Notice: Function _load_textdomain_just_in_time was called incorrectly. Translation loading for the twentyfifteen domain was triggered too early. This is usually an indicator for some code in the plugin or theme running too early. Translations should be loaded at the init action or later. Please see Debugging in WordPress for more information. (This message was added in version 6.7.0.) in /chroot/home/a6f7779a/9d7429a5d9.nxcli.io/html/wp-includes/functions.php on line 6170 {"id":484,"date":"2015-05-06T21:54:22","date_gmt":"2015-05-07T02:54:22","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=484"},"modified":"2015-05-06T22:00:53","modified_gmt":"2015-05-07T03:00:53","slug":"humpty-dumpty","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/frankdeleon.com\/?p=484","title":{"rendered":"Humpty Dumpty"},"content":{"rendered":"

Humpty Dumpty<\/u><\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

The Wall<\/strong><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n

Life for me took a dramatic change after I became an active member of the United States Air Force. No longer was it my mother coaxing me back to consciousness from a night of peaceful slumber by gently calling my name and softly stroking my face and forehead. Nor was I now apt to dawdle in my bed, savoring just a few more minutes of that delicious early morning doze\u2014stretching lazy limbs, curling toes, and nuzzling the cool pillow searching for that elusively cool sweet spot.<\/p>\n

No.<\/p>\n

In this new life my mind was now trained to shock me awake at least five full minutes before the dozens of two-hundred-watt bulbs, hanging nakedly from the starkly-painted ceiling, blazed on, and cruelly sent atomic-like sparks deep into my retinas. The blinding flash of lights was closely followed by the ear-piercing sounds of several referees\u2019 whistles being frantically blown by drill instructors and barracks guards; each trying to outdo the other.<\/p>\n

In the end, our early morning tormentors resorted to good old-fashioned yelling; urging us to \u201crise and shine, motherfuckers\u201d, and by using the some of the vilest forms of name calling and deeply profane exhortations that I had never heard in my previously sheltered life.<\/p>\n

We literally flew out of our paper-thin bunks, hitting the floor, bleary-eyed and scared out of our wits. In less than a week after this type of mind melting torture we\u2019d learned to shower, shave, make our bunks, dress ourselves in the uniform of the day, and form up on the quad in our respective spots in the formation\u2014in all of five minutes. We would\u2019ve never been able to perform these tasks in the given time had it not been for a few tricks that we\u2019d finally learned after a few days of stumbling out in the dark and lining up half-dressed, toothpaste running out of our mouths and\/or shaving cream still smeared on our razor-chafed faces.<\/p>\n

Those first few mornings we painfully suffered the humility of having our drill instructors running up and down the line berating us for not standing up straight, not having our gig line in order, having our caps on crooked, our boots not laced up right, our faces bleeding (or not), or \u201cnot having stood close enough to our fucking razors\u201d. These, and a million other mortal military turpitudes, that would surely destroy the very soul of their<\/strong> United States Air Force, were our daily sins. And by God if we didn\u2019t get our shit together soon, every one of us would find ourselves back \u201cwherever the fuck it was we came from\u201d.<\/p>\n

We learned that shaving (very close) right before we went to bed saved us precious seconds in the morning. We arranged our uniform pants on the floor next to our boots, so when we swung our feet down from the bed to the floor they would land just inside the turned open waist. Then reaching quickly down, we would grab the belt and yank up! The shirt, just next to the pants was also laid open on the floor; and we learned to put it on, both sleeves at the same time.<\/p>\n

We lined up our boots, laces loosened, tops open, helping to quickly ease our march-weary feet smoothly into them as we buckled our belts. We slept with our socks on. We didn\u2019t tear our bed down to get under the covers at night\u2014instead opting to sleep lightly, and on our back, on top of the fully made bed. We learned not to toss or turn while we slept, thus lessening the odds of disturbing the covers\u2014so we were just able to tighten them to bring the bed back into regulation form.<\/p>\n

