories in my MRE.  As nutrition is vital to hydration, and a 10 mile ruck march is soon to follow, I’ve decided to monitor my water input carefully. At 0530 we stepped off on our 10 miler (no watches, and the distance is estimated). The course was positively brutal, and I was pretty sore due to the lack of recovery time between events. Log and rifle PT had left bruises and sores on my shoulder blades, which made the straps from the rucksack a joy to carry. Fortunately, the morning cold and rain provided a much needed distraction from the little boo-boo’s that training had left so far, and wet socks kept my feet cool. By cool I mean blistered, because blisters are awesome!  A few miles in, the alice clip connecting one of my 2 quart canteens popped off, causing the 2 quart to wildly sway, dangling from where I’d tied it off. I unscrewed the top and dumped the water because the unstable weight was screwing up my stride.

The shortage of water and my lack of breakfast resulted in a bit of heat exhaustion, and I stopped sweating and got chills. I know, I know, this means ‘go get an IV before you stroke,’ or something, but as soon as I realized something was wrong, I recognized my location which was within a mile of the finish line. I risked it and jogged it in. I stumbled past the finish line, threw down my ruck, and my friend grabbed me a canteen filled with water and ORS. ORS is “Oral Rehydration Salts” which taste just like a wrung out sock, but it does wonders to ward off headaches. I got accountability, much to the irritation of the class, and once everyone was in, we changed then went to some land navigation classes.

That evening the Sergeant Major (CSM) talked to us about Special Forces. He was a man that could not care less about EO, or being politically correct. Some excerpts from his motivational speech:

“Team week is going to suck. We designed it that way. How much it sucks is up to you. If you do it right, it’ll suck like a high school girl, just sort of learning the ropes. If you fuck up, team week will suck like a crack whore; that bitch takes it all, swallows nuts and everything.”

“Put some thought into your peer evaluations. You need to be able to trust the men we put in teams. One day these guys could be your designated driver when you’re chasing some Romanians through a whore house. WHICH NEVER HAPPENED!”

Overall, this guy was motivating as hell. His overall message was that the army treats people like they are retarded, while SF makes you accountable for your own actions. He gave the example of a Platoon Leader (PL) who got fired when his Platoon Sergeant (PSG) had a negligent discharge. Why fire the PL? Is it because the army thinks that somehow he should have been babysitting a senior Noncommissioned Officer (NCO), looking over his shoulder every second of the day, like he didn’t know better? The CSM had a point; the army does treat everyone like little children, and has no concept of personal accountability.

In the evening, we went to a Land Navigation “drift” course. It was dead reckoning, and we do it once during daylight, and once after sunset. I managed to keep accountability despite the darkness, much to the disappointment of the cadre. It was clear they wanted accountability to be a disaster so they could fire me. When I said we had everyone, I was asked “all 225?” I know better, I told him “no, all 223, we lost 2 people this morning.”  

That night we watched a video about “Nasty Nick,” the obstacle course. Twice. We were told that we will watch the video again the next morning. I suspected that this will be the only instruction we receive on the course. I was correct.

Day 6 – Now that our bodies were good and stiff, we prepared for Nasty Nick. At this point, my feet are significantly blistered and starting to swell, thanks to yesterday’s rain. We formed up and open ranks in our formation, which we have literally not done before up to this point. One of the cadre said “this is just as awkward for us” before we got started, and then we found out what he meant. To ensure no one has any knives, pens, spandex, PT shorts, or jewelry on, we were searched en-masse. To check for spandex, we dropped our pants and lifted up our shirts. For you avid South Park fans, you may imagine Butters when he is taking a piss; yea, exactly like that. All 223 of us. Roughly 50% of us weren’t wearing underwear. I turned to Greg and asked him “so… you come here often?”

After watching the video a third time, we ran through Nasty Nick. It consisted of 25 obstacles of varying difficulty over a 2 mile course, with a short run at the end. Cadre were posted so that they could monitor the major obstacles, and they recorded which events you failed. You got 2 attempts per obstacle. I got them all on my first try, with 2 exceptions. I outright failed 2 of them, but they were minor. As long as you don’t have a significant fear of heights, and can climb a rope, it’s pretty fun. We ran across ladders 15 feet in the air, climbed all kinds of stuff, balanced on logs, and climbed through tunnels. I only had one “oh shit” moment the entire time. I was around 10 feet in the air, sitting on top of a log. I had to stand up and run across a ladder, and for some reason I could not remember how to stand up. It felt like I sat there for 20 minutes, although since no one notices it was probably closer to 15 seconds. I literally had to tell myself out loud not to be a bitch. I was able to stand up and run across the ladder without incident.

