Not Everyone Can Be a Marine

The phrase, "If I can do it, anyone can," is something overused in our society. Of that I am sure.

I heard a female Marine say that once and while I hoped she was being honest I now know this is a fallacy.

Not everyone can be a Marine.

I had finally made the decision to make the call that would separate me from the DEP due to my knee issues.

I by-passed my PT and regular recruiters and called the SNCOIC.

When he answered the phone I told him I wanted to talk to him about my enlistment and my knees and he surprised me by saying he'd already taken care of everything. He'd already called the powers that be and they had already approved my discharge. He said that after watching me run at the last poolee function he was sure this wasn't going to be possible for me and he went ahead and took the steps necessary for my separation.

I asked him if I needed to call anyone or meet with anyone and he said no.

"You don't have to do anything. There's nothing to sign. This isn't going to go on any record. You didn't do anything wrong. For these kinds of medical things there's just nothing you can do."

I thanked him for everything.

I hung up the phone and started to cry.

Honestly, I'm really not that emotional. I have a pretty good grasp on things and I can roll with the punches, but this was a pretty hard blow.

And so my short ride that never did start is over.

My husband assures me this won't be the last time I get emotional about it either.

"Ten years from now," he said, "even though you know you made the right decision, even though you are happy and everything is going good, you'll still wish you would've done it, even if it made you crippled or killed you or both."

This has made me respect Marines even more (if that was even possible). Before I started this journey I was absolutely sure I could physically finish it. I told my recruiter that the physical trials of the Corps didn't phase me in the least. "I can do it," I assured him.

I was wrong. I can't. But there are so many men and women who can and do and that makes me very grateful and proud and respectful.

Now I'm turning my concentration to finding something else to do with my life.

I still want to serve. I still want to learn. I still want to be a benefit to my fellow man and my country. I may not be able to do it as a Marine but I will find another way.

This isn't the end, just a chapter in the book.

Decisions

While at our last poolee function I was sitting on the ground next to another poolee waiting to be dragged and fireman carried and he asked me what was wrong with my knees.

"I've been watching you limp around all day. What's wrong?" he asked.

I gave him the whole song and dance about the trauma and the bleeding and the swelling and what my doctor said and after I was done he looked at me with dropped jaw amazement and said, "Why ON EARTH haven't you asked for a separation from the DEP yet? Let me tell you, if I had a legitimate reason not to go through with this I would run and never look back. What are you waiting for?"

I shrugged and said, "Because I still really want to do this."

"You are insane. You hear me? INSANE!" he said.

The fact of the matter is, I'm stalling. I'm waiting for a miracle I'm doubting will ever come. I'm expecting to one day wake up and find my knees are magically all better and I can run for mile after mile without pain.

To be honest, I even dream about it. I dream about running. I dream about doing my best and finding it to be more than adequate (not to mention, pain and trauma free).

Then I wake up.

Just today I picked up my son and started walking out to the car and had severe and sharp pain in my right leg to the point I had to pass him off to my husband in fear I would fall with him.

My husband said, "Yeah, there is no way you are joining the Marine Corps."

To which I responded, "Too late. I've already joined."

He gave me that annoyed look we all know so well and said, "You know what I mean."

I sighed and changed the subject.

So many people including doctors and friends, family and veterans and Marine Corps friends are telling me to stop now. To get out. To just give it up and accept the reality that this is something I shouldn't much less couldn't physically do; the reality that my dream is dead; the reality that I am not physically capable of doing what I want so badly.

My mother asked me if I'd requested my separation from the DEP yet and I said I had not.

"You need to," she said.

Do I? Really?

Maybe.

Yes.

But I don't want to.

Every time I see a picture of a Marine I get a stirring in my heart that tells me to go.

Yesterday I went downstairs to do some laundry and saw my husband's cammie cover next to a picture of him while he was in Iraq, holding his rifle, covered in sand and looking ready to kick some serious butt. I stared at that cover and imagined my own sitting next to it. I imagined standing on those yellow footprints and the pride I would feel at earning my Eagle, Globe and Anchor.

If it were a matter of heart and just wanting it badly enough I know I would go and I know I would succeed.

In the end it's a matter of what I am physically able to do.

If I were single and childless I would say, "Screw it," and do it anyway, consequences be darned. I know I have enough in me to push through the pain and do it despite the inflammation and bruising and pain and long-term damage. I think I would beat my knees to death and not even blink or think twice.

Tomorrow I have some handgun training. Tuesday I'm supposed to check in with my PT recruiter again. It might be time to say goodbye to the Marine Corps.

The Ornery Recruiter (Language Warning)

My husband has met my PT recruiter once. They shook hands, the recruiter (let's call him SSgt Crabs) said, "I hear you're a Marine."

My husband said that he had been.

SSgt Crabs said, "That's what I like to hear."

And that was about the extent of their contact with one another.

So when I kept saying that SSgt Crabs was an ornery individual my husband kept saying, "What do you mean? Give me an example."

Most of the time his prickly demeanor is quite humerus.... as long as it's not directed at you.

SSgt Crabs has a gift. A gift for being angry and coming up with a come-back or comment that is both hilarious and humiliating. He can make you feel two inches tall while making everyone else around you laugh his head off while he simultaneously thanks his lucky stars he isn't the brunt of the joke.

He also has the uncanny ability to make two words out of a three-word sentence swear words.

I will give a few examples:

#1

We arrived at the poolee function on Saturday and while we were the largest group of poolees there were other poolees from other substations milling around, waiting for the function to start. Some of them were not wearing the issued navy blue poolee shirt.

Once everyone had arrived, we were told to get into a school circle (which is just everyone sitting in a circle on the ground around someone who is standing in the middle and giving instruction) and my regular recruiter (whom I'll call SSgt Moor) gave a quick talk about paperwork and new changes in the Corps.

Afterward, SSgt Crabs yelled, "Everyone who is not wearing the blue poolee shirt or a variation thereof, come see me right now!"

The five or six poor souls circled themselves around Crabs and the tirade began.

"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU NOT WEARING YOUR POOLEE SHIRTS!?! Do you think you are fucking special? Why do you think we call them fucking poolee shirts? Did you think, maybe, it was because you were suppose to fucking wear them to your goddamn poolee functions?"

A poolee started to talk but was quickly cut off.

"Shut the fuck up! I didn't tell you to talk. Look at everyone else. They were smart enough to wear their poolee shirts so what the fuck is wrong with you? It is your uniform. That is what the Marine Corps is about: uniformity. And you fuckers don't look very uniform.

"How many of you have not sworn in?"

The poolees looked around at each other, unsure and scarred of producing the wrong answer.

"I asked you a fucking question. Jesus Christ you are pissing me off. Have you been to MEPS?"

Everyone nodded and a few managed to sneak in a "Yes, Sir."

"Okay. How many of you have NOT been back and lifted your goddamn hands and sworn in?"

Three kids raised their hands.

"Okay, you three can leave. You haven't gotten your shirts yet so that's why you don't have them. Go!"

The three scurried away while he started again, "BUT THE REST OF YOU HAVE NO FUCKING EXCUSE!..."

#2

Just as were were getting ready to do the Combat Fitness Test (CFT), a poolee attempted to pick up one of the ammo cans and the handle broke.

Since you are supposed to run half of the course with two 30 lbs ammo cans it was pretty important that you have a handle with which to do so.

SSgt Crabs started cursing while he bent over the ammo can and attempted to fix the handle.

An unfortunate poolee just in front of me said, "Do you have any duct tape?"

Those of us who know SSgt Crabs winced as he stood up, "Yes! I have fucking duct tape. I keep it in my fucking back pocket at all damn times. Let me get it," he feigned reaching for his back pocket. "OH SHIT! Looks like I fucking forget it today, now doesn't it?!"

The poolee, in attempts to defend himself said, "Well, I thought maybe you had some in your car."

"Shut the fuck up! No, I don't have any in my goddamn car. I know. I'll just fucking materialize some." He tilted his head and pretended to be concentrating. "Well, it seems I've lost my fucking powers. FUCK! Do you have a leatherman?"

The poolee said, "No."

"Well, why the fuck not? You expect me to have fucking duct tape, I expect you to have a goddamn leatherman. Looks like we both failed at our fucking jobs. Damn! Shut up!"

#3

One very motivated poolee was asking all of the Marines at our poolee function how many pullups or crunches or ammo can lifts they could do or how fast they could run. Every time he would get an answer he would say something about the superiority of the Marine Corps and how much they kick ass.

