I had to get up at the butt-crack of dawn which, by itself, was enough to ruin my day.
We met at a park, and for once I was thankful for the 30-pound vest. For about a minute. As long as it took us to stop marching and start “shuffling”—another word for jogging. While we jogged, we sang/chanted in cadence (in my case I gasped in cadence). It became evident that I was slowing down my column and was told to drop back—so I did.
Of course when they say “drop back” they mean “stagger and gasp at the back of the column while an instructor pokes your back and tells you to keep running.” Two problems with that:
1) If I could keep running, I wouldn’t have dropped back in the first place
2) He didn’t have a cattle prod—which may have helped
That leap of faith thing I mentioned yesterday? Well, we did something like it today, only modified.
1) We leaped, both feet at the same time
2) We dropped to the ground
3) We did a pushup
4) We stood up and did it again
Diagram for those of you who like visual aids:
(note: we did not fall off actual cliffs—it is a representation of the dashing of our hopes as we reached the pinnacle and heard the order to do it again)
Stadium steps – or stair laps as you might want to call them. As I passed one instructor, I managed to choke out “I think I’m going to die.” She told me to raise my arms above my head (a sign of surrender, perhaps?)
I brought up the rear of most events, but I guess it wasn’t really a race—I mean there were no prizes or anything. Well I did get one prize. As the laggard of the “run down the hill and then climb up it on your hands and feet” drill, I noticed that those lucky ones who raced to finish first got to drop into the—you guessed it—Dead Cockroach position until everyone finished.
I’m not saying I was slow on purpose, but there was a little satisfaction in seeing the row of Dead Cockroaches and I only had to join them for about five seconds.
One last diagram:
Somehow I survived. And I did no pushups for infractions.
I whined. I hurt. I cried. I went without Diet Coke. I feel pretty good, in spite of the pain.
I took a self-portrait on the way home, just to make sure I was still fogging a mirror:
Don't be alarmed--the brown stuff on my face is camoflauge paint courtesy of Instructor Thomas. It is not the dreaded "Diet Coke Withdrawals that manifests as a Poo-like substance on your face"