As the days of May grew warmer, my thirst increased. I absolutely love chocolate milk. Chocolate always ran out first and was rarely refilled until the next meal. On this particular day, I lifted the dispenser handle for my second full glass, watching that strong steady stream reaching the brim. The third time repeated itself to my great personal fortune. I thought to myself, “Does it get any better in this man’s Army?” Forecasting a pleasant afternoon in class, staying alert on a full stomach would be the rigor of the remaining day.
Twice daily we stood in formation at Fort Sam Houston. We dutifully assembled before breakfast and then immediately after lunch. Dulled by the routine of countless formations, my pleasant afternoon came to an abrupt end. “All you soldiers who volunteered for airborne training, fall in over here! You’re going to take a qualifying PT test.”
Eyeing John, in this far smaller formation, jogged the memory of his earlier pact. John promised me his father’s prized wings, if I beat him on the mile run. My bloated stomach dispelled any danger to those silver wings. Dang, that was such a sharp silver bracelet.
Arriving, we were given a choice. One group would give up the push ups, sit ups, chin ups etc. The second group would knock out the mile run. My stomach advised me to start with the push ups. My mind told me that we hadn’t done those since basic training. But, the push ups won by a unanimous vote. Clearing those hurdles brought me to the final task.
Four times around the track would get my orders for jump school! John used the same strategy to run last. On signal, every man engaged the track to beat the allotted time. I actually made one full lap before my milk reminded me that we needed a break. Pulling off track, I said my good byes to three full glasses of chocolate milk and whatever else that decided to hit the grass. One of the sergeants came to inquire of medical help. I weakly stood to wipe my mouth, to proceed to the track. Double timing one more lap, I realized that most troops were running their third. John was no where to be seen. I ran the third lap in pace with the fastest runners. On the final go, I reared my head to run wildly. If I didn’t qualify, I would at least give it a good show.
Whether I beat that stopwatch or not, I will never know. Would you disqualify a raging maniac, with dried vomit on his clothes? At least I looked airborne! Well, we marched triumphantly back to those air conditioned classes. I can tell you that I proceeded to run every day thereafter, until shipping out.
John sheepishly surrendered his silver wings bracelet. He didn’t make the cut. I wore my first wings that night for an hour. Quietly returning to his bunk, I coughed up the bracelet. Asking John to never put that treasure to risk, I thanked him for the short lived honor. We loved our dads. I told him to be the best medic possible. His dad would be proud.
I don’t know what it takes for a man to make the cut. What I do know is that something inside me drove me to a new personal best. The Currahee Trail would push my limits relentlessly.
althompson101 