No one was really paying much attention to him. If anything it was kind of funny to listen to his oozing motivation.

Apparently it was getting under SSgt Crabs' skin because after one final comment about how great the Marine Corps is, SSgt Crabs lost it on the kid.

"Shut up! Seriously! Shut the fuck up! Do not.. I say again, DO NOT open your mouth for the rest of the fucking day. Fucking shit head."

You would have thought this kid was just punched in the gut, how wounded he looked.

As I said, these are just a few examples and the principle reason as to why I find it easier to fly beneath his radar. I give short answers, never try to explain anything, and do as I'm told without so much as a single deviation to his directions. Anything to avoid setting him off.

Here's hoping I can continue to avoid his wrath.

Poolee Function #3 - IST, CFT

Wow, we are already on number three? It seriously feels like I swore in yesterday. I can't believe I've been in the DEP for three months already.

Either way, ready or not, I got my skinny butt up at six o'clock this morning and headed down to the recruiter's office where I met up with the rest of the poolees from our sub station and down we went to meet with the other recruiters and poolees from our region and have our poolee function.

I was quiet again on my way down and I have discovered that my silence is more of a result of a dislike of my PT recruiter than anything else.

My actual recruiter doesn't work out of the nearest office anymore. Recruiters, as it turns out, move around a lot. My actual recruiter is a pencil pusher with a very bubbly personality and never gets mad. The recruiter who replaced him and with whom I am supposed to do my PT is pretty much the complete opposite. He's as ornery as a snake, has quite the temper and the high opinion of himself. I suppose he has his own way of getting things done and while I don't hate him or begrudge him anything I find it easier to fly beneath his radar than accidentally find myself on the receiving end of his wrath.

So, in attempts to stay out of his verbal cross-hairs, I virtually disappeared into the back seat of his pontiac for the drive.

Once we got to the office we were informed that we were doing the IST (Initial Strength Test) and a modified CFT (Combat Fitness Test).

Apparently it is new Marine Corps policy that all poolees have to do two ISTs before they ship for Boot Camp. They have to do one 30 days before shipping and then within 96 hours of shipping. If poolees do not pass, they do not ship.

The requirements are as follows:

Male:

- 2 Pull Ups

- 35 Crunches (2 minutes)

- 1.5 Mile Run in 13:30

Female:

- Flexed Arm Hang for minimum of 12 seconds

- 35 Crunches (2 minutes)

- 1 mile run in 10:30

We started with the pull ups and flexed-arm hang and I was very proud of myself for doing 75 seconds. I maxed it with five seconds to spare!

We were supposed to be doing some kind of warm-up runs but my knees were hurting and I opted out of them.

Then came the sit ups and I bombed with only doing 44. Once again, I'm not sure why I did so poorly as I have done so much better.

As though I were not kicking myself enough my PT recruiter screamed out my name when he saw my crunch count and demanded to know why I did so poorly. My other recruiter was there and stepped in saying if my knees were bothering me the pain could have affected my crunches. The PT recruiter argued that knee pain should have no baring on abdominal muscles. My other recruiter disagreed. And while they battled it out I shrugged and slinked back to the rest of the group without saying one word either way.

Next came the run and I was nervous about it. My PT recruiter, as usual, wanted to make me run while my other recruiter said he didn't want to put me in more pain. He told me to get in the "safety vehicle"--the vehicle that drives behind formations and runs and picks up anyone who's fallen out--and off we went behind the other poolees who were running.

I felt bad and like a failure. Yeah, my knees hurt but this was just a repeat of the last poolee function where everyone looked sideways at me while I "got out" of the hard stuff.

It was amazing the difference riding with my recruiter vs my PT recruiter. He chatted away about his kids and asked me how I felt. He said they'd push my ship date back to see if I could get my knees in shape but if it wasn't possible it just wasn't possible and they wouldn't make me go to Boot Camp with shot knees. He was reassuring and easy to talk to and my spirits started to lift a little.

We also noticed a young man falling out of the run. Even the young PFC, home from Boot Camp on Recruiter Assistance couldn't motivate him to run. He was giving up and everyone was only about four minutes into the run.

"Let me out of the car," I said.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

"Yes. Let me out."

I got out and limped up beside the young man. "Come on. Let's go. I'm the cripple and I'm going to run with you. Keep moving your legs. Just walk fast. Don't slow down."

I grabbed his arm and pulled him along encouraging him to go just a little faster.

"I feel like I'm going to throw up," he said.

To which I responded, "If you have to throw up, throw up, but don't slow down."

From time to time I could coax him into a jog and even though it hurt in my legs it still felt good to be encouraging someone and helping them along.

When we came into view of the park I started sprinting and said, "I'm the cripple. If you can't beat me to the park then you've got problems. COME ON!"

He ran and finished one step ahead of me. I'll regret that tomorrow.

Then it was time for the CFT.

The CFT is rather new. The full version includes an 880 meter dash (I think) but we were not going to be doing the running portion and so they called it a "modified" CFT. The rest of the test means lifting a 30 lbs ammo can from your chest to the sky and back down a minimum of 40 times while wearing a flack jacket and helmet.

I managed to make it to 41. It's not as easy as it sounds.

Next, still in helmet and a flack jacket, with a dummy rifle added you are to run 25 yards, drop into a low crawl for 10 yards and then a high crawl for 15 yards. Then you weave through a series of cones for five yards where your "wounded" partner is waiting for you.

You drag him or her 12 yards, negotiating cones then then fireman carry him or her all the way back to the starting line.

When you drop your partner you pick up two 30 lbs ammo cans, run 50 yards, navigate 25 yards worth of cones, drop the cans, throw a dummy grenade, do three pushups, pick the cans back up and run back to the starting line.

Sounds like fun doesn't it? Here's a link to the whole image of the CFT course.

Well, it looked like as much fun as it sounded and when it was my turn I found myself on the line, helmet on, rifle in hands, flack jacket secure and ready to go.

My PT recruiter said, "What are you doing? Are you sure you want to do this? You don't have to."

"I'm doing it," I said.

"Okay," he said though I noticed he did not sound convinced.

I ran. I low-crawled. I high crawled. I maneuvered the cones. I grabbed my partner and dragged her. I fireman carried her to the starting line. I grabbed my ammo cans and ran. I maneuvered some more. I threw my grenade and almost hit the Staff Sergeant keeping score. I did my push ups and I limped my ammo cans back.

And I did it all in 3 minutes and 50 seconds.

Not bad for a cripple, says I.

I think even my PT recruiter was impressed. My other recruiter sure was. The Staff Sergeant just teased me for almost hitting him with the grenade.

It felt good to do it and to pass it. I felt accomplished and proud of myself. I think I won some respect back amongst the other poolees especially when there were guys who were dropping cans and their partners.

When it came time for the run back I fell into formation and my recruiter asked me if I was sure I wasn't overdoing it.

I said I probably was but that I wanted to do it.

I ran my heart out and passed a lot of people on the way back.

I couldn't help my limping once we finished the run but it felt good to complete the run with everyone else (in front of several).

On the drive back I was a little more chatty with one of the other poolees and a much needed Sub finished off my morning.

My knees are protesting but I'm not sorry or regretting what I did. I had fun and I did it. I pushed through the pain and I made it to the end. After all, depending on how things turn out with my knees, this might be the closest I get to the real deal. I'm going to live it up for what it's worth and be proud in my little poolee accomplishments.

Doctors and Diagnosis

Upon returning from vacation I made two appointments with my physical therapist while waiting to get in with my orthopedic surgeon.

My therapist did another extensive evaluation on me and said that the placement of both my feet and my hips is contributing to my knee pain. Also the flexibility in my knees is continuing to be a big problem resulting in a lot of trauma when I do high-impact sports like running.

In my next appointment I had another therapist who did a separate evaluation and said the flexibility in my knees combined with the tension of the tendons on the outside of my leg is pulling my knee caps to the outside of my legs and resulting in a lot of trauma to the inside of my knees. He also said my hips were both causing and being affected and my limping is causing a lot of wear and tear to my right hip.

His evaluation had to be one of the most painful things I've experienced in a long time. He also confirmed that almost all of the muscles and tendons around my knees are very inflamed and in need of rest, therapy and strength training.

Finally, off to the orthopedic surgeon today.

