I arrived in Grants Pass late Tuesday night--actually it was early Wednesday morning--and have been running around like crazy since then, trying to see everybody I want to see and get everything taken care of. I had a huge surprise waiting for me when I arrived Tuesday. A few of my friends had gone over to my apartment and moved all of my furniture into my friends' garage, where it will stay while I'm overseas. I am incredibly thankful they did that, because I had failed to come up with a good plan to move my furniture. It was probably going to look something like rent a truck, move everything I can by myself, then get some help with the big items at night. Instead, all I had to do was pack up my kitchen, bathroom, all my sporting goods, and other miscellaneous items laying around the place, and move a bunch of boxes. Entirely doable on my own!
It actually felt a little strange walking into the apartment, seeing all of the things I'd left behind. I wondered for a while who this person was that owned this apartment. Was I still her? I eventually remembered and decided that yes, I was her. But I have changed. A year-plus of living with barely anything beyond what I need for my immediate everyday life has changed my perspective on what I should keep around. It was also interesting to see what I accumulated while I was on the East Coast--electronics and a few DVDs, but primarily books. This doesn't surprise me.
I have also spent a lot of time over the past couple of days catching up with people. I've never thought of myself as a very social person, but I hadn't realized how many friends I'd made here in Grants Pass. After I turned the key to my apartment into the landlord, I thought with some satisfaction that I was now homeless. Then I thought about it a few more moments and realized that I might be houseless, but that I have so many awesome, amazing, caring friends that I will never be homeless. So thank you--all of you--for your love and support. It means a lot to me.
The paperwork is being processed to mobilize me so I can fly down to 29 Palms and join my unit, but it takes time. I had originally hoped to fly down there today or tomorrow, but it's probably not going to happen until late next week. In the meantime, I'm taking the extra time to head up to Portland and visit with more friends and family there. So nothing really exciting to write about is going on right now. Give me a couple weeks, though, and I'm sure I'll come up with something. :-)
26 February 2010
22 February 2010
Good-bye, Courthouse Bay
I have been preparing for this for two and a half years. Yes, that's right, two and a half years. That's about how long ago it was that I started thinking about joining the Marine Corps. Today we graduated from the Basic Officer Course at Marine Corps Engineer School. Tomorrow I will get on a plane, fly to Oregon, and check into my unit. Within a week I hope to be training with my unit in California.
It's been a busy week. This past week we had our final and largest planning exercise--designing a base for about 2000 Marines. We of course packed most of the planning into the night before the presentation. Really, most of our time was spent going through the mind-numbing details of how much water/power/fuel we would need to construct the base, and when are we going to we build these tents, and we're running out of space for this other building...not exactly interesting stuff to put on a blog! We actually did a pretty good job, but we only got about an hour and a half of sleep that night. Fun!
On Friday (and Saturday morning) we had our field exercise. Normally this is a 28-hour event, but we got lucky and our last two events got canceled, so we ended up with a 23-hour exercise. We were told multiple times how painful and miserable the FEX was going to be, but I actually had a lot of fun. (Probably because I didn't spend an extra five hours walking around in wet boots!) It started out cold but warmed up after the first exercise, and there was enough downtime between the exercises to attend to personal needs.
My two favorite parts of the FEX. The first one was the order that I gave. I actually got to brief my order to a class of enlisted Marines. Lieutenants are accustomed to giving and receiving orders, since that's about all we did at TBS. But most of the enlisted Marines hadn't seen an order before, or if they had it was only one. So I really enjoyed standing in front of them and explaining what the afternoon's project was going to be.
My other favorite part of the FEX was the covert breach. An obstacle lane had been set up with all sorts of wire entanglements and other obstacles for us to get through--in the dark. Fortunately, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so even the tiny sliver of moon we had that night was enough that I didn't need my night vision goggles. We started out a bit noisy, and then got bunched up between two obstacles. Communication was difficult, and we only got noisier as Lieutenants started getting frustrated with each other. I was holding security as my teammates worked on the next obstacle, but as I listened to the class, I was thinking about how ticked off at us our class adviser probably was--he and two other instructors were standing next to the lane, watching us go through.
