There were many times we'd spend 45 minutes to an hour "pushing": push ups, squat thrusts, sit ups, leg lifts, pyramid push ups ... all on linoleum flooring that soon became a shallow pool of our sweat. Someone would whimper and he'd add on another 25 push ups. Someone would half ass a squat thrust, and we'd start over. He said wanted to be able to wipe his finger across the wall and have condensation from our sweat drip from his finger. There was pleasure pulling at his lips as he described what he expected of us.
Our TI in training couldn't watch. He would leave the room. I know he never said it, but I think he thought it was too much.... for women. If we'd been a troop of men, i'm not sure he'd have looked on us with such pity.
While marching, if someone would get out of step, we'd drop to our faces, gear and everything, and push.
In the middle of it all, I thought that my body couldn't do anymore. I wasn't sure my face would separate from the pavement at the next command of his voice. But it did every time. Somehow, I found the strength.
Until the week that my body physically gave out - refusing to comply with his demands.
It didn't hurt, it just didn't work.
I wasn't going to quit.
I told myself that if I could make it through Basic Training, then I could do ANYTHING.
I already knew I had control of myself mentally. If I put my mind to something, I knew I would come out on top. Physically, I knew there was room to improve. I didn't do so bad on my run, but my TI had worked us so hard the days leading up to our first eval that I only did 6 push ups and 20 sit ups. The next morning, I couldn't do single sit up. Not one.
Physically, I was broken.
It was our running day. We double-timed it back to the dorm after a medical appointment - where despite proof of blood titers to measles and other so called vaccine preventable diseases, each trainee walked down a line of medical professionals, getting multiple vaccinations in each arm. Take a step forward, get a shot. Take another step forward, get another shot ... back at the dorm, we quickly changed and went out for our laps. We were running. And we kept running.
I was having a hard time keeping up and my TI began running next to me, telling me that if I didn't keep up, I was going to pay for it. I was suddenly his focus and I knew that was the worst thing you could be in basic training. I didn't respond, but not because I didn't want to, because I couldn't.
I couldn't breathe.
I couldn't focus my eyes.
I could barely see. There was a darkness slowly closing in. I was watching it happen.
All I could do was keep putting one foot in front of the other. I had to control my body. I couldn't let it fail.
He screamed and he threatened. His body intruding on my space - huge and ominous. His presence threatening. "Just put one foot in front of the other." I thought, "One, and then the other. The ground will catch you. Keep moving."
Suddenly his intrusion retreated and he asked if I was OK, concern in his voice. I somehow managed a nod as all of my focus was on keeping my body upright and my feet moving. He asked, "Are you sure? I don't think you're okay."
I kept running.
He physically had to stop me from putting one foot in on the pavement, then another, over and over again.
"You're not okay, you need to see the medic."
I was moved to medical hold. They told me they were sure I'd had a cardiac event and needed to do further testing. My TI rolled his eyes dismissively when I came back from the medic with a slip saying I was being moved to the 319th.
It took them 5 weeks to diagnose me with exercise induced asthma; a disqualifying diagnosis for the Air Force.
My doctors and the TI's in the 319th told me that they weren't sure that they would have been brave enough to volunteer for the military during a time of war, and that simple fact "makes you special."
So I was separated from the Air Force, put on a flight and sent home.
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When put in a tough situation, you learn how to survive it, or you succumb to it.
No one, in my whole life has ever frightened me the way that my Training Instructor did. It took me nearly 2 weeks of not being in street flight and recovering in Medical Hold, to stop jumping at every little noise.
I have NEVER been that frightened by anyone; I was that girl who at 8 years old, called 911 when her step father was beating her mother in the living room. I was that girl who stared him down when he lunged at her to take the phone. I was that girl who planted her feet and refused to move - challenging his actions - causing him to retreat, waiting for the police who put out a warrant for his arrest.
I don't cower and I don't fear people. But he scared the shit out of me. Day after day. It was his confidence. His poise. His demeanor. The fear I felt took me by surprise. I felt helpless. To take a 6 ft tall, confident woman who was comfortable in putting ANY man in his place, and break her spirit...
It was his job. And he was good at it.
(Originally written December 10, 2007. Revised 2/21/2020)
He physically had to stop me from putting one foot in on the pavement, then another, over and over again.
"You're not okay, you need to see the medic."
I was moved to medical hold. They told me they were sure I'd had a cardiac event and needed to do further testing. My TI rolled his eyes dismissively when I came back from the medic with a slip saying I was being moved to the 319th.
It took them 5 weeks to diagnose me with exercise induced asthma; a disqualifying diagnosis for the Air Force.
My doctors and the TI's in the 319th told me that they weren't sure that they would have been brave enough to volunteer for the military during a time of war, and that simple fact "makes you special."
So I was separated from the Air Force, put on a flight and sent home.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
When put in a tough situation, you learn how to survive it, or you succumb to it.
No one, in my whole life has ever frightened me the way that my Training Instructor did. It took me nearly 2 weeks of not being in street flight and recovering in Medical Hold, to stop jumping at every little noise.
I have NEVER been that frightened by anyone; I was that girl who at 8 years old, called 911 when her step father was beating her mother in the living room. I was that girl who stared him down when he lunged at her to take the phone. I was that girl who planted her feet and refused to move - challenging his actions - causing him to retreat, waiting for the police who put out a warrant for his arrest.
I don't cower and I don't fear people. But he scared the shit out of me. Day after day. It was his confidence. His poise. His demeanor. The fear I felt took me by surprise. I felt helpless. To take a 6 ft tall, confident woman who was comfortable in putting ANY man in his place, and break her spirit...
It was his job. And he was good at it.
(Originally written December 10, 2007. Revised 2/21/2020)