I gave her the notes from my therapy sessions and she did ANOTHER evaluation and said, "You cannot run."

Just to make sure we were being brutally honest I asked her if I would be able to handle the requirements of Marine Corps training and life and she said, "Absolutely not."

She said the flexibility of my hip, knee and ankle joints cause for a lot of space between the bones and impact causes a lot of trauma and bleeding which leads to the swelling and bruising I've been experiencing. She said if I kept it up I would destroy my knees and that she is going to write a letter stating I will not be able to safely complete Marine Corps training.

She recommended I continue with my therapy and keep doing low-impact exercises but sustained high-impact and weight bearing exercises will probably never be possible for me without pain and trauma that could become permanent.

On a good note she took an x-ray and said I don't have arthritis but that she would like to do an MRI to make sure the cartilage of my knees hasn't torn (whatever that means).

I'm very depressed by this news.

I called my recruiter and told him. His response was, "Suck it up."

He then said we would talk to the SNCOIC at the next poolee function in the upcoming week.

I guess we'll see what happens.

Vacation

Seeing my brother for the first time in four years was great medicine to me. I love my brother very much and even though he's a bit cooky at times, he's still a great guy. I've missed him a lot.

Being with him and the rest of my family gave me a chance to really recuperate and was a great morale booster. Granted, it would have been better if my husband could have been around but I'll take what I can get.

My brother asked me how my enlistment was going and I told him everything that was going on. He's a good listener and a great support. He assured me that no matter what happens he will always be proud of me and my willingness to serve.

I'm proud to have such a good, strong brother who has served our country so faithfully for fourteen years now. He's a huge inspiration to me.

We were able to do some shooting together, which was fun and I got to teach him how to detail strip his newest 1911 handgun. We had a lot of fun together and it was a sad day when we both had to say goodbye.

Who knows the next time we will ever see each other.

In the mean time I pray he remains safe and well.

Poolee Function #2

The last poolee function was rather fun even though I was excused for half of it.

I'll admit that I am very quiet around my recruiters and other poolees. I don't think I said more than five words the entire morning. I'm normally not like that. I'm usually very outspoken and energetic but I'll also admit that I was worried about the pain in my legs.

I had no idea what we were going to do for our Poolee function and when I was informed that we were going to be running to a park and then playing football I internally ran away to that place where my pain goes and hid in the corner, steeling myself for what was to come.

For the entire 45 minute drive to the office I didn't so much as look at anyone.

I was bound and determined to push through the knee pain of the run and the football just to show how tough I can really be when the Staff Non-Commisioned Officer In Charge (SNCOIC) came out of the office and said I wasn't running.

My recruiter made a small sound of disgust and said he didn't agree (although he used much more colorful phraseology) but the SNCOIC said it was his decision.

I was surprised he even knew about my knees. I hadn't told anyone but my recruiter about the pain and he had dismissed it to the point where I thought he would never deem it necessary to pass it up the chain of command.

I was grateful for the decision and was driven with one other injured poolee to the place where we were to play football.

My team was definitely the "outcast" team and we were slaughtered by the "football jock" team comprised of every football star in our pool group.

Every step felt like a knife to the knees but I hobbled along through two games of football. I managed even to complete a few passes and limb a yard or two before being tagged. Our team won the second time and I managed to have a little fun. Then I was driven back to the office while the other poolees did a formation run with cadence. I would have liked to have done that.

I was angry. At my knees. At the attitudes of those around me and the way they looked at me as though I weren't trying. And when my recruiter told me to stop limping I was furious at him.

For the drive back I was deadly silent again thinking only of the growing heat and pain in my knees and the frustration that I felt.

After a stop at the grocery store I went home and sat on the rocking chair with ice packs on each knee.

My husband, bless his heart, approached me gently and said, "Honey, I'm not trying to discourage you or make you feel like I don't support you, but I'm beginning to think this might not be physically possible for you."

Much to my wounded dreams and pride I said, "I'm beginning to see that."

I promised to take it easy and to go back to the doctor and then I left for my parents to visit my brother who had just returned from Iraq.

PT #2 = Not-So Colossal Failure

After my poor performance at PT last week and the general pissed off mood of my recruiter, it was no surprise to me that his FaceBook status the next day was, "Good PT for those who made it. For those who didn't, I have a surprise for you." (except his grammar wasn't as precise and his caps lock was most definitely engaged)

I started the C25K running program but only had time to do one day before it was time for PT again (my recruiter scheduled PT early this week).

Terrified for what was in store for me I began hydrating on Tuesday and all day Wednesday. I was praying that he wouldn't have up do another 3-mile run, especially since the weather called for the hottest part of the day to be exactly when we were to meet for PT.

I arrived at his office a good ten minutes early with my son, as usual, and immediately was put to work on crunches. No problem, except that every time my shoulder blades hit the floor my son would try to hug me which didn't do great things for my time.

Thankfully there is a football at the recruiter's office and my recruiter took to tossing the football with my son to keep him occupied while I finished my crunches.

For as burly, gruff, tough and rough as my PT recruiter is I am warmed and touch by how well he treats my son. He plays with him, talks to him gently and in a friendly manner and will play ball with him at any given chance. It would be just as easy for him to ignore my baby or get irritated that I have to bring him for the first few minutes of PT until my husband gets off of work but instead of making a deal about it he simply said, "Don't worry about it. It's not a problem," and has accepted my son's presence with ease which makes me much more comfortable.

Next I did my flexed arm hang and then went out to stretch when my husband arrived to pick up our son.

Then the recruiter came out and said, "We are doing another 3-mile run."

Oh joy.

We split up into teams and before we headed out the leader of our team looked at me and said, "By the way, if you fall out, you're getting carried." I assured him I would do my best to prevent that from happening.

This time and I'm very very happy to say that I did a mile and a half before I even felt the overwhelming need to slow down.

When we passed another team I heard someone say, "Common! They have the girl on their team and they are passing us."

One of the guys on my team said, "That was offensive."

To which I replied, "Not considering my performance last week."

"True," he said, "How about I just call it sexist?"

"Okay."

On the way back was when I started to have trouble. I never slowed to a walk (at least not a walk for me though at least one guy in my team complained that all we did was walk half the way) but if I slowed I kept it to a jog.

We came in second out of the three teams which I was very happy about, especially since no one had to carry me.

Today, however, my knees feel like someone has hit them both with hammers and I find myself irritated and frustrated. Perhaps a bit worried as well.

My knees are what stopped my running in November and then again in January. It was my knees that stopped my exercise routine in April and after a month of physical therapy for my knees I'm back to feeling pain in them. Will I ever get to a place were my knees won't hurt? And if my knees can't take a few miles of running with nothing but body weight, how will they handle multiple-mile humps with 30 lbs packs and loads and loads of gear?

I know that if, in the next four months, I'm not able to find a solution to my knee-pain problem, it very well may kill my enlistment which I'm really not sure I'm ready to face.

In the mean time I'm icing, icy-hoting, low-impacting and trying to strengthen them. Only time will tell what they can handle.

PT #1 = Colossal Failure

Let's just say it's a DARN good thing I don't ship to Boot Camp until October. My flexed-arm hang and my crunches may be good but my run is pathetic at best.

Since hurting my knees, being sick, taking weeks off to go to MI to be with my mother-in-law before she passed away, and then having to go back for the funeral when she did, I have done absolutely no running.

Yes, I have been able to swim but there is no good substitute for running.

Yesterday was the first PT I was able to make since enlisting.

We started out with pull-ups and the flexed arm hang for us girls and at least I did 64 second there. Next we went out and stretched and did some warm up exercises that I was keeping up with.

It was about 90 degrees and I had had less than a glass of water all day. This was my biggest mistake.

Then the recruiter came out and said we were going on a nice, long run.

How should I say this? I thought I was going to die!

In the three mile circuit, about half way my whole body went bone dry. I stopped sweating, my mouth felt like it was full of sand and my tongue felt like it was swelling up. My side started cramping and, as you can imagine, I started slowing down.

Bless his heart, there was another poolee who fell back with me and didn't leave me the entire time. He even helped me find a water fountain.

Needless to say, our recruiter was... disappointed.

Okay, angry is more like it.

On the way back the same poolee stayed next to me, talking to me, encouraging me the whole way. He even stayed with me during the walking-off period and to get a drink. I'm confident that he will make a FINE Marine as he truly took the "leave no one behind" to heart. No matter how irritated I'm sure he was with me he didn't show it even though others made comments along the lines of, "I wonder who's going to drop out of boot camp?" and the like.