Sure enough, a minute later, someone threw an artillery simulation round. We all hit the deck and waited for it to go off. For several seconds after the round went off, the night was dead quiet. Then, my class adviser, sounding as ticked as I've ever heard him--"You hear how quiet that is? It's a lot better than it was two minutes, or even thirty seconds ago. That's how quiet it should be from here on."
We were quiet for the rest of the breach.
We actually got through the breaching exercise very quickly; the instructors joked that they thought we'd skipped an obstacle or two. Chalk it up to some awesome classmates.
I'm actually almost going to miss Courthouse Bay--it's been the most pleasant training environment I've had so far. However, I'm very excited to move on to the next stage.
Internet might get a little spotty from here on out, but I'll try to post as often as I can. Semper Fi!
It's been a busy week. This past week we had our final and largest planning exercise--designing a base for about 2000 Marines. We of course packed most of the planning into the night before the presentation. Really, most of our time was spent going through the mind-numbing details of how much water/power/fuel we would need to construct the base, and when are we going to we build these tents, and we're running out of space for this other building...not exactly interesting stuff to put on a blog! We actually did a pretty good job, but we only got about an hour and a half of sleep that night. Fun!
On Friday (and Saturday morning) we had our field exercise. Normally this is a 28-hour event, but we got lucky and our last two events got canceled, so we ended up with a 23-hour exercise. We were told multiple times how painful and miserable the FEX was going to be, but I actually had a lot of fun. (Probably because I didn't spend an extra five hours walking around in wet boots!) It started out cold but warmed up after the first exercise, and there was enough downtime between the exercises to attend to personal needs.
My two favorite parts of the FEX. The first one was the order that I gave. I actually got to brief my order to a class of enlisted Marines. Lieutenants are accustomed to giving and receiving orders, since that's about all we did at TBS. But most of the enlisted Marines hadn't seen an order before, or if they had it was only one. So I really enjoyed standing in front of them and explaining what the afternoon's project was going to be.
My other favorite part of the FEX was the covert breach. An obstacle lane had been set up with all sorts of wire entanglements and other obstacles for us to get through--in the dark. Fortunately, there wasn't a cloud in the sky, so even the tiny sliver of moon we had that night was enough that I didn't need my night vision goggles. We started out a bit noisy, and then got bunched up between two obstacles. Communication was difficult, and we only got noisier as Lieutenants started getting frustrated with each other. I was holding security as my teammates worked on the next obstacle, but as I listened to the class, I was thinking about how ticked off at us our class adviser probably was--he and two other instructors were standing next to the lane, watching us go through.
Sure enough, a minute later, someone threw an artillery simulation round. We all hit the deck and waited for it to go off. For several seconds after the round went off, the night was dead quiet. Then, my class adviser, sounding as ticked as I've ever heard him--"You hear how quiet that is? It's a lot better than it was two minutes, or even thirty seconds ago. That's how quiet it should be from here on."
We were quiet for the rest of the breach.
We actually got through the breaching exercise very quickly; the instructors joked that they thought we'd skipped an obstacle or two. Chalk it up to some awesome classmates.
I'm actually almost going to miss Courthouse Bay--it's been the most pleasant training environment I've had so far. However, I'm very excited to move on to the next stage.
Internet might get a little spotty from here on out, but I'll try to post as often as I can. Semper Fi!
18 February 2010
How Many Candidates are at Medical?
One of the ways they evaluate candidates at OCS is by giving the candidates 'billets', or putting them in charge of other candidates for a short amount of time to see if they can handle the responsibility. In your candidate regulations, they give you a list of expectations for the duration of your billet, and one of the items on this list is to always know the whereabouts of everyone you are responsible for. This was called 'having accountability', and it was a somewhat different concept than how I was accustomed to using the word in the civilian world.
When I first read this, I thought they had to be kidding. How in the world are you supposed to keep track of everybody you are in charge of every single moment of the day, especially given the chaos of Officer Candidate School? Candidates running here and there, Sergeant Instructors yelling at you if you looked sideways--how could you remember a list of forty or fifty names and locations and be able to recall any one of them at a moment's notice, if you were asked? It didn't seem like a do-able task.
