Thursday, May 20, 2010

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.


Monday, May 17, 2010

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.

Sunday, May 16, 2010

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?

Saturday, May 15, 2010

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.

Friday, May 14, 2010

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.

Tuesday, May 11, 2010

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."

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.

Saturday, May 8, 2010

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.

Tuesday, May 4, 2010

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.