I don't blame them for those comments or thoughts but I wasn't horribly affected by them either.

I have that determination to go and to succeed and I know that my run is something I need significant work on.

So, I'm getting to it and going to run at least three times a week. Here's hoping that nothing else happens that will interfere.

Female Marine Hair and Sock Bun

On the list of top questions asked by soon-to-be, female recruits are questions about hair.

Should I cut my hair? How do I do my hair? Do I have to cut my hair? If I cut my hair, what is a good length? How long is too long? Is it easier to have short or long hair?

I'll admit it. I've asked those questions myself.

The answers are as unique as the individuals asking them. There are female Marines who swear that short is best and some that vow longer is better. Some female Marines I have heard from said they were glad their hair was short so they didn't have to fuss with it and others have said they were glad their hair was long so they didn't have to worry about it growing out or getting in their eyes.

I have been battling that question myself and debating whether or not I should cut my hair or grow it out.

While I was debating I let my hair grow deciding that if I chose to grow it out then at least I'd have a head start knowing that I could cut it at any time.

By chance, I wandered into a salon in Michigan where my stylist just happened to have an aunt in the Marine Corps and, after learning that I was joining the Corps this fall, had quite a bit of advice about my hair.

"Grow it long," she said.

She went on to explain that with my wavy, almost curly hair and no opportunity to really style my hair I would end up with unruly waves that would get into my eyes, stick out all over the place and generally be hard to manage without styling products like a blow drier, mousse and a nice round brush.

I had to give it to her. She knew more about my hair in five minutes than I was able to figure out all through high school.

My hair, when short and left to its own devices can take on a frightening life of its own.

She went on to explain that each woman is different. If one has very regular and controlled curls that are predictable or stick straight hair with no wave at all they could easily get away with a short wash-and-go bob that would be hassle free.

For those of us with unruly hair, however, it was easier for us to go with longer hair and tie it back.

She explained about not using too much mousse or gel and perfecting the military sock bun before I even left for Boot Camp so that my hair would be a quick and easy fix and not a source of stress.

I'm happy to say that after five or so times of trying to do a sock bun I finally got it right.

So, in case you are wondering what I did, I'll tell you.

1. My husband donated one of his socks to my cause. I read somewhere that dress socks make the best sock bun socks and so I asked if he would give me one.

I used a tan sock so that it would be as close to my natural color if any sock were to poke through.

2. After cutting off just the toe portion of the sock at the toe seam, I rolled the sock up starting from the toe side and working my way to the ankle side. The reason for this is that the ankle side is more stretchy and will hold the sock together better.

3. With my hair still damp (a recommendation from the hair stylist) I made a low pony-tail and secured that with a scrunchi.

4. Then I placed the sock around my pony-tail.

5. I fanned my hair around the sock using a comb to make sure the sock was evenly covered.

6. Next I used a second scrunchi and placed that over my hair and bun to make the bun look even.

7. I twisted and pinned the excess hair that was sticking out.

Done!

Below is a good video to show the process.



I guess, when it all comes down to it, I will do what I need to do and deciding on what to do with your hair before leaving for Boot Camp, for a female, is a bit scary. My theory is simply that I can always cut it, I can't put it back. I will try it long and if it gets to be too much for me I will chop it off. It's not like I have anyone to impress in Boot Camp.

There are those who say something silly like, "Why don't you just do a GI Jane?" (If you don't know what that means it's just when a girl shaves off her hair like Demi Moore's character in the movie GI Jane did). To that, I would respond that the "GI Jane" hairstyle is actually against military grooming standard regulations.

As per the Marine Corps Grooming Standard:

The requirement for hair regulations is to maintain uniformity within a military population. Women's hairstyles require non-eccentric styles. Female Marines will be well groomed at all times and when in uniform will abide by the following:

Hair may touch the collar, but will not fall below the collar's lower edge. Hair that would fall naturally below the collar's lower edge will be neatly and inconspicuously fastened or pinned. During physical training periods in which physical training clothing is worn, hair will be allowed to fall naturally, without being fastened or pinned. This does not apply when conducting physical training in the utility uniform.

Hair will be styled so as not to interfere with the proper wear of the uniform headgear. All headgear will fit snugly and comfortably around the largest part of the head without distortion or excessive gaps. Hairstyles which do not allow the headgear to be worn in this manner are prohibited.

Faddish and exaggerated styles to include shaved portions of the scalp other than the neckline, designs cut in the hair, unsecured ponytails and styles which are distinctly unbalanced or lopsided are prohibited. Multiple braiding is authorized. If hair extensions are used in the braiding of the hair, the extensions must have the same general appearance as the individual's natural hair. Braided hairstyles will be conservative, and conform to other guidelines listed herein.

So, there you have it, girls. Don't shave your head.

There are other people who say, "Why worry about it?"

Well, I'll tell you why. According to a good female friend of mine who served as a Drill Instructor for a number of years, you only have a select amount of time to "master" your hair or the Drill Instructors get out the scissors. And, according to her, when the Drill Instructors get out the scissors it is guaranteed to be the worst hair cut of one's life.

To us women, our hair can be our identification and when my cold, hard husband heard of this even he winced and said, "That's COLD."

It is cold. The humiliation. The sadness at losing your hair to a Drill Instructor's scissors. No thank you. If I'm going to lose it it's going to be on my terms.

This is why I don't blame any gals who wish to cut their hair before they go. I think everyone should do what she thinks is best. I've decided to go with long hair. Because of that decision I've also decided to master the sock bun LONG before I ever get to Boot Camp. I'll let you know how it all turns out for me when I get back in January.

Blouse Sleeves and Uniforms

Yesterday my husband and I were watching an Army movie and my husband scoffed at the "dookie rolls" (a dookie roll being, of course, a poorly rolled sleeve that is round and bunched up instead of square and smooth).

I could not resist asking to be taught so my husband went upstairs and got his MarPat blouse of old and taught me how to roll a proper sleeve.

He did the right sleeve, I did the left. I'm pretty proud to say that my sleeve looked better than his!

Then, of course, my son was very curious as to what this new item of clothing was. He has never seen his Daddy in uniform. A sight that no human should have to go without seeing because my husband is one FINE looking individual in uniform. Well, he fine out of uniform but there's just something about that man in uniform.

I promise to stop drooling now.

At any rate, I now know how to roll a proper sleeve.

Mission accomplished.

And, speaking of uniforms, I'm going to have to pull out my little ruler and rehearse aligning chevrons properly on the collars of the blouse.

Back when my husband was still in I took great pride in the care of his uniforms. I would launder them, careful to remove the chevrons, take them out of the drier still ever so slightly damp and lay them flat so that they dried with crisp creases. Then, ever so carefully I would align the chevrons and put them back on. I also can't say how battered my poor fingers were after sewing name-tapes on by hand (NOT an easy task).

So, here's a note for any wannabes, wives or new Marines out there. Call your local dry-cleaners, tailors and seamstress shops and ask if they can/will put on the name-tapes. They can do it in about thirty seconds, while you wait and charge next to nothing (I paid $2 for both the trousers and the blouse tapes to be put on).

Just a tip.

EAS Song

I'm not sure what's funnier, the song or the fact that I actually understand almost all of what he is saying and I'm not even a Marine... yet.

Training Through Injuries

In April I hurt my knees. Basically I overused them. Not only were they swelling and felt hot to the touch but a random bruise started forming over my left knee and it was then I decided to go and see a doctor.

I went to doctor of sports medicine and after a quick evaluation she told me I have perfectly healthy knees.

Phew.

She said that normally she would only recommend rest and a gentler exercise program but after hearing of my plans to leave for Marine Corps Boot Camp this fall she prescribed physical therapy to get me to a place where I can do all that the Marine Corps requires of me.

My first visit was almost two hours long and had to be one of the longest physical evaluations of my legs ever done.

The result: Yes, my knees are healthy, the therapist said. But.. they are weak. Also, according to my therapist, I am extremely flexible and to counter the flexibility I need strength, more so than average so that something doesn't get strained by being bent farther than it should.

For two weeks now I've been in physical therapy for my knees and my therapist has practically had to put a leash on me to keep me from running or doing too much and going too fast for my healing and strengthening process.

She assures me she will let me run when my knees are ready but I'm chomping at the bit and keep asking her if it's time for me to hit the trails.