Of course, I wasn't the only candidate that didn't get it, and the instructors knew this. Most of the time if a candidate didn't have proper accountability they would get a pleasant explanation about how a lapse of accountability was about the worst thing that could possibly happen. It could get Marines killed, given a chance you would probably repeat this mistake and get Marines killed, and they were just itching for a chance to send you home before such a thing happened. Now, you could easily get this same lecture about any number of minor mistakes (Your boots are dirty? Canteens not labeled properly? Horrors! You're going to get Marines killed some day!), so I tended to take all such lectures with a grain of salt.*
Well. Some time around the fourth week of OCS I was given the billet of Candidate Platoon Guide. This meant that I assisted the Candidate Platoon Sergeant in running the platoon, but that I was not directly responsible to an instructor for anything. The Candidate Platoon Sergeant was the one primarily responsible for having accountability of the platoon. They were the candidate responsible for keeping track of all 40 or 50 candidates in the platoon and being able to cough up the whereabouts of any given candidate at any given time. (Yes, they wrote it down. Checking your notes was permitted when you were asked where someone was.)
My first day in the billet, when the candidates were standing in line for lunch, the Candidate Platoon Sergeant and I were standing outside the formation discussing platoon business. Or maybe we were just talking and waiting for lunch--I don't remember--but as billet holders we were allowed to stand outside formation and hold quiet discussions. As we were standing there, one of our Sergeant Instructors walked up and asked the Candidate Platoon Sergeant how many candidates from our platoon were at medical. She obviously knew that the Candidate Platoon Sergeant wouldn't know the answer, because she held up nine fingers as she waited for the answer. The Candidate Platoon Sergeant must not have seen the hint, because she answered, "Ten, Gunnery Sergeant." Our Sergeant Instructor wiggled her fingers and asked again.
As I stood there waiting for the Candidate Platoon Sergeant to catch on, I finally got it. I realized that during what had seemed like perfect chaos to me for the past four weeks, our Sergeant Instructor knew exactly where every candidate was at all times. And she wasn't the only one--our other Sergeant Instructors knew exactly where every candidate was as well. Even our Platoon Commander would be able to give an accounting for any candidate at any given moment, although I suspected she would ask a Sergeant Instructor. (That's how the system works.) I also decided that if they could have perfect accountability, then I could, too, and I decided that once I was given an evaluated billet, I would have perfect accountability.
The Candidate Platoon Sergeant caught on, and answered again: "Nine, Gunnery Sergeant." Our Sergeant Instructor said, "Very well", and went into the chow hall. No yelling, no theatrics, just "very well" and went inside. I wasn't the target of that teachable moment, but I learned more from that short conversation than I did from any other period of instruction at OCS.
I did have a lapse of accountability when I had my billet as Candidate Platoon Commander a week later. I had just been chewed out by our Platoon Sergeant, I was distracted, and I failed to notice that two Marines hadn't come to evening chow with us. Then I reported incorrect numbers to our Platoon Commander. You can bet I gleaned some more learning from that mistake.
Accountability is one of the most important concepts in the Marine Corps--accountability for your Marines, for your gear, for everything. And this is one case where our Sergeant Instructors weren't exaggerating even a tiny bit. If you fail to have accountability and leave a Marine on the battlefield or even outside the wire, you will likely be writing a letter to that Marine's parents or spouse. It was a concept that I was completely unfamiliar with as a civilian, but is absolutely crucial for Marines.
In just over one short week, I will be accountable for 41 Marines. This responsibility weighs on me more heavily than any other I've had in my life. I know I've been given the tools to successfully lead my Marines--now it's time to put them to use.
*Please note that I'm not trying to comment on the methods used to train and evaluate candidates. It's the instructors' jobs to create chaos and stress for the candidates, it's an important job, and they do it very well. (Very well.) I'm simply trying to give you an idea of what it's like at OCS.