We had lunch after we got back. During lunch, one of the Cadre snuck up to the board and wrote a formation time in very small letters under the lunch time. 5 minutes before the formation, no one was forming up. I got called up, chewed out, and fired over the formation. 3 days as class leader was the longest anyone had the job the entire cycle, so I suppose I didn’t do terribly bad. The new class leader was called up so I quickly tore a page out of my notebook that has the total number of candidates, ongoing equipment issues, and the breakdown by tent and gave it to him. He introduced himself by saying “Hi, I’m Bill, I’m your new class leader.”  Something about the way he said it made everyone respond with “HI BILL!” From that point forward, all class leaders were known only as “Bill.” During the formation, 10-20 roster numbers were called out, and sent to the shack of shame. These losses, plus the few who quit or were injured during Nasty Nick made our formation noticeably smaller. One poor bastard dislocated both of his shoulders during the event.

We were issued a GPS, which weighed 4 lb, 6 ounces, and we pack it into our rucksack for the upcoming STAR course. We were told we will move out of the tents soon, and so we packed a small bag for the upcoming week. We repacked our rucksack with a new packing list, which had a 45 lb minimum plus water and food. We complete our first round of peer evaluations (of 3), and were forced to evaluate 5 aspects of everyone in our tent’s performance, then write at least 1 negative evaluation of someone.

Day 7 – Grabbed the bare essentials and moved to Hoffman. Hoffman was a small building surrounded by sloped ground with sparse trees and stadium lights. We set up our sleeping bags on the ground each night, and repacked them in our rucks each morning. There was a whiteboard on site, which we again took orders from. Porta-potties and a water buffalo were just a little ways away. We spent the day walking around the course with a cadre member for familiarization.  We learned where not to go, and were introduced to “SCUBA Road,” a path across a creek that had neck high water. Why would anyone ever want to cross this road? Simple, it is the only access point to the southern portion of the course that didn’t involve punching through several hundred yards of dense, 10 foot high vegetation, thorny vines, and creeks up and down hill.

We were told that over the next few days there will be 4 practical exercises, and 2 tests. The STAR course was very large, and shaped like a mutated rhombus. I suppose “STAR course” has a better ring to it than “irregular rhomboid course,” so I wasn’t about to argue geometry. The dimensions were roughly 12 km straight line from the northern to southernmost point, and 9 km from the easternmost to western boundary. Steep draws isolated the eastern, northern, and southernmost areas, with distinctive roads crisscrossing the central area. Concrete roads formed the outer boundaries, and we were informed that if we run into concrete, we are fucked.

Day 8 – We did a day, then night course. Each has 4 points, the day had them separated by 3-6 km, night had them 2-3 km apart. I had no trouble finding the points (7/8 for the day) but I found all the movement to be tiring. I missed the last point by 35 seconds.  The terrain so far wasn’t that bad, but the draws were a hindrance and slowed my movement. Cadre roamed the roads during the course, ensuring that you stay at least 50 m away; consistently paralleling the road was considered cheating. The mornings were uncomfortably cold, but bearable, the afternoons had gotten very hot. That day I’d sweat through everything. The medic gives a big speech about infections and cellulitis, and I decided to show him my feet. I had some kind of infection in my toe, and figured “better safe than sorry.” I really went so I could get some moleskin; I was running out and he gives it to people who come in. He insisted I go with him in the morning to get my toe drained. Hurray, we were leaving at 0530, I had a 0430 guard shift, and lights out was at 0200.

Day 9 – I saw a medic at the clinic after 2 hours sleep. He looked at my foot and said “really?” I knew the toe was nothing; I had just wanted free moleskin! They told me to keep my foot clean. I told them that at this point, no one has done any laundry; I’ve been recycling the same 6 pairs of socks, and as far as I’m concerned, “dry” and “clean” is the same thing. I would have made a dry-cleaning joke, something about starch (dried sweat made my uniforms keep the exact shape I hung them up at), but I was too tired to be clever. The medics gave me some antibiotics; the label warned it can cause dehydration.  They don’t drain my toe.

