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Writing this update is a bit nostalgic in many ways. First, of course it is nostalgic because I have to cover more than half of a year that I have not yet written about on here. Second, I am back in a place where I was four years ago: Jericho, Vermont.
So, what have I been doing all this time? Namely, where have I been since I posted that rather unexpected note about going to Basic Training in February? Since I am writing this now, in September, we can all assume that I survived Basic Training. A few notes on that before we move on.
I did not have much time, as you might remember, to worry about Basic Training. At the European Cup in Forni Avoltri, Italy, I finally made the decision to cut the season short and return to the U.S. to go through Basic Training – we’ll abbreviate it to BCT now. Sort of a surprise since I was to return a day later. I qualified for World Championships on Sunday after shooting my first perfect race. While I was tossing and turning the entire week before over whether or not to enlist in the Army National Guard, BCT was the least of my worries. So that perfect race came despite some mental and physical drain. Maybe I was on to something, some secret recipe for successful biathlon?
The next day, or rather, morning, I slipped and slid my way down from the Alps to Munich, flew home, enlisted, and took some time to pack some things up, manage to ring up a few thousand dollars worth of car repairs – mice were the main culprit. And so on. Only until the night before I was to leave for BCT did I finally tie up all of my lose ends and slow down for a minute. And then it hit me that night after I went to bed. I was finally worried. But I was too tired to worry for long.
I am going to be brief about what BCT was like just because I still have not yet quite figured everything out myself. I had BCT at Fort Sill in Oklahoma, an artillery post, on which Geronimo’s grave is. Sort of like an old western Army post. When I arrived at the hotel in Minnesota, from which I’d travel courtesy of the U.S. Government south to Fort Sill, I left my life behind. I decided that I would just sort of check out in February and punch back in three months later. And so I did just that. To be like every other recruit. It was a good decision.
During my ten weeks of BCT – nine weeks of actual BCT, plus a week of in-processing, or “reception” as the Army calls it – of course there were times when I counted down the days to freedom. But the thing that I found to be most fascinating is how easily I adapted to the routine of it all. After a few days, it just seemed normal to me. Almost overnight, I completely gave up all my freedom, my routine of training and competition, eating certain foods, being aware of myself through what I had done previously… going to BCT was like stripping me of everything I had achieved, any privilege I had earned, my first name, my belongings, my image. All that was left was my character. And, of course, that character and also my values were tested every day by challenges, Drill Sergeants, seventy-six other recruits, little to no sleep.
At no point – well, maybe except for the several days that I suffered from conjunctivitis (pink eye) – did I not want to be where I was at that moment. (Even in the case of when I had pink eye, I actually wanted to be back with my platoon, rather than stuck in the infirmary.) I counted down the days to freedom, but only occasionally did I really think about what freedom would bring. We were constantly busy; the thing is, when you are kept busy, you rarely have time to contemplate your position in life.
I spent the time with a great group of guys. While it was certainly interesting to note how easily I adapted to the new temporary life I led at Fort Sill, it was equally interesting to see how my fellow recruits changed as they progressed through BCT. I must note that what every one of them became in ten weeks time is worthy of respect and praise. They deserve, at the very least, our support.
The last afternoon at Fort Sill, I looked around at where I had spent the previous ten weeks. I glanced at the seventy-six other soldiers I had graduated with earlier that day. It was a genuinely good experience for me. I don’t want to horrify you and say that I enjoyed it thoroughly and at all times, but that afternoon I actually knew that I would miss my time there. My character emerged tested, but intact. Learning that was perhaps the best lesson of all. Certainly more important than learning how to fold my underwear “properly.”
So, now we can strike out February, March, and April on the list of months to update you on. Maybe I’ll get around soon to updating you on the rest of the months before another six months go by!
Peace,
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