When I first read this, I thought they had to be kidding. How in the world are you supposed to keep track of everybody you are in charge of every single moment of the day, especially given the chaos of Officer Candidate School? Candidates running here and there, Sergeant Instructors yelling at you if you looked sideways--how could you remember a list of forty or fifty names and locations and be able to recall any one of them at a moment's notice, if you were asked? It didn't seem like a do-able task.
Of course, I wasn't the only candidate that didn't get it, and the instructors knew this. Most of the time if a candidate didn't have proper accountability they would get a pleasant explanation about how a lapse of accountability was about the worst thing that could possibly happen. It could get Marines killed, given a chance you would probably repeat this mistake and get Marines killed, and they were just itching for a chance to send you home before such a thing happened. Now, you could easily get this same lecture about any number of minor mistakes (Your boots are dirty? Canteens not labeled properly? Horrors! You're going to get Marines killed some day!), so I tended to take all such lectures with a grain of salt.*
Well. Some time around the fourth week of OCS I was given the billet of Candidate Platoon Guide. This meant that I assisted the Candidate Platoon Sergeant in running the platoon, but that I was not directly responsible to an instructor for anything. The Candidate Platoon Sergeant was the one primarily responsible for having accountability of the platoon. They were the candidate responsible for keeping track of all 40 or 50 candidates in the platoon and being able to cough up the whereabouts of any given candidate at any given time. (Yes, they wrote it down. Checking your notes was permitted when you were asked where someone was.)
My first day in the billet, when the candidates were standing in line for lunch, the Candidate Platoon Sergeant and I were standing outside the formation discussing platoon business. Or maybe we were just talking and waiting for lunch--I don't remember--but as billet holders we were allowed to stand outside formation and hold quiet discussions. As we were standing there, one of our Sergeant Instructors walked up and asked the Candidate Platoon Sergeant how many candidates from our platoon were at medical. She obviously knew that the Candidate Platoon Sergeant wouldn't know the answer, because she held up nine fingers as she waited for the answer. The Candidate Platoon Sergeant must not have seen the hint, because she answered, "Ten, Gunnery Sergeant." Our Sergeant Instructor wiggled her fingers and asked again.
As I stood there waiting for the Candidate Platoon Sergeant to catch on, I finally got it. I realized that during what had seemed like perfect chaos to me for the past four weeks, our Sergeant Instructor knew exactly where every candidate was at all times. And she wasn't the only one--our other Sergeant Instructors knew exactly where every candidate was as well. Even our Platoon Commander would be able to give an accounting for any candidate at any given moment, although I suspected she would ask a Sergeant Instructor. (That's how the system works.) I also decided that if they could have perfect accountability, then I could, too, and I decided that once I was given an evaluated billet, I would have perfect accountability.
The Candidate Platoon Sergeant caught on, and answered again: "Nine, Gunnery Sergeant." Our Sergeant Instructor said, "Very well", and went into the chow hall. No yelling, no theatrics, just "very well" and went inside. I wasn't the target of that teachable moment, but I learned more from that short conversation than I did from any other period of instruction at OCS.
I did have a lapse of accountability when I had my billet as Candidate Platoon Commander a week later. I had just been chewed out by our Platoon Sergeant, I was distracted, and I failed to notice that two Marines hadn't come to evening chow with us. Then I reported incorrect numbers to our Platoon Commander. You can bet I gleaned some more learning from that mistake.
Accountability is one of the most important concepts in the Marine Corps--accountability for your Marines, for your gear, for everything. And this is one case where our Sergeant Instructors weren't exaggerating even a tiny bit. If you fail to have accountability and leave a Marine on the battlefield or even outside the wire, you will likely be writing a letter to that Marine's parents or spouse. It was a concept that I was completely unfamiliar with as a civilian, but is absolutely crucial for Marines.
In just over one short week, I will be accountable for 41 Marines. This responsibility weighs on me more heavily than any other I've had in my life. I know I've been given the tools to successfully lead my Marines--now it's time to put them to use.
*Please note that I'm not trying to comment on the methods used to train and evaluate candidates. It's the instructors' jobs to create chaos and stress for the candidates, it's an important job, and they do it very well. (Very well.) I'm simply trying to give you an idea of what it's like at OCS.
14 February 2010
26.2
A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away...