In the bathroom we wrapped a towel around our neck to keep water droplets from landing on our shirt. Right hand washed the face as the left one held a toothbrush ready to be smeared with tooth paste. Since we\u2019d learned to shave and shower at night the wash basins were standing room only as water splashed and teeth were hastily brushed.<\/p>\n

After a final check of our bunks and footlockers, to make sure covers were tight and socks were rolled and lined up just so, we sprinted out in the early morning\u2019s frosty darkness to line up on the quad. Any hint of chilliness was completely ignored\u2014our minds busy with the mental checks regarding our position and posture in the formation, and the anticipation of the upcoming half-mile march to the \u201cchow hall\u201d for breakfast. Sometimes it would be a fast march in straight formation, other times we practiced our left and right oblique turns, crazily weaving our way to the morning meal.<\/p>\n

To help our marching synchronization the drill sergeants would call out cadence chants\u2014many of them obscene, but all of them funny to our immature ears.<\/p>\n

Some examples, and always starting when the left heel hit the ground:<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know, but I\u2019ve been told,\u201d<\/u><\/p>\n

(Squad echoes)<\/u><\/p>\n

I don\u2019t know, but I\u2019ve been told,<\/u><\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cEskimo pussy\u2019s mighty cold!\u201d<\/u><\/p>\n

Eskimo pussy\u2019s mighty cold!<\/u><\/em><\/p>\n

\u201cSound off,\u201d one, two<\/em>\u2014one, two, three, four<\/em>\u2014\u201cSound off!!\u201d<\/u><\/p>\n

And this one chanted while marching with rifle on shoulder:<\/p>\n

\u201cThis is my rifle, and this is my gun,\u201d (grab crotch with left hand on the second \u2018this\u2019)<\/u><\/p>\n

\u201cThis is for fighting, and this is for fun.\u201d (grab crotch with left hand on the second \u2018fun\u2019<\/u>)<\/p>\n

And a special one whenever we were within earshot of the women\u2019s barracks:<\/p>\n

“Her right, her right, her right tit hung low<\/span>,<\/u>”<\/p>\n

\u201cHer left, her left, her left tit swung slow<\/span>\u2026\u201cSound off,\u201d one, two<\/em>\u2014one, two, three, four<\/em>\u2014\u201cSound off!!\u201d<\/u><\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/u><\/p>\n

As the first few days passed I began to see that Sergeants Rice and Prince had structured our days for maximum efficiency. After breakfast it was marching drills for several hours, followed by a trip back to our barracks for \u201cpiss breaks\u201d. These usually consisted of only a few minutes so it was a wild scramble at the urinals. For those who were more adventurous and thought maybe they might be able to squeeze in a quick dump it proved to be a real challenge. Lots of grunting and cussing, with a handful of toilet paper ready to wipe and flush\u2014then running out while trying to get their uniform back into regulation form.<\/p>\n

Before we knew it we were being marched to classrooms for lessons on basic military law and customs, the proper wearing of the uniform, and differences of the insignias of rank. These classes usually lasted one to two hours and were broken up by a formation march to the chow hall for lunch. If the classes resumed after the noon meal it was usually a real battle to try to stay awake in the stuffy classrooms\u2014typically a plain wooden building with few windows and even less ventilation. Finally, it was time for physical training (PT), and we\u2019d be marched out to a large field where we\u2019d warm up by doing several minutes of basic calisthenics. This was usually followed by group runs around a track with push-ups, pull-ups and various other forms of physical torture to entertain the instructors.<\/p>\n

It was this particular phase of basic training that I dreaded the most. I was discovering that I was beginning to enjoy the structured existence that my drill instructors were imposing on us but quickly decided that I hated and deeply feared the PT sessions that were a huge part of our daily training routine.<\/p>\n

Although my mother had always claimed that I \u201cran like a deer\u201d, nothing could\u2019ve been further from the truth. Because of my skin and bone frame and my complete lack of stamina, I was hardly any kind of athlete. That fact I first discovered during my sophomore year in high school when I decided that since I \u201cran like a deer\u201d, I should try out for the track team.<\/p>\n