I returned 40 minutes into the first land nav exercise and have not packed my stuff or eaten breakfast yet. I skipped breakfast, packed quickly, and rushed out to the course. My late start costs me 2 points. That day, I crossed several draws. The trick is to look for places that other candidates have broken through, usually 40-70 m off of a road. If you can’t find a path, you have to man up and burst through. It sucks; there will be pain and blood. Everything must be tied down, or the draw-monster will get it.

The draw-monster is a very real, invisible creature that haunts the STAR course. Everyone who enters a significant draw will face him, and the outcome is not always the same. He has been known to steal equipment, open portals to other areas of the map, steal time, and destroy uniforms. He has vicious claws that tear skin and rip things, and can grab and throw you into creeks. In full force, he can turn a candidate into a whimpering quitter, absolutely crushing hopes and dreams.

Day 10 - 2 land navigation events a day has become extremely taxing. Virtually everyone by this point was limping, and my right Achilles heel had locked up, making it impossible to walk straight. During the course I kept tripping and running into wildlife. I’m covered in little cuts and bruises, nothing major. I got all 8 points on the final practice, which was hard fought, I guess, because I somehow came back with blood all over my face. Not sure exactly how it got there, at one point I had a vine of thorns wrapped tightly around my hairline (what’s up, Jesus), and at another point, I grabbed a tree and wondered why there was blood on the trunk. I guess I was pretty dehydrated, after that I stopped taking my antibiotics. Somehow, I completely shredded a boot lace. I still have no idea how that was possible, the lace was new, and had turned into 2 inches of frayed strings with the aglet was missing. That’s right; the plastic thing on a shoe lace is called an aglet. See, you learned something today! As I walked back, a cadre member pulled over his truck, looked at my face, and burst out laughing. I guess I’d reminded him of something stupid he’d done when he was a candidate.

Day? STAR COURSE – In the morning we practiced tying knots and lashing pipes together. There is no secret that this was so we can build contraptions during team week to help us carry heavy stuff.  We reorganized into teams; each will go to a different start point. Retired green berets take charge of each group, and load us onto the backs of trucks.  We were packed in like sardines, sitting on tons of equipment and spare tires. Out of nowhere the truck buckled, runs off the road, and stops tilted at about a 25 degree angle. We looked at each other with shit eating grins. The driver revved the engine and tries to get back on the road, and the truck tilted even more. After screaming “LET US THE FUCK OUT” for a while, we dismounted the truck, and watched the driver un-fuck himself. He explained that a patch of sugar sand collapsed as the truck drove over it, knocking us off the road. The candidates in the front of the truck maintain the driver wasn’t paying attention and drifted off the road. I yelled out “YEAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!” as we climb back into the truck, fully confident that whatever happens would be covered by Tri-Care. The rest of the ride was uneventful, except when we hit a bump and a candidate nearly flew out the back.

We arrived at our start point, and the retired Green Beret gave us about 2 minutes of instruction, then ignored us for the rest of the day. He told us to stay in the area, use our dummy rifles to dig holes to shit in, and that he’ll wake us up at midnight to start the course. We ate and got ready for bed. I spent a solid hour cutting moleskin for my feet in the morning, because at this point I was still pretending that it would make the slightest difference. Due to paying attention during the ride over, I was able to guess our starting point’s location on our map, and was accurate within 200 meters. We were at the very top of the map, half a km from the uppermost boundary. I showed the others, and we each plotted a tentative route to the center of the map to modify in the morning. We tried to sleep when the sun was still up, but it was hopeless.

We got up at midnight and ate breakfast. If you haven’t had cold, pre-packaged spaghetti for breakfast at midnight I can tell you this: it’s just as good as it sounds. Delicious. We were all starving despite our daily 3600 calorie diet; everything tasted fantastic. Daylight savings recently happened, so we were going to have even less sunlight during the course then we anticipated. We began at 0100, my first point was just south of SCUBA road, at the very bottom of the map. The prospect of neck high water before the sun rises in the morning sucks so much that it actually made me smile. When things are uncomfortable beyond a certain point, for some reason I always hope they get worse. I had 10.5 km to travel if I were to go in a straight line, but because I’m not retarded I plotted a course that’s roughly 14 km long, but had distinct check points every 3 km so I wouldn’t get horribly lost. I was concerned about the last 5 km, because I wasn’t very familiar with the southern portion of the course, and there weren’t many landmarks. I headed out in the dark, staying far clear of all roads. I was paranoid of getting dropped from the course due to a “road kill,” which can be arbitrary, and ended up eliminating some decent candidates. We couldn’t use flashlights except to check our map, thankfully there was 30% illumination from the moon. Unfortunately the moon doesn’t rise until 315. I slowly crept along my route, hitting all my check points (and some trees) along the way. My pace was slow due to both the darkness, and my right Achilles effectively rendered the adjoining calf muscle useless. I favored that foot, which put undue strain on the left side of my body. 