So, to keep me from going nuts with anticipation she gave me permission to hit the pool as hard and as fast as I want.

Bless her heart.

I get to the pool and I don't even bother easing into anything. Immediately I dive in and swim as fast and as hard as I can to the other side where I do five-ten dips on the edge of the pool (a dip being a kind of push up on the side of the pool with your waist still in the water). Back I go to the other side of the pool where I get out and do ten-twenty squats.

I dive back in and off I go to the other side of the pool for more dips and then back again for another variation of leg exercises from water running (not as easy as you would think) or a variation or leg lifts and extensions using the water for resistance.

I keep my pace fast to keep my heart at a rate it would be at during running and I am happy to say that the exercise is starting to pay off.

My flexed-arm hang has started to improve and my therapist says the low impact exercise is doing great things for my legs and knees.

She still won't let me run but promises that after our next meeting (tomorrow) she will try to come up with a gradual running plan that will allow me to get back on the trail provided I promise to listen to my body (and my knees) and stop or slow down when I feel pain.

I have promised.

I've been worried that my lack of running will hurt my IST but those who know me have assured me that as long as I work on my strength training and keep it up in the pool that once I hit the trails again it will be a very short time before I'm blasting through the miles at a good clip.

I'm enjoying getting fit again and feeling the strength in my body continue to grow.

Before You Enlist

I was doing more research on the military in general and came across a post by a former Marine trying to convince a wannabe not to join the Marines.

The young man was saying how he wanted to join the Marines because the uniforms were cool and he could play with guns and he'd get respect and earn the title and yada, yada, yada.

The Marine said he had joined for the same reasons and after Boot Camp the blinders came off and he saw the real Marine Corps. The drama, the politics, the mindless repetition, the BS. He couldn't wait for his contract to be up.

He shared a link called BeforeYouEnlist.org and I clicked on it.

While I was at MEPS I had to flinch at the preconceptions of what poolees thought the Marines are like or are going to be like. No, I'm not a Marine yet but I have spent the last eleven years intimately close to more Marines than I could try to count. Their experiences and lives have touched my own in a very personal way. So personally, in fact, that I married a Marine. I have seen a Marine off to war and welcomed him home again. I have gone through separations. I have dealt with so much political crap, mistakes and irritations that it's a wonder I would ever consider the military myself. I have held my husband as he shook in the wake of a flashback. I have heard the stories and seen the lives of real Marines first hand.

It's not always glorious. It's not always cool. It's often ugly, terrifying, depressing, lonely, tiring and even damaging. There are Marine wives I know who have never welcomed their Marines back home alive. There are marriages that have been destroyed through the separations. There are legs, hands and eyes missing because of combat. There are mental scars.

To this day my husband tells me he can still smell burning bodies at times.

This is the part that the recruiters don't tell you. This is the part they try to hide. This is the part that this site (beforeyouenlist.org) tries to show.

But it's important to note that while it's not always good, it's also not always bad, either.

If it were all bad there wouldn't ever be reenlistments and there are plenty of Marines who live to be Marines. There is something good there that brings out the best in some and they thrive under the brutality of it all to emerge as fine, good men.

So many Marines I have known (the good ones, at least) are men among men. They are stronger, prouder, more confident, surer, more skilled, faster thinking, smarter, than so many other guys I have met.

My husband, the best man I know, is a Marine.

Is there a bad side that the military tries to hide? Certainly!

Does it mean that it's all bad? Certainly not!

I do agree that anyone enlisting should be fully informed. I also think that the kids who run off thinking that the military is going to be some big video game are in for a huge surprise.

I think the video on the site is one that should be watched and considered and while it does smack of a slightly anti-military message, someone joining for the right reasons should be able to watch it and soberly trek forward with their enlistment without pause.

Flexed-Arm Hang Secrets (As Revealed By a Female Marine)

A female Marine once told me that the secret to the flexed-arm hang is singing the Marine Corps hymn.

I thought she was crazy but then she explained.

She said that if you count you will only psych yourself out, but if you hang on for dear life and sing the Marine Corps hymn and can make it through all three verses without stopping that you will max out your time for the hang.

I have taken her advice and just tonight I did 69 seconds on the flexed-arm hang. Only one second short of max. I also only got through two verses of the hymn.

Maybe it's just the motivation of singing the hymn. Maybe it's the mental distraction as you desperately try to remember the second and third verses while hanging on for dear life.

Either way, 69 seconds ain't bad.

Is It Worth It?

Remember when I said I was going to go forward with more confidence in myself and my decision?

Yeah, I lied.

But it was unintentional so it's okay.

If it makes you feel any better I am trying to do what I said it was I was going to do. That is, I'm really trying to have confidence in myself and my decision. BUT.. every now and then I get this overwhelming sense of, "WHAT, IN THE NAME OF ALL THAT IS HOLY, AM I DOING?!"

I got a really strong wash of this last night when putting my son down to bed. He has learned the joy of hugs and kisses and sometimes he decides he would like to kiss me or his Daddy and hug us for fifteen minutes straight before he's really ready to go to bed.

This doesn't bother me, of course. I adore it. It is precious and endearing and something I wish he would never stop doing.

And it hits me.

I won't be able to get a kiss from him for months. Or a hug. Or a laugh. Or a smile. Or a snuggle. Or a giggle. I won't even get a dirty diaper, which may sound like a good thing now but after three months of going without I would probably happily change a hundred dirty diapers a day just to be near my boy.

So, is leaving my son and my home and my husband and everything I love to become a US Marine worth it?

Boy I wish I had that answer.

I can hear the nay-sayers now who would say something like, "If you don't know for 100% sure then you have no place in the Marine Corps." Ooh-Rah. Chest-thump. Hub-bub.

Let me just say that a mother who runs off to do anything from learning how to sew or to save the world from nuclear war and doesn't ask herself if it's worth it or not is not any kind of mother I would put up for a woman-of-the-year award. This is a decision that should give you sleepless nights and make you wonder if it's right or not. It's a big decision.

And I guess I won't know the answer to my own question until it's all over.

After I put my son down to sleep last night I came downstairs and sat on the couch considering this very carefully.

As I did I was Googling some information on the Marine Corps and came across a blog I had written many years ago when my husband was still in the service himself.

My mother had asked me if it was worth it to marry a man a who was going to be gone for long periods of time and may even die for his country. I has written this in reply:

"Yes, it’s worth it. And yes, I am ready. I look at my husband now, the prospect of him going back to war looms over our heads, not with a heavy weight but with a sort of anticipation. I don’t look at it as a dreaded thing, but as a necessary thing. This is what he does. He’s a Marine. It’s in his job description. For me, it is my job to wait, to love, to anticipate, to cherish, to fill each one of our days with joy, love and kindness so that if we should have to say goodbye to one another I have no regrets. Should he be faced with something horrible, he can look back on his days with me and find them all to be splendid days. That he can know that I love him and am proud of him; that I understand that this could happen, and I had said all I needed to say, done all I needed to do, loved him all he needed to be loved to feel fulfilled. I look at him every morning, and I know, it’s worth it."

I was so certain then and I had not been wrong. Now the tables are turned and I'm forced to look for that same certainty. Is it worth it? Is leaving, serving, worth it? When, how do I know?

Crunches: My Nemesis

According to the Marine Corps a crunch for me is literally a sit-up. I have a long torso and no matter how far down I try to hold my arms, in order for them to touch my thighs (the official Corps version of a crunch) I have to do a complete sit-up.

I had mentioned in my blog about my IST at MEPS that I only did 42 crunches despite my best efforts and despite knowing that I have done and can do more.

I was baffled.

My husband thought it might be a form issue and that we could play around with my body position while doing crunches and we decided to do that tonight.

I've been horribly sick this last week or so and that cold that I thought was a cold turned out to be a sinus infection that has kept me darned-near bed-ridden.

Today, feeling a little better, I decided I would try my first real exercise since I've sworn in.

Still coughing and weezing I got down on the floor and cranked out 59 sit-ups/crunches.

I was so darned irritated I could have spit.

My husband and I played around with my body position for a few minutes and I think we finally figured out the problem.

The advice that I have heard repeated so often is that one should scoot the butt closest to the ankles so that your arms are as close to your thighs as possible. The reasoning behind this is that the distance between your arms and your thighs will be shorter and therefor you won't have to raise your body off the ground as far to do a complete crunch.

