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In the cold morning rain, we huddled in circles like camouflaged penguins. It was about 40 degrees with a light, but constant drizzle in the North Carolina woods. Over the silence cracked the crisp sound of a bullhorn with the squelch of feedback before the voice came through: “Alright candidates, listen up! If you’re going to quit today, you’d better do it now because this truck is leaving at 0800 and if you quit after it leaves, you’ll just be sitting out under this tree until 0800 tomorrow.”
This was not the first time in my life that the Army had given me the opportunity to be cold, wet, tired, and hungry. Among other things, I had already suffered through Sapper Leader Course in the winter– twice – and pounded pickets through frozen ground and laid in snow-covered fighting positions as a platoon leader in Grafenwoehr, Germany. Being outside during terrible weather just seemed to be the norm.
If you’re like me, you’ve probably never viewed yourself as anything exceptional. Did you play a sport or two in high school? So did I, but I never set a record or got selected for even an all-conference team. I won the superlatives for non-exceptional kids: “most improved” and “most dedicated.” Hidden in all of this is a secret to success that few people seem to know which holds back many emerging leaders from achieving their full potential.
I habitually get a 300 on my PT test, but, not higher and I don’t look like an athlete. There has always been someone faster or stronger. At West Point, I saw cadets – some truly incredible athletes – compete fiercely for slots to Sapper Leader Course and Combat Diver Qualification Course. At the Engineer Officer Basic Course, we had to compete for a few slots to Ranger and Sapper schools. We rucked and ran, and I was where I had always been: right in the middle of the pack, maybe slightly towards the bottom.
I wasn’t high enough on the OML to get a Ranger slot, so I went to Sapper Leader Course in March 2007. For four weeks, my peers and I thought that every day was going to be the apocalypse. We had all heard stories of the misery of boat PT and starving during patrols. The fear of the unknown made all of us quit in small ways – sneak a nap because it might be the last chance, hide some food before they really starve us, dump some water in case this movement changes.
In the end, somehow we had survived; we had been spared. Unfortunately, although I was alive, I had not passed patrols. So, I was faced with the dilemma of any student who recycles: Is it worth it to go through all of that again? In the brief time that I had to mull it over, all I could think was: that sucked, but it could have been much worse. The second time around, there was no fear, no unknown, and I earned my tab, finally.
A few years later, I faced a new sort of dilemma except worse. As you can imagine, when I submitted my application packet for the Special Forces, I was a wreck. What had I just done? This was going to be a disaster. Sapper School doesn’t hold a candle to SFAS (Assessment and Selection) and the Q Course and I was going to regret this.
Flash forward that cold and rainy morning at Camp Mackall. We had just finished a week of physical fitness and cognitive assessments and moved from the huts to the woods for a week of rain and land navigation. This new phase was simple, but not pleasant. Carry a ruck through the woods all day and then lather, rinse, repeat.
As soon as the cadre finished speaking, a few figures began to move among the groups. A handful of candidates sprinted to grab their rucks and then rush up to the cadre in hope that they has not missed their window.
This is a memory that will stay with me forever. In that moment, I saw and understood with vivid clarity what I had experienced previously. These candidates were not quitting from exhaustion, but rather fear.
There was nothing unbearable about standing around in the rain. We were doing absolutely nothing. Sure, it was annoying and we were all shivering, but it could have easily been much, much worse. 40 degrees and rainy was a whole lot better than 34 degrees and rainy. Laying on the ground without a Gore-Tex jacket would have been horrible by comparison.
That same perspective began to impact everything else at SFAS, the SFQC, and Ranger School.
“Sure, this ruck is heavy, but I’m sure that I can walk at least a few more steps.”
“I’m cold, but I’ve been cold before and if I relax my shoulders, I’ll stop shivering so much.”
“If I take a knee instead of lay down, I won’t feel so sleepy.”
Motivation and resiliency are two concepts that I talk about often with younger leaders: West Point cadets, soldiers, junior NCOs, and lieutenants. It took me a long time to learn this and so I try to share it often.
The lesson that I learned that day was just an idea that had been with me for a long time. That cold day in the woods just brought it into focus. As a younger officer, I had also been afraid of the unknown, but my own failure allowed me to truly see that there was nothing to be worried about.
Just keep walking.
Catch your breath and try again.
Let’s carry this litter for 45 seconds and then switch hands and do it again.
The truth is that you can always keep going. Hard things are rarely as hard as we imagine them. The hard thing about hard things is constantly recognizing how easy they actually are.
MilitaryMentors.org is a platform to connect military professionals to each other and the resources they need for development. We’re passionate about improving the people and the discourse in the military. Join for free.
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