RSP Drill #1

I had my first RSP (Recruit Sustainment Program) drill this weekend. It’s a sort of mini-boot camp the NG has you attend each month before you ship to Basic. The nice thing about it is that you are getting paid, as well as earning TIG & TIS (time-in-grade/time-in service . . . ya’ know, I’ll have to look at some kind of a sidebar or something to explain all these military acronyms so I don’t have to type them out each time.) Anyway, TIG/TIS are a big part of your promotion process so it helps put you further along on the path to our next rank, so the RSP is a good thing all around. I’ll be attending for approx. eight months before I ship to Basic, so once I’m done with all my entry training, I’m hoping to move up to the next rank pretty quickly after that. Did I mention my rank yet? No? Well, I’m currently a Private First Class (PFC) and the next rank up is Specialist, which –from everything I’ve read- is pretty much an automatic bump between 18-24 months unless you’re completely ate-up. (Ate-up: Army term denoting something/someone that is a complete mess!)

I was pretty nervous going into the drill. I am, after all, one sorry excuse for an old man! I really wanted to do well. I didn’t want to be the schmuck who was dragging the entire platoon down and getting us smoked for my inability to handle the physical requirements. I wanted to prove I could handle it. That was pretty important to me, so I’ve been working out pretty hard for the last few months to make sure I didn’t embarrass myself. Well, all-in-all, I was pretty happy with myself. I listened well, learned what I was supposed to learn quickly, and didn’t do anything stupid that pissed off the Platoon Sergeant (PSG). I kept up with all the physical stuff better than most of the young guys and I was pretty relieved to find that everyone (Cadre and recruit alike) thought someone my age joining was impressive rather than ridiculous. I really had fun (yea, I’m twisted that way!) all weekend. It would have been perfect except for one thing. (there’s always one, isn’t there?)

On Sunday morning we had to do our initial 1-1-1 physical assessment, which consists of doing as many pushups/sit-ups as you can in one minute, then running one mile. Well, I blew through the pushups and sit-ups, doing better than most of the young guys in my platoon. I wasn’t the best, but I was up near the top. My biggest concern was the run. I can run for distance at an easy jog, no problem, but I’d timed my mile runs before and I was hovering around the 9:00 minute mark. I needed to pull 8:30 at minimum. Well, we head out to run and I’m feeling good. I step out to a solid pace that kept me around the middle of the pack (I was amazed at how many folks had to stop and walk after ¼ mile of so!) I made it to the ¾ mile mark, still feeling really good. I wasn’t breathing too hard, had plenty of gas still in the tank, and my time was an easy 8:00. I was about to kick it into high gear for the last ½ mile and see if I could get in under the 8:00 mark when God decided to have a good joke at my expense. (He’s a funny guy, the Almighty is!) I was pushing so hard, I wasn’t watching the road in front of me and I never saw the huge rock in the middle of the street (Huge = maybe 6” across, 3”-4” high) my left foot came down on it and my ankle rolled underneath me. I felt a burst of pain in the ankle and went down like a ton of bricks. The PSG was only a few feet away when I went down and I hear him yell “Holy Shit!” then he was right there (along with a dozen or so fellow recruits who opted to help me instead of worrying about their run times. Good people!) I tried to get up and finish, cursing because my time was going to be blown to hell cuz the ankle hurt like an SOB! The PSG almost took my head off, ordering me to sit back down. I told him I’d be okay to finish:

“Just tripped over a rock, Sgt!”

“Rock, hell! That’s a friggin’ boulder! I saw your ankle twist under, that needs to be looked at by the medic!”

He sent the other recruits back to finish their run and they brought out a car to drive me back to the med building, where they had me ice it up for an hour or so and keep it elevated. They bandaged it up, and released me back to “light duty” which meant I wasn't allowed to run/jog at all and couldn’t walk for any distance. Not a big deal, since it was mid-morning on Sunday and most of what we had left was classroom instruction anyway. Wearing my combat boots definitely helped, they gave a lot of ankle support and the PSG made me fall out of formation and walk at my own pace to wherever we went.

The whole thing pissed me off to no end. The one thing I didn’t want was to be what they call a “Broke-Dick”. That’s somebody who’s always injured. Because I’m old to begin with, injury is always on everyone’s mind when they look at me. They wonder if my old bones can take the strain of military life and the last thing I wanted was to give them any reason to doubt me. Granted, this kind of injury was outside my control and not uncommon (had two other guys in there with me who did similar things) but I REALLY wanted to come through and show everybody (especially The Wife and The Boy) that I wasn’t too old to handle this. I know it’s not really a failure on my part but it feels that way. Anyhow, as of right now the ankle is pure black/blue and swollen up to triple it’s normal size, despite icing and keeping it elevated all night. I’m headed to the doctor tomorrow to see what’s up with it. I’m hoping it’s just a bad sprain and that it will heal quickly. I can’t afford to be off exercise for any length of time. Not with Basic coming up! I got a very small taste of what it will be like this weekend and I still need to do a lot of work!

So, want to hear the absolute coolest thing about the weekend? Well, two things actually, that are kinda related. The first is that I was issued my first set of ACU’s (Army Combat Uniform) this weekend. That’s the digital camouflage uniforms you see soldiers wear all the time. For the first time, I got to put on the uniform of an American Soldier and I was so proud, I couldn’t stop grinning. (All of us were. We were all laughing about how we looked ALMOST like real soldiers) The second thing was that I wore the uniform home and walked into the house, where The Wife and Boy got to see me in uniform for the first time. I think they were both impressed that I was actually doing this. The Wife gave me a huge hug and told me for the first time that she was very proud of me. Babe, if you’re reading this, I can’t even begin to tell you how much that meant to me. Even my ate-up ankle wasn’t enough to stop me from feeling like I could dance after that! As you all might have guessed from reading here, The Wife has been very nervous and skeptical about my decision to join the Guard. She’s been –at best- what I call Reluctantly Supportive, i.e. “You’re an asshole, but if it’s what you really want . . .” Yesterday, she was proud of me. Damn that felt good! I’m sure it won’t last long (I am still an asshole, after all!) but I’ll take it while I can.

I’ll let y’all know how the ankle is doing after I see the Doctor. I’ll even try to post more about the things we learned in RSP.

Later!