However, a well-established technique to mastering sit-ups/crunches is to come half way up using the abdominal muscles and use the muscles of the thighs to pull the body the rest of the way up. This takes half of the strain off the abdominal muscles and allows you to do far more sit-ups or crunches than by using the abdomen alone.

Here is what I have discovered.

The closer you scoot the butt to the ankles the less your thigh muscles will be able to assist in the crunch and you are limiting all of your efforts to your abdomen alone and your number of crunches will drop.

Don't believe me? Get a chair, and lie on the floor beside it, putting your lower legs on the seat of the chair so that your upper legs are perpendicular to the floor start your crunches. You will notice that your leg muscles are almost useless to your crunches. See how many you can do compared to how many you can do when your feet are on the ground and your thighs can assist in your sit-up.

And therein was my problem. I was so "scootched" in that my legs couldn't help me and my crunch count plummeted.

The secret to the crunch is not just getting your butt as close to the ankles as possible but finding a happy medium between getting your butt close enough to your ankles to shorten the crunch but also back far enough to where your legs can still assist.

I intend to keep playing with my positioning as well as working on my crunches in general to where I can maximize my abdomen and my legs and get a good crunch count in.

Electrician?

If able to choose my MOS (or job) from every available MOS in the US Marine Corps, electrician would not be my first pick but I don't think it would be my last either.

To get me sworn in and the ball rolling they had to give me something and put me somewhere and as of right now I'm slated to be an 1141, electrician.

Upon seeing this I made that curious little, "huh" sound one makes when they are surprised but not unpleasantly so.

As I said before, I wanted an MOS that could translate into a civilian work force and something that I could fall back on if I needed to do so. I don't think I would have picked being an electrician if given the opportunity but seeing it made me start to think about it.

An electrician is a good job skill to have. Lord knows our whole house could use some serious rewiring and it's not as though I'll ever be in a place that doesn't have or want electricity.

I've also always been curious about electricity and find the field to be fascinating. It was with the help of my husband and his understanding of electrical properties, circuits, etc, that got me a good enough score on the ASVAB to even allow me the opportunity to become an electrician so I'm not going to write it off just yet.

I've decided I will go back and look at what else is available for me and see if there is anything I think I would like better but if all I have available to me when I leave is electrician, 1141, then I think I'll go ahead and take it and see where it leads me.

Moms At War

Thank God for Facebook. Mainly because if you are a "fan" of the right things you get useful articles, videos and links of interest delivered right to your "wall."

I am a fan of Parris Island, MCRD. Aside from pictures from recruit training and digital copies of "The Boot" I also get links to articles wherein Parris Island or someone on Parris Island has been featured.

Yesterday I was alerted to an article called, "Moms at War Part 1" wherein a female First Sergeant of Drill Instructors with a sixteen year-old daughter and a five-month-old son was interviewed.

The second part of the article series was discussing fathers who stay home while mothers are deployed and the last part was an interview with some Army officers and what their thoughts are on mothers who serve.

There was one more article talking about what can be learned from Mothers who serve and that was also a very good article.

I felt they were all very timely considering the fact that I am a mother who has joined the Armed Services. Though I have been sure of my decision on most accounts there have been a number of doubts as I think about my future in the Marine Corps.

Let's be honest here. Deciding to join the Marine Corps when you are single is a big enough decision. Deciding to do it with a husband is even harder. Deciding to do it with a husband and a child... well, you can see why my most common response is, "You're crazy!"

And, yes. Sometimes I do feel crazy. After all, there's only so many times that you can hear how insane you are before you start wondering if there is any validity to the accusations.

Notwithstanding, here I am, going forward until there's a clear reason not to.

In the last article I read about lessons of motherhood from moms that service it said, "After speaking with two women who found a balance between life at home and a life at war, I’ve learned that having a child change my life forever, but I’ll still have to live my life. Working and following my dreams will set an amazing example for my daughter."

I have to live my life. I have to do what I have to do and this is something I feel I have to do. Am I deceiving myself? I don't know and no one else knows either.

I have attempted to be wise about this decision. I have gotten counsel and I have sought the opinions of those I trust and who I know have my best interests at heart. I did not seek out the people who I knew would agree with me and I didn't stop short after a simple, "yes" from one or two key sources. This has been one of the biggest decisions of my life and I have gotten the most conflicting advice.

On one hand I have people telling me to go for it. On the other hand I have people telling me not to. A lot of people tell me that I'm crazy and so many more tell me they are proud of me and my decision.

I told my mother that this is one of those times when you want to ask God to stop with all of the subtle guidance stuff and just bring down that flashing neon sign that says, "YES" or "NO."

The bottom line is that I will not get that heavenly sign. I will get no definitive answer from elsewhere giving me the exact "yes" or "no" that I am looking for.

Ultimately I can only trust myself. I can only do what's right for me and my family. And sometimes, when you aren't getting a clear and screaming "no" it means you're getting a "yes."

Moms at War Part 1

Moms at War Part 2

Moms at War Part 3

Lessons from Moms at War

Checking In

I am dying of an unspeakable and tragic disease known only as "The Common Cold." Between bouts of coughing my lungs out I am sneezing and sniffling and when I try to speak it's like someone put my voice in a blender and then poured lemon juice on top. Let's say nothing about what I look like.

I'm supposed to check in with my recruiter (well, he's not my recruiter but he's the local recruiter who I do functions with so I don't have to drive over an hour to see my recruiter who was moved.. confusing, I know) every week. My husband thinks it's silly that a married, twenty-five year-old, wife and mother has to check in weekly like a child but I say that rules are rules and I follow the rules. After all, I'm not looking for any favors or special treatment.

So, this morning, after breakfast I called my recruiter and waited for his answer.

He picked up the phone and after giving the raspy version of my name I said, "You asked me to check in with you on Tuesday so that's why I'm calling."

He said, "You sound horrible."

I said, "I feel horrible."

"Well, go back to bed and get some rest. Come to our Thursday PT if you feeling better." He laughed.

I must sound that good. "Thanks, Staff Sergeant. I'll try."

Then I took his advice literally and curled up next to my son for a semblance of a nap.

I really would prefer not to feel like my life force is being sucked out of my nose and I hope this is over soon.

Poolee Function #1

I've never been paintballing before... until today that is.

I never really saw the appeal of running around and shooting other people with paint while avoiding the same fate. While I've seen many people get obsessed with the sport (if it can be called such) I simply never saw the appeal.

Now, having both shot and been shot by paintballs I can say that, though fun, I still don't get all the hub-bub.

We met at the recruiter's office at 8:00 in the morning. While we waited for various other poolees to arrive and sort out money difficulties our recruiter had us all do a max set of pull-ups or max seconds on the flexed-arm hang for us gals.

It was freezing cold, windy, rainy and a generally yucky day to be doing anything and I was happy to have had the foresight to add an extra layer of thigh-high socks, a long-sleeve shirt under a t-shirt with a sweat-shirt over top. It also seemed to help quite a bit upon getting shot.

We arrived at the paintball place, payed and within minutes we were out on the course doing our first match.

I was on the blue team and playing against the reds and I couldn't help but think the entire time of the infamous Red vs Blue parody of the popular video game Halo. The entire time I was on the field I kept wanting to scream out, "SUCK IT, REDS!" But I didn't.

The first game was a version of capture the flag and I held back just watching what it was everyone was doing and getting a hang of the etiquette of this thing called paintball.

The match was over rather quickly as our team decimated the opposing Reds.

Eager to try my hand at this new thing I quickly dived into the next game by rushing into the field and even low crawling through mud and muck toward cover while attempting to lay down my own suppressing fire.

The gal behind me would later comment and tell me that I had "game." Whatever that was supposed to mean.

The Blues continued to triumph until a second, rather large group of poolees arrived, nearly twice the size of our group.

Our group, having been split in two to form the Red and Blue teams was now joined into one large Yellow team and all of the arriving poolees were made into the Green team.

They kicked our butts.

We retaliated with a vengeance.

Some of the more eager poolees arrived with paintball sniper rifles and full-auto guns and reloaders that could lay down a steady stream of paintballs. It's an odd sensation to hear someone scream, "SNIPER FIRE!" in regards to paintball but it happened. The rest of us had rental gear that was spotty, though I'm happy to say I got myself a pretty good gun.

My most memorable hit was to the back of my head. It was unfortunate and rather painful but livable. I had turned around to accept a refill of paintballs from someone else and got hit. Silly me.