If you have a significant fear of the dark, animals, or insects, don’t bother to show up for this. There were some strange noises coming out of the woods, there were face high spider webs littering the entire area, and you really can’t see shit. Additional considerations in the course were crotch high plants, burn pits (1.5 foot diameter holes, 2-4 feet deep, and very capable of dislocating hips and tearing knees), and there were several square km of ground littered with cut down trees piled all over the ground.  I ate 2 spiders entirely by accident while walking the first night, and despite my hunger, they are still disgusting.

When I reached the southern portion of the map, I couldn’t find SCUBA road. I headed east along the draw, figuring that the higher elevation will result in a more shallow crossing point. At least this is what I told myself, in reality I just don’t want to cross one of the worst draws on the map in the darkness. Eventually, I (metaphorically) grabbed my nuts and bust into the draw. It was horrible, and pitch black. The 11 foot high vegetation blocked what little light the night sky had in it, the ground was heavily sloped, and I crossed at least 4 streams, or maybe the same stream 4 times. It was so disorienting that I had to check my compass multiple times because I kept getting turned around. The thorns kept holding me in place, completely unable to move.  At one point, the draw had pulled off my gloves, stolen my dummy rifle, and grabbed hold of my rucksack. I went toe-to-toe with the draw monster for a very long time, I have no idea how long I was stuck in there, but when I entered it the moon had just risen, and by the time I got out the sun had come up.  Somehow I escaped the draw with all my equipment, extremely battered and bloody, exhausted, wet up to my waist, and out of water. When I tried to jump a stream, the draw monster grabbed my rucksack and pulled me backwards, knocking me into a stream. It took 10 minutes to get untangled and out of the water. Imagine being stuck in a whirlwind made of thorns, and being spit out in a random location. That’s what happened to me. I burst free of the draw nearly a km east of where I had entered, hopelessly lost, and very tired. It was now 0600 hours, the course ends at 1130, and I had not found a single point. I headed south, and to my horror, ran into a concrete road. I… AM… SCREWED.

As I walked along the road, I passed a truck with a cadre member in it. It was tempting to get in. I kept walking until I’m just out of sight of the truck, and sat down by a tree. I seriously contemplated quitting for several minutes. I was totally gassed, lost, and thirsty. This little pity party was one of the lowest points in my entire life.  I weighed my options: Do I quit, or do I fail? Remembering the message from the epic movie “Cool Hand Luke,” I reasoned that no matter how pathetic the attempt, being a man means you have to fight it out to the bitter end. I got up and followed the road, eventually it reached an intersection. I was able to find my location based on the angles of the roads at the intersection, and from there I plotted a new course and found my first point at the 7 hour mark. I refilled my water, plotted my next point, and headed straight back to the draw that had just kicked my ass for hours.  After finding 2 more points, time ran out. I ended with ¾, placing me in the top half of people for the day. My left foot got completely blistered because of the limp my Achilles gave me, and my feet were submerged in water on 5 separate occasions. I walked about 24 km total.

STARR Day 2 – I fared about the same on day 2. My first point was closer this time, but the total distance was roughly the same. Again “I fought the draw and the draw won” (to be sung to the tune of the Sonny Curtis song). I was only 200m away from my final point when the time ran out. It was a decent attempt; I had 2.5 km to move in 12 minutes, with 2 small draws and a hill to traverse. I was slightly off course, increasing the distance, and so I missed the time hack. Once again I had stopped sweating and felt chills. At the previous point, the point sitter took a look at me and wouldn’t let me leave until I’d downed a full canteen. I must have had “dehydrated moron” written all over my face.

We were bussed back to Camp McCall, and they made more cuts. Our numbers had dropped down to around 180 remaining. The entire ball of my left foot consisted of a blood blister and a regular blister, both big toes have blisters under the calluses, blisters have hit my heels and toes, and the infection in my left foot has spread to my other toes, and a finger as well. Both Achilles had locked up at this point, making my calves useless, and there was an odd spot behind my left shoulder blade that felt like it was slowly tearing every time I put on a rucksack. The good thing was, once I got moving everything went numb and loosened a little bit, so I was still able to move decently.