Convinced that I could outrun just about anything on two legs I made a trip down to the school gym one afternoon after school to seek out the track team coach. I found him in his office going over some files, and I rapped gently on the frame of the open door.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi coach,\u201d I said tentatively. \u201cCan I ask you something?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? Who are you and what do you want?\u201d He asked, looking up from his paperwork and looking slightly annoyed.<\/p>\n

I took a step into his tiny office. \u201cUm, oh, my name is Frank, and I\u2019d like to ask you what I would need to do to join the track team.\u201d<\/p>\n

He narrowed his eyes a bit as he searched his memory trying to dredge up just who exactly this skeleton in clothes may be. \u201cFrank who?\u201d He asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cDeLeon!\u201d<\/p>\n

He leaned back in his chair, eliciting a metallic groan from the little armless chair\u2019s ancient suspension, \u201cDoesn\u2019t ring a bell. What gym period are you in?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThird, just before lunch.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, coach G\u00f3mez\u2026OK, so what is it that you want?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI want to join the track team.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cTo do what, exactly?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRun.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cRun?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou\u2019re kidding, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNo, I don\u2019t think so. I want to run.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHave you ever run track before\u2026anywhere?\u201d He asked, putting his pencil down and pushing forward in his chair to get a real good look at me.<\/p>\n

\u201cNope. But I think I run pretty fast.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh you do, do you? Based on what?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t know. My mom says I run like a deer, so that\u2019s pretty fast I guess.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYour mother says that, does she?\u201d<\/p>\n

He gave me a visual once over, probably trying to choke down the wave of laughter building in his gut. Then, more out of pity than anything else, he said, \u201cOK, look, let me talk to Coach G\u00f3mez first then I\u2019ll let you know. You know you have to make track part of your curriculum, right?\u201d<\/p>\n

I had no idea what he\u2019d just said to me\u2014but why ask? \u201cSure, yes\u2026\u201d I answered, as confidently as I could.<\/p>\n

He went back to his paperwork and I turned and walked out.<\/p>\n

A few days later, not having heard anything, I again made a trip back to the gym offices after school looking for the coach. Not finding anyone in the small office I asked one of the custodians where he might be, and he directed me out to the track that ringed our football field. I found him by the track, with a whistle in one hand and a stopwatch in the other, intently watching several boys running by.<\/p>\n

\u201cExcuse me, coach\u2026\u201d I said, trying to get his attention. \u201cExcuse me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He turned abruptly. \u201cOh, you! Just a minute! Go stand over there and I\u2019ll be with you in just a bit.\u201d<\/p>\n

I walked a few steps away and waited. I recognized a couple of the boys running, and a few others standing around a sand pit. They shared of few classes with me here and there, but I\u2019d never really met any of them.<\/p>\n

As I watched the boys, some running around the track, and others walking in small groups talking, I imagined myself one of them: dressed in a thin white tank top with a big black number on the front, dark shorts, and wearing those funny feet-hugging black leather spiked shoes\u2014kicking high, elbows flying, with my chin out reaching for the finish line. Yeah, I could so do that!<\/p>\n

\u201cHEY!!\u201d The coach\u2019s voice rattled me out of my daydream.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, yes sir.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK listen. I had a talk with Coach G\u00f3mez, and after he split a gut laughing I took a look at your gym records. Not much there, and you\u2019re a skinny shit too. So here\u2019s what I can offer: There\u2019s no way you can just come out here and join the track team. That\u2019s not the way to do it. You have to go to try-outs and compete with others; and then, if you\u2019re accepted we can maybe add track to your curriculum.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOh\u2026\u201d I mumbled, disappointed.<\/p>\n