As people started running out of paint we started trickling to the side and getting ready to leave. Because I have an over-developed trigger finger I found myself on the side lines for almost three whole games. I didn't mind. It was fun to watch the two teams battle it out.

In the midst of one game I lost interest and started milling around picking up other poolees trash and throwing it in the trash cans. It had started with just my table and the trash of poolees with us but as it progressed I went on to pick up trash from the ground and other surrounding tables.

One of the Staff Sergeants called my name and said, "If I could, I would recommend you for a NAM." That is, Navy Achievement Medal, for those who don't know.

"Excuse me?" I said.

"That's what I'm talking about," he said, rather loudly. "You see that, everyone," he gestured around to the other poolees standing about, "That is what you need to succeed in the United States Marine Corps: Initiative. Outstanding."

I smiled, "I just don't like mess."

I wasn't trying to be recognized or do anything to curry a favor. I just wanted to clean up the area and to get moving so I wouldn't freeze. It did feel good to be noticed for something good, however.

I will admit that I don't really fit with the other poolees. All of them are in high school or maybe their first year of college. Young, relatively care-free, their lives don't fit with my own. They could care less about kids and spouses, mortgages, health insurance, pediatricians, day cares, spousal work issues and utilities bills. They talk mostly of sports, grades, graduation parties and dates, things that haven't been a concern of mine for almost seven years. An attempt on my part to "fit in" with them would be juvenile and awkward and portray me as something I most certainly am not: desperate for their approval and acceptance. They are who they are. I am who I am. There needs to be no meeting in the middle.

No, I'm not better than them in any way, shape or form. Once at Boot Camp I'm sure that we will all be on that same level and find that equal camaraderie that binds us as a team, but in the mean time I am in a world very different than their own and they are in a world very different from mine.

Instead, I took a quick glance in my recruiters' directions for a sort of fit but decided against that course of action.

Because I have always found myself so comfortable around the Marine Corps and having a working knowledge of the Corps I have never had an issue connecting and talking to Marines. I can usually hold a good conversation with any Marine about Companies, Battalions, MOSs, bases, even deployments and weaponry. This time, however, I'm finding silence to be golden.

Just today I witnessed innocent flirting amongst the female poolees and the male poolees and even the recruiters. The image of a flirtatious female is one that I cannot afford and do not desire to create. I am a married woman of a few more years than my fellow female poolees. Many of the recruiters in charge of us are single men of the same or only a few more years than I. In another time and place I could be dating any one of them and no one would think anything of it.

Their returning the innocent flirts of a couple of seventeen and eighteen year-olds looks teasing and almost cute. Often times it just makes the girls look immature and silly. Everyone knows, however, there's nothing to it. However, even perceived interest in me looks like.. well.. interest.

In the interest of being professional and keeping themselves above question they tend to not banter with me, though I must say that I do not give them a chance to do such. While other gals may tease and coax a dialog out of the recruiters via provocation of one sort or another, I answer my questions as briskly as possible and seek no personal information. I am courteous but try to view them as professional Marine recruiters and not my friends. They, in turn, treat me with a detached sort of professionalism that I am grateful for.

I have noticed that a majority of the recruiters leave me be. I return the favor by not appearing to eager to get to know them. Other than the question or two about duty stations and MOSs, I keep my distance from them and let them do their job. They are polite but professionally distant from me and that's exactly as I would prefer it to be.

No blurring of lines. No room for false pretenses or assumptions. Straight business. I'm all for it.

I am rather alone in the world of Marine Corps poolee functions but I am not lonely. I am satisfied that this is right where I need to be.

Therefore, for one of the recruiters to point me out in any fashion was a bit of a surprise but a good one.

When we were done with the paintball stuff we went back to the office, did more pull-ups and flexed-arm hangs and I rushed off to get baby wipes and groceries and head home to a hungry baby and husband to feed.

This life is getting more interesting with every step I take.

Swearing In Described as Exciting, Boring

I did it. I'm done (almost). I'm in. I'm official. I got the T-shirt and everything. I'm a Marine Corps Poolee enlisted in the DEP.

I'm happy, excited, relieved. But these are all feelings post-swearing in.

If you had asked me how I felt at, oh, let's say, eight o'clock yesterday morning I would have told you I was bored out of my mind seasoned with a little bit of tired and a pinch of nerves.

Sunday afternoon I met with yet another recruiter who took myself and two other now-poolees down to MEPS to be sworn in. We got to the hotel around four o'clock in the afternoon and it was nothing but a huge waiting game from there.

We waited for dinner. We waited for the briefing. We waited for bedtime. We waited for our wake-up call.

My room mate, who was also swearing in to the Corps, was a tiny nineteen year-old gal who didn't want to go swimming for fear there may be germs in the water and didn't like the effect that chlorine had on her hair and skin. The picture of her in the United States Marine Corps only got more fuzzy as she told me that she didn't like being told what to wear and didn't like people who thought they could boss her around.

She was sweet and cute and determined to find a hot Marine to date when out of Boot Camp. She also ate slower than any other human I have ever met in my entire life.

I had to break down and ask her why she was joining the Marines. She replied that she respected them and I shrugged and left it at that. This is not to say or imply that I don't think she could make it in the Marine Corps, only that the transformation of thought and opinion will be a drastic one for her to achieve. It's not my job to decide whether someone is fit for service or not though I'd love to be a fly on the wall for her first few days of Boot Camp. As it turns out I should be going through my final phase of Boot Camp when she stands her tiny little feet on the yellow footprints. I wonder if I'll ever see her down there.

The next morning we were up and I was out to the bus as fast as my feet could carry me after a quick pit stop for breakfast and a bubbling, "Good Morning" to the rows of silent boys waiting to depart.

There were three girls at MEPS that day and all three of us were swearing in to the Marine Corps. In actuality there were twenty-eight Marine Corps applicants that needed swearing in and only two National Guard and two Navy applicants.

I was painfully aware that it would be a long day, especially when all twenty-eight of us tried cramming ourselves in the liaison's office as he let out a, "Holy Hell."

I had to go down and get my height and weight retaken and was three pounds heavier than my last trip to MEPS.

After that it was just waiting upon waiting upon waiting.

And, when you have twenty-eight people swearing into the Marine Corps, waiting and sitting in the same room for hours you get lots and lots of conversation.

There was talk of jobs and MOSs, speculation of war and Boot Camp. There was the bravado of, "I joined the Marine Corps to kill," and a lot of talk about the superiority of the basic rifleman to any other MOS in the Corps.

I sat back and smiled.

Having been a Marine Corps wife for years and in association of the Marine Corps for over eleven years I know my fair share of infantrymen as well as Marines of many different trades and skills. I am well aware that the life of an infantryman is not as glorious as it is portrayed to be nor is it as exciting. These young men are in for a big surprise once they exit SOI and get to the Fleet.

My ears especially perked up when one young man began squabbling with one of the gals about why females were not allowed in combat. There was talk about our compassion and our unwillingness to pull the trigger when the time came and the young man proclaimed that, "killing a human being is a lot different than killing an animal." While I agreed with him I wondered if he truly understood what it meant to take a life, especially after listening to him rave about how much destruction he was bound to do and how many people he hoped to kill.

My heart sank in my chest as I thought of the dozens of Marines that I personally know, my own husband included, who have had to take those shots and end human lives. The experience has almost unanimously been sobering, saddening and one that is tormenting. I have seen these strong Marines cry, heard their regrets at having to do what they had to do conflicted with their satisfaction that they were able to do what was necessary to survive and keep fellow Marines alive and safe. I have also heard many a story about Marines who could not do what was necessary when the time came.

I wanted to tell this young man to be careful what he wished for. I wanted to tell him that better men than he have buckled under the weight of combat and never healed from what they have done. I wanted to warn him that war is, indeed, hell and a hell that doesn't seem to go away just because you have left the front lines.

I opened my mouth to speak and as he raved on about the glee he will get in killing and destroying I closed my mouth and turned away.

Some people just have to learn for themselves.

As more talk continued the title of a popular movie amongst Marines came up: Full Metal Jacket. While the complete movie is a bit boring the first thirty minutes or so are a depiction of Marine Recruit Training and, as I have heard, the most accurate depiction to date. The Drill Instructor is played by "the Gunny" who actually was a Drill Instructor in the Marine Corps at one time. It is a movie much quoted amongst Marines.

Blondi, to my right, said, "That movie has scarred me for life."