Day ?14? Team Week Day 1 – We began the morning with a ruck march of unknown distance, it felt between 6-7 miles. I was only able to run downhill this time, so my time was poor compared to the earlier 6 miler. At the finish line was a white board with teams posted on it; the people who finished were already working on the first event.  My team consisted of 17 Captains.  We had some poles, 4 tires, and some straps to build a contraption with, with the purpose of transporting 8 ammo crates weighing roughly 100 lbs each (estimated). We traveled 4 or 5 miles lifting and pulling this thing along dirt roads, then reach a finish line on the airfield. No rest or breaks the entire time. We disassembled the monstrosity and put everything away, then are told to change into running shoes. More specifically “your time starts now, change into running shoes and follow the marked course.” The run was 4 or 5 miles, and to my horror I’m unable to go any faster than a 9 min/mile pace. It’s not that I was winded; I just couldn’t get a decent running stride. Ever had that dream where you’re being chased, and no matter how fast you move your legs you can barely move? That was me in real life. I was the last person back in my team. We were separated and each given a puzzle. There was a tire, and we are shown a sheet of paper with directions. It says “jump on the tire 30 times. For a repetition to count, your feet must both be in the air, and you must land on the tire.” I stepped onto the tire and jump up and down. Other people did CrossFit style box jumps, which is unnecessarily difficult. After changing back into boots, we faced our next challenge.

There were 3 logs, an ammo can, and 7 poles. We were told to move the equipment. The logs were strapped to 2 poles each, and the poles were balanced on top of the rucksacks, forming 4 man teams. The ammo can was tied to a pole on a 2 man team. There were a few extra people that rotate through in a very disorganized manner, and we slowly moved as a team. To expand upon the term “disorganized” I should mention that one candidate on my team split a tooth when someone tried to replace him, and accidentally smacked him in the face with a rifle. We did not know how far we were going, but it must have been 1-2 miles along sandy roads. The loose sand was the worst. It was hard to get a good estimate of distance because of the slow pace, and the weight was distractingly uncomfortable. Several of the log/pole contraptions fell apart as we moved, providing a much needed break. The last break we took was at the very end. If we would have known we were 50 yards from the finish line, we would have kept going, but we had no idea where or how far we were supposed to travel. When we arrived at the finish line, we are each given 6 toothpicks and told to separate. I intuitively knew that we will be making shapes out of them, so while people are separating, I made triangles on the ground. You could make 2 2/3 triangles by putting them flat on the ground. The CSM explained the puzzle “make 4 equilateral triangles without overlapping or breaking the toothpicks.” I immediately raised my hand and showed him the answer. He laughed, wrote down my number, and told the sports psychologist lady “he already fucking solved it.” I mean, come on! I’m a huge nerd and watch Dr. Who; like I’m not going to think in 3 dimensions! We rucked back to McCall and waited for the other teams to finish. Then they held sick call, I got more moleskin and stuff for my feet.

The change in tempo and difficulty once you reach team week is unbelievable. It fucking sucks. I may have doubled the cumulative damage that my body had taken on the first day of team week. Some teams saw 3 people quit. Everyone on my team toughed it out, but I strongly felt like I had become the weakest member. These Captains were mostly Rangers, and were heads and shoulders ahead of me physically.

Team Week Day 2 – After breakfast we walked about ½ mile with our rucks. We were greeted with 8 ammo crates, weighing between 80-100 lbs each. Using the tow straps, we made slings and throw them over our ruck sacks and started moving. We moved around 5 miles, first in teams of 2, and then as the crates started falling apart, people would take turns carrying the crates individually. It wasn’t the worst thing we had done, but it was murder on your shoulders and lower back. We were completely wet with sweat by the time we reached the finish line. At one point I tried to tough it out with one of the heavier crates on my back, but the weight and hill were too much, after 200 yards or so I had to put it down, I almost fell on my face. I worked in a 2 man team the rest of the way. 150+ pounds felt too heavy for me, although I’d later find out I was perfectly capable of carrying that for miles.

At the finish line we had an individual/team challenge. We were filling sandbags, and carrying them on our rucks to a scale about ½ a km away. There were 2 steep, small slopes in the way, but otherwise it wasn’t a bad distance to travel. We had to transport a total of 3800 lbs of sand. Each sandbag weighed 45-50 lbs. My first trip I just took one to test it out. It wasn’t that difficult, so the next trip I grabbed 2. Some of the stronger men had 3, which come to about 200 lbs including the rucksack. On my third trip, my 2nd sandbag fell off, and as a result I contributed the least to the group by a few pounds. If the thing hadn’t fallen, I would have been center of mass.

