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.

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.

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.