"Why?" I asked.

"It just has. I'm so glad the Marine Corps isn't like that these days."

I furrowed my brow and said, "What do you mean?"

"Well, Drill Instructors can't insult you or touch you..."

There was a roar of laughter from all around her.

While it's true that Drill Instructors are not supposed to touch recruits there is what is "not supposed" to happen and what actually happens. Those two things can differ from time to time. However, I had never heard of any policy stating that Drill Instructors were to refrain from insulting recruits and all reports seem to indicate that insults are widely and heavily used as a means of motivation.

Again, I marveled at the level of adjusting that would be required for this girl once she arrived at Boot Camp. As before, I was not ready or willing to make a judgment as to whether or not she could become a Marine, just wishing I was a fly on the wall to see just how shocked she'd be at her first insult.

I certainly don't think I know everything there is to know about Boot Camp or the Marine Corps. I am sure that once I get there I will have my own levels of adjusting and shock, frustration and trouble. What I do hope is that I have enough for-knowledge to get over my shock as quickly as possible and give my all. After all, before the world of the internet where former recruits and Marines have been able to share their experiences and poolees have had a forum with which to connect to these people and gain their foresight there have been plenty of people who have gone to Boot Camp not knowing one single darned thing about it and succeeded. I have just as much of a chance at failing or succeeding as anyone else has and I'm humble enough to say I'll have my own problems adjusting to Marine Corps life, but I am grateful for how much I do know and have been prepared for.

My goal is to go into Boot Camp with no mental restrictions. I don't want the words "can't", "won't" or "don't" to cross my mind in regards to myself or the Drill Instructors. Just my luck, the moment I start thinking, "Drill Instructors can't make me do.." or "I don't want to..." or "They won't do..." is just about the time that's exactly what they will make me do. I want my mind to be so open it's about to fall out of my head.

It helps to have heard plenty of Boot Camp stories and hear about the creative ways that Drill Instructors come up with to motivate and teach.

I smiled and looked ahead.

Once again, some people just have to learn for themselves.

Finally there came the time to do our Initial Strength Test (IST). I wasn't aware we would be required to do one but I was not worried. I have been consistently doing well over the amount of crunches required and my flexed-arm hang was more than sufficient, but the whole room buzzed with speculations.

Some of the applicants expressed worry while others boasted of their physical abilities and the ease with which they would pass.

The two girls, one on either side of me, both groaned in protest and expressed not being ready.

The boys went first with their pull-ups and it was amazing to see the different strength levels in the different body types. There were big, burly boys who looked as though they could bench press a bus who couldn't do a single pull-up and there were tiny little skinny boys who could pump them out one after the other. On the reverse side there were plenty of boys who were skinny who couldn't do a single pull-up and plenty of muscle-clad young men who did as well as you would expect them to do.

When it came time for the girls to do their flexed arm hang I was curious to see how the other two would do compared to their physical appearance.

The blond to my right got up on the bar and immediately her eyes started to bat frantically and the liaison had to remind her to breathe as her face began to turn red, then purple. She lasted twenty seconds after taking a few shallow gasps.

My room mate was called up but had gone to the bathroom and so she was passed over and it was my turn.

The liaison assisted me to the bar and as the clock started I took the advice of another female Marine who said, "Sing the Marine Corps hymn in your head. Don't count because it will just psych you out. Instead, sing the Marine Corps hymn and if you can get through it three times you know you have maxed out on the time."

I held on for dear life and started silently singing the Marine Corps hymn while I steadily breathed in and out with even, long breaths.

I didn't worry about time and after some time there were ripples of whispers in the crowd watching.

When I lowered myself from the bar the liaison said, "One minute. Great!"

Sixty seconds. I was pleased.

Next my room mate returned and got up on the bar only to instantly start to shutter and drop to the floor in only fifteen seconds.

When it came time to do crunches they took the applicants into the office six at a time and they came out gasping for breath and joking with each other.

The girls went in and when they came out my room mate was happy with her forty-six crunches while the other blond began to cry.

"What happened," I asked.

Between sobs she said, "I.. only.. did.." gasp, "twenty."

She continued to sob and my room mate and I tried to comfort her.

"They will.." sniff, sob, "disqualify me." Big tears started to tickle the edges of her eyes.

"No," I said, "I'm sure they won't. You'll just have to try again a little later when you get stronger."

"No.." she sobbed and sniffled and wiped her nose, "I know they will.. disqualify me."

I suddenly started to feel sorry for Drill Instructors. Of thee three of us girls you had one who was underweight by three pounds (me); one who didn't like to be told what to wear, was afraid of germs and obsessed with her hair and skin; and you had one who sat there sobbing in fear of disqualification for not meeting the crunch requirement.

Not to mention you had rows and rows of boys filled to their eyeballs with attitude just waiting to try it out on anyone who would challenge them.

Yes, I definitely feel sorry for Drill Instructors. They have one TOUGH job to do.

Giving up on Sputtering Blond to my right I waited for my turn which turned out to be at the end. I was the last person to go into the room with another young man.

He did his crunches and then it was my turn to do mine.

Immediately I knew that something was off as I couldn't seem to get comfortable and get all the way up to the proper position.

I knocked out forty crunches rather quickly but very suddenly couldn't seem to do any more which irritated the fire out of me seeing as how I had been doing seventy-five with relative ease just two weeks ago.

I tried hard for another and another and another and another and another only to get about half way up before I would collapse back to the floor. Grunting and cursing myself (rather loudly, I'll admit) I would try again and finally my time was up and I was very irritated with myself.

"Forty-two," the boy holding my feet reported.

The liaison dismissed us and as I was walking out the door he called me back in the office.

"You got forty-four," he said.

"Sir?" I queried.

He smiled at me and said, "You got forty-four," as he wrote the number beside my name.

"How many is the minimum?" I asked.

"Forty-four." He smiled again.

"Sounds good to me," I said with a grin and left his office feeling a bit better about myself and determining to work harder on my crunches.

We waited for another four or five hours and as the time painfully crept on the attitudes got worse as patience wore thin and people became tired.

I'd never heard so much complaining and whining in my life.

The boy sitting behind me whined for hours on end and then said to the boy beside him, "I think I want to become a sniper."

I couldn't help myself. I burst out laughing and said, "If you can't take these few hours of waiting than DO NOT become a sniper. As a sniper you have to sometimes wait two or three days in one spot for the perfect shot or spend days moving mere yards just to get into position. If you can't take a few hours of waiting in a comfortable chair you will not make it as a Sniper."

The boy's eyes widened and he said, "Wow. You really have a lot of waiting around as a sniper?"

I laughed and turned back around. Again, some people just need to learn for themselves.

My husband and son arrived at noon but the hours ticked on before I was called in to complete my paperwork and released to my interview and my fingerprinting.

When I was finally allowed to go and sit with my family to wait for the Swearing In Ceremony it felt like it had been a year when in actuality my day of sitting in a chair had only been about eleven hours long.

When eight of us were put in the briefing room the patience was just about gone. There was cursing and disrespectful remarks and I was astounded when one young man spouted out a very vile comment to the man giving us our instructions. Bless him, he had a lot more patience than I would have had but you could see the anger in his face as well as his disapproval.

He took us into the Ceremony room and taught us how to stand at parade rest and how to snap to attention when the Major came into the room which we all did well enough for first timers.

When my family entered the room my son ran to me and stared up at his Mommy standing at attention in front of a Marine Corps Major. He stood in front of me, watching me intently as I gave my oath to defend the Constitution of the United States of America from all enemies foreign and domestic.

It was a very sobering and wonderful moment.

When we were done we took some pictures and told to go back into the briefing room where the Major would come in and sign our contracts with us.

When I got back into the briefing room I saw the other applicants slouched at chairs and talking with the same disrespect and attitude with which they had gone in.

I sat in a chair, silent and distant from them as to not be associated with their chatter. Again, I felt sorry for Drill Instructors.

When the Major came into the room I was the only one to stand at attention.

He smiled at me, pointed and said, "You go first."

The others around me moaned and griped and I biometrically signed my contract with my fingerprint and photograph.

The Major printed out my contract and chatted with me about my service asking me if my husband had also served.

"Yes, Sir. He's prior service Marine Corps."

"That's what I like to hear," the Major said. "And now he's passing the torch to you, huh?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Well, good luck."

I shook his hand and was enlisted in the United States Marine Corps.