After a luxurious 20 minute lunch, we made another contraption out of 9 poles, 5 tires, and straps, to move a 300 lb water drum 3 miles. The purpose of this quid-pro-quo scenario was so we could pick up some equipment that “Syrian locals” had found. Every task during team week centered on the Syrian revolt and Arab Spring, with our team trying to influence it. When we reached the end, we had to sacrifice 4 of our tires to fix a village elder's car. Some groups did not bring all 5 tires, and they were hurting for the next task. Using what we have left, we were tasked to transport a jeep and trailer 3 miles back to the airfield. The jeep and the trailer were each missing a tire. Our spare tire went on the jeep, and the poles were used as a counterbalance on the trailer. We rigged the two together with a chain, and easily pull it back. We were moving so fast that we started running. Running wasn’t allowed for this task, and we were told to slow down. Good thing too, I was unable to run beyond short distances due to the pain in my feet and ankles. We did our second peer evaluations afterwards, then the day was done.

Day ?16? Team Week Day 3 – We are placed in new teams for the final 2 days, and started our day by carrying full 5 gallon water cans. Each was about 45 pounds; there were 19 cans and 16 people. We strapped 1 can on the back of each rucksack, and took turns carrying the extra 3 cans. We had 3 lines formed, and the person carrying it put it down every 30 seconds. 4 miles later, we were all very tired, and extremely motivated. We finished so quickly that we were actually told “good hustle” which was the first piece of feedback any of us have received this entire time.

Our next task was to rescue downed pilots.  It was 2 “pilots” and a “camera,” or as they are called in the real world, 300 pound duffle bags of wet sand and a log. We rigged them up to “Polish litters” and straps, and carried them a few miles. 6 people on a sand bag, 4 on the log. We traveled without a break until we reached our stopping point. 5 of us were quizzed on the training scenario, for each right answer we would get 2 poles (each is 45 lbs). I was first, and was asked “name 2 countries that have overthrown their governments in the Arab Spring.” Egypt and Libya. We ended up answering all 5 correctly, and rigged the pilots and log to the poles. The added weight of the poles increased the total weight on each back to a soul crushing 180 lbs (give or take 10). My group of 5 decided to rotate every minute, so it was a 4 minute log carry then 1 minute off, rotating while moving. Movement was unsteady at first; if one person goes too fast or slow the whole contraption rotates and moves sideways. 3 miles in, we were told to stop, put the contraptions down, and were made to jump into a lake. It was about 80 degrees, and we were still acclimated to the cold weather from a week earlier. Thoroughly soaked, we had 20 minutes to eat, then carry that fat, fast food eating bitch of a pilot 2 more miles. This exercise was exactly why Burger King should not be allowed in combat zones. This was the worst thing I have ever done, and every step made my feet and shoulder blade hurt exponentially more. When we finally reach the end point, we were again given trivia, this time we are answering to win tires. We got all answers right, and modify our contraption. We pulled this wheeled monstrosity 3-4 miles to the end point. Half way there we again jumped into a lake. When the water hits my feet it burned like acid. My blisters had torn, and the water irritated the raw skin. Some groups did not get tires, poor bastards. The CSM meet us at the end point and told us “just wait ‘till tomorrow.” 

I checked my feet that night, they were fucked. They were swollen, the arches had flattened, and the blisters had completely shredded. Military manuals on foot care literally say “or ask an infantryman” so I asked my friend Hans (candidate #1) for help. He stared at my feet, dumbfounded, for close to 20 minutes. Eventually he said “ok, I have an idea. Moleskin won’t work anymore. Feel free to say no but…” He wanted to drain the blisters on the toes and heels. As for the giant one on the ball of my left foot, he proposed cutting it open more, and filling it with crazy-glue. Then he would glue moleskin directly over the top of it. It’s a short term solution, and wouldn’t hold up more than a day. I told him to go for it, there is only 1 day left of training, that’s all I needed.