Sorry, wrong universe. How about, nearly two years ago, on a phone line between Portland and Grants Pass...Amy had mentioned to me that she wanted to get into shape, and that her goal was to run the Portland Marathon. She knew she had a lot of work to get there, but that was her goal. Always eager to encourage people to work out, I told her that if she ran the marathon, I'd run it with her. She told Dad, and he got in on it to. We gave ourselves a year and a half, and set our target marathon for the Portland 2009 marathon, last September.
Well, former track athlete Dad got all excited about running marathons, and went and ran the Austin marathon in February 2009. The Portland marathon never happened, but I figured I might as well run one anyway, so I told Dad I'd do the 2010 Austin marathon with him. Dad trains with the Round Rock Fit group, so I got their training schedule off their website and did the long Saturday runs on my own. Most of the runs are in the 10-12 mile range, but they had a few longer runs sprinkled in--primarily a 16-miler and a 20-miler.
I was feeling pretty good after the 12-mile runs I'd done, and figured it wouldn't be a big deal to just double the mileage. Just for one day. How hard could it be? Then the 16-miler came along, and I figured it might be good to do a little bit longer run. Just once. Just to see what it was like. Man, was I ever hurting after that run. Just four extra measly miles! Took everything I had to convince myself to keep plodding along, one foot in front of the other. Okay, so maybe it wasn't such a good idea to skip the long runs.
Then I went for a run the day before Christmas and noticed that I was slower than normal, and that the back of my leg was hurting. Oh well, ignore it and it'll go away, right? I went for a run the day after Christmas with my Dad, and noticed that it was swollen and that I couldn't walk without limping. The pain went away, but the swelling hadn't gone down several days later, so I ducked into sick call on New Year's Eve. They sent me up to the hospital and determined that it wasn't a blood clot but didn't tell me what it was. Go see your normal Doctor, they told me.
I went to sick call the day we got back from leave, and was diagnosed with an Achilles strain. Two weeks light duty, no running. (And if you ignore the doctor and go running anyway, there will be consequences, my best friend warned me. How am I supposed to train for a marathon if I can't run? NO RUNNING. Aye, aye, ma'am.) I got off light duty with five weeks to go. First run, three miles. Felt great. Two days later five miles. Still no pain, no swelling. Eleven miles--just fine. Time to go for twenty.
It was raining that morning, and the reader board said 33 degrees when I left. I was wearing gloves, but the first seven miles were into the wind. My hands froze in place around my water bottle and gels, so I had to use my teeth to tear the tops off the gels. The next eight miles going with the wind weren't quite so bad, but my route included a 1.5-mile jaunt down to the water right around mile 15. Down to the water--that wasn't bad. Coming back from the water was into the wind again. As I ran back into Courthouse Bay, the reader board said 35. Awesome. I was convinced that an extra six miles couldn't be nearly as miserable as running in nearly freezing rain.
That's debatable. We started the marathon this morning right at 7. The problem with me running in a gigantic group of people is that I want to pass them all. So I ran the first eight miles faster than I wanted to or should have. It took me just over an hour--actually the fastest I've ever run eight miles. By mile ten or eleven, my calves were starting too complain. It was too early for this to happen, but I couldn't go back and run slower to start! I kept running.
The last ten miles I ran a mile at a time, using every mental trick I could to keep myself going. The spectators between miles 18 and 19 were amazing, and gave me a big mental boost that helped a lot. Here's what I suggest if you ever go watch a marathon: place yourself somewhere past the 15 mile mark, and do your best to read the runner's names off their bibs. It's more encouraging when someone shouts out your name than to hear "Go runners!" or something similarly generic.
My original goal was 3:40, which qualifies me for the Boston Marathon. Not that I want to run the Boston Marathon, but it seemed like a reasonable goal. That was before I got hurt, though, and my training runs since then indicated my time would be closer to the 3:50-4:00 range. My official time is 3:41:39, and I know that I couldn't have run any faster, so I'm happy with it.
Dad cut an hour off his time from last year, finishing at 4:33:38. We took naps and are now sitting around the house, trying to recover and replace fluids. This is us as we were about to head home.
Sorry, wrong universe. How about, nearly two years ago, on a phone line between Portland and Grants Pass...Amy had mentioned to me that she wanted to get into shape, and that her goal was to run the Portland Marathon. She knew she had a lot of work to get there, but that was her goal. Always eager to encourage people to work out, I told her that if she ran the marathon, I'd run it with her. She told Dad, and he got in on it to. We gave ourselves a year and a half, and set our target marathon for the Portland 2009 marathon, last September.
Well, former track athlete Dad got all excited about running marathons, and went and ran the Austin marathon in February 2009. The Portland marathon never happened, but I figured I might as well run one anyway, so I told Dad I'd do the 2010 Austin marathon with him. Dad trains with the Round Rock Fit group, so I got their training schedule off their website and did the long Saturday runs on my own. Most of the runs are in the 10-12 mile range, but they had a few longer runs sprinkled in--primarily a 16-miler and a 20-miler.
I was feeling pretty good after the 12-mile runs I'd done, and figured it wouldn't be a big deal to just double the mileage. Just for one day. How hard could it be? Then the 16-miler came along, and I figured it might be good to do a little bit longer run. Just once. Just to see what it was like. Man, was I ever hurting after that run. Just four extra measly miles! Took everything I had to convince myself to keep plodding along, one foot in front of the other. Okay, so maybe it wasn't such a good idea to skip the long runs.
Then I went for a run the day before Christmas and noticed that I was slower than normal, and that the back of my leg was hurting. Oh well, ignore it and it'll go away, right? I went for a run the day after Christmas with my Dad, and noticed that it was swollen and that I couldn't walk without limping. The pain went away, but the swelling hadn't gone down several days later, so I ducked into sick call on New Year's Eve. They sent me up to the hospital and determined that it wasn't a blood clot but didn't tell me what it was. Go see your normal Doctor, they told me.
I went to sick call the day we got back from leave, and was diagnosed with an Achilles strain. Two weeks light duty, no running. (And if you ignore the doctor and go running anyway, there will be consequences, my best friend warned me. How am I supposed to train for a marathon if I can't run? NO RUNNING. Aye, aye, ma'am.) I got off light duty with five weeks to go. First run, three miles. Felt great. Two days later five miles. Still no pain, no swelling. Eleven miles--just fine. Time to go for twenty.
It was raining that morning, and the reader board said 33 degrees when I left. I was wearing gloves, but the first seven miles were into the wind. My hands froze in place around my water bottle and gels, so I had to use my teeth to tear the tops off the gels. The next eight miles going with the wind weren't quite so bad, but my route included a 1.5-mile jaunt down to the water right around mile 15. Down to the water--that wasn't bad. Coming back from the water was into the wind again. As I ran back into Courthouse Bay, the reader board said 35. Awesome. I was convinced that an extra six miles couldn't be nearly as miserable as running in nearly freezing rain.
That's debatable. We started the marathon this morning right at 7. The problem with me running in a gigantic group of people is that I want to pass them all. So I ran the first eight miles faster than I wanted to or should have. It took me just over an hour--actually the fastest I've ever run eight miles. By mile ten or eleven, my calves were starting too complain. It was too early for this to happen, but I couldn't go back and run slower to start! I kept running.
The last ten miles I ran a mile at a time, using every mental trick I could to keep myself going. The spectators between miles 18 and 19 were amazing, and gave me a big mental boost that helped a lot. Here's what I suggest if you ever go watch a marathon: place yourself somewhere past the 15 mile mark, and do your best to read the runner's names off their bibs. It's more encouraging when someone shouts out your name than to hear "Go runners!" or something similarly generic.
My original goal was 3:40, which qualifies me for the Boston Marathon. Not that I want to run the Boston Marathon, but it seemed like a reasonable goal. That was before I got hurt, though, and my training runs since then indicated my time would be closer to the 3:50-4:00 range. My official time is 3:41:39, and I know that I couldn't have run any faster, so I'm happy with it.
Dad cut an hour off his time from last year, finishing at 4:33:38. We took naps and are now sitting around the house, trying to recover and replace fluids. This is us as we were about to head home.
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