\u201cFrom your working out I\u2019ll be able to place you in a track program\u2014like long distance, sprinter, long jump\u2014you know. But way before that happens, here\u2019s what you have to do. You come out every afternoon, after school, on your own, to work out and get in shape for the rest of the semester, and I\u2019ll put in a good word with your counselor and see if we can get you on the team. Are you willing to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think so. How long will I have to stay after school?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cA couple of hours,\u201d he said, \u201cyou should be done by five, or so.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell, that means I\u2019ll miss the bus and I\u2019ll have to walk home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you mean, walk home? Can\u2019t someone come get you? Or, can\u2019t you just take the city bus home?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWell,\u201d I stammered, \u201cmy mom can\u2019t drive, and she doesn\u2019t have a car anyway\u2026and we don\u2019t have money for my bus fare every day.\u201d<\/p>\n

He stared at me with the look that says, \u2018is this kid shitting me\u2019? Then, looking away he said, \u201cWell, how you get home is your business. I\u2019ve made you the offer\u2014if you want to try out for the track team you\u2019ll have to stay after school and work out with them. You wanna do that, or not?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah sure, I guess,\u201d I said dejectedly.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d he said, \u201cyou can start Monday, next week.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, coach? What about track shoes? I don\u2019t have any.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYou won\u2019t need track shoes for the workouts. They\u2019s for competitions, and only the track team gets\u2019em\u2014so you don\u2019t have to worry about that\u2014if ever. For now you can wear the same gym shoes you wear when you go to G\u00f3mez\u2019s P.E. class.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d was all I could come up with.<\/p>\n

As the coach walked away I wondered how I\u2019d tell my mother about this. She was virtually clueless about most school activities anyway so bringing up a track team should totally send her into la-la land. Worse, I didn\u2019t even own any tennis shoes. Whenever I went to P.E. I participated in all the activities barefooted. I even played basketball in the gym in my bare feet. Coach G\u00f3mez had long ago given up asking me to wear gym shoes in class after I had explained that my parents were never going to buy me a second pair of shoes\u2026ever.<\/p>\n

The following Monday I made the walk down to the gym locker room and changed into my old gym clothes. I still hadn\u2019t decided how I was going to talk my way around the fact that I had no gym shoes at all.<\/p>\n

I walked out onto the gravel surrounding the track and looked for the coach. A couple of boys jogged past me giggling and pointing at my bare feet. \u201cHey shithead, you forgot your shoes!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ignoring them I continued to scan the area and finally saw the coach sitting on a small stool staring intently at a clipboard on his lap. I trotted over in my best deer-like canter.<\/p>\n

\u201cHi coach!\u201d I stopped, but continued to run in place, fists clenched and elbows swinging.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat the fuck\u2026\u201d He exclaimed, almost dropping the clipboard. \u201cWhere are your shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t have any,\u201d I quickly answered, making sure I was pulling my knees up high and puffing my bony chest out.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat? You don\u2019t\u2026what? I told you to wear gym <\/strong>shoes! Where in God\u2019s name are your gym shoes<\/strong>?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat\u2019s what I don\u2019t have. I don\u2019t have any gym shoes.\u201d I said a bit breathlessly, as I started to get a bit winded.<\/p>\n

He slowly stood up; looking at me as if I\u2019d suddenly just developed a fatal case of leprosy.<\/p>\n

\u201cSTOP THAT SILLY SHIT AND STAND STILL, GOD-DAMMIT!\u201d<\/p>\n

I gratefully stood down, breathing hard through my nose.<\/p>\n

\u201cAre you telling me you don\u2019t own a pair of gym shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYes sir.\u201d A little bead of sweat trickled down from my hairline and into my right eye.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat do you wear in G\u00f3mez\u2019s P.E. class?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNothing\u2026I mean, I don\u2019t wear shoes\u2026but I do wear gym shorts.\u201d<\/p>\n

He shook his head from side to side slowly while intensely staring at my feet. \u201cJesus,\u201d was all he could manage.<\/p>\n

In an attempt to be helpful I said, \u201cI run good barefoot. Don\u2019t need any shoes.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cNOT ON A CINDER TRACK, YOU IDIOT!!\u201d