The pain of having glue pushed into a blister with a q-tip was excruciating. The raw skin burned for several minutes from the exposure, and forcing a q-tip in there was unpleasant as well. Hans laughed as he fixed me up, I politely responded with every expletive I know. When it was over I felt better, and walked around a little bit. The combined damage left me unable to bend my toes, use either calf muscle, and every step hurt both feet. The pain was most severe when I took weight off my foot, and I could feel my pulse through the soles of my feet. I just had to sack up for 1 more day, and we were told there is a ruck in the morning. We assumed it was “the trek” which is a discontinued 20-30 mile ruck march that used to be a sort of final event for candidates. Classes had stopped doing it about a year ago, but we had already completed every task that anyone had heard of, so we didn’t know what else we could be doing.

Team Week Day 4 – Somehow sleep had made the swelling worse, and stiffness had increased as well. I had trouble keeping up as we walked to the starting line, it did not bode well for me. One candidate, Adam, was even worse off. You could see the break in his right foot through his skin, and his toes were completely misshapen. It looked like someone made a foot out of clay, then dropped it. They announced the start, and somehow half of the candidates managed to take off running. Not jogging, but actually running! I walked as fast as I can, but it was only 3 or 4 miles/hour. Adam lagged far behind me; I was about 20 yards behind the next slowest person. I could sort of trot to keep that distance every once in a while, but otherwise I was focusing all my efforts on distracting myself from the throbbing pain in my feet. It honestly felt like they had been run over and crushed. It started raining, and my feet got wet again. When I finally broke my intense focus of taking just one more step, I noticed that I no longer saw the group in front of me. I also noticed that I didn’t see any of the cones that mark the course. Somehow I’d gotten off the course! I doubled back about a mile, and found that I missed an obvious turn off the hard road into a trail. A truck pulled up just as I get back on track and asked if anyone else followed me in the wrong direction. It was the medic, I told him the only person behind me was the tall navy guy (Adam), and I hadn’t seen him in quite a while. He told me that Adam was medically dropped, I was now last. He strongly suggested that I become a medical drop as well; he knew how fucked up my feet were. I told him that it was the last day of training, and whether or not I’m selected, I just wanted to finish. Who would stop running a marathon at the 25 mile marker, or throw in the towel during the 12th round of a heavyweight fight? He let me continue, then about an hour later asked me again if I’d like to get on the truck. I wouldn’t be quitting, the paperwork would say medical drop. This time it was because there was lightning, I again declined and kept walking. Somehow I had the voice of that annoying blue fish from Finding Nemo stuck in my head, she kept saying “just keep swimming, just keep swimming.” It must sound odd I guess, but when ruck marching I always get some song or phrase suck in my head that is in the same timing as my steps.  Finally I recognized I was at a bridge near where the toothpick challenge was held, meaning I had roughly a mile left to go. I tried to run it in, the medic told me to stop, I wasn’t actually going faster, and it was painful for him to watch. I kept walking, and came up to the water tower just outside the Camp McCall fence. I’d made it! It’d only been 8 or 9 miles, so there was definitely going to be another event. As I approached the gate, a different truck pulled up and blocked the road. A cadre member jumped out and told me to get on the truck. I tried to protest, he would absolutely not hear it. “You are involuntarily withdrawn from the course for failing to meet the standards. Get in the truck.” I’d taken too long to finish the ruck march, I failed the course. I got in. It’s over. On the last day. With just 4 hours of training left.

The next day the troop medical clinic medics looked at my feet. The doctor gave me a ‘what the fuck is this shit?’ look. One of the medics inquired as to what, exactly was I thinking. I informed them I only needed to get one more day out of my feet. They managed to get the moleskin off, then I cleaned up my feet with Iodine. A medic took a scalpel to my foot to remove some of the infection. It didn’t hurt, all the skin was dead anyway. Another candidate had hidden a cellulites infection, which endangered his kidneys. He went for surgery.

I learned that I was the last candidate to be dropped from the course (not counting the 40 19-day nonselects), making me the #1 loser.

Upon reflection I have discovered where I went wrong, and it was an easily avoidable mistake. I brought 2 pairs of boots, 1 was a standard CIF issue basic training boots, the other a pair of 19 oz Nikes. I wore the Nikes every day except for nasty nick (CIF boots are better for ropes) because I didn’t want to change the weight in my rucksack. The Nike boots are very thin and have limited arch support, and are apparently not designed for walking off of roads or trails. Rocks could bend the sole of the boot, because all the material was soft, light and thin. Repeatedly wearing boots with little reinforcement led to the total collapse of the arches of my feet, and thus my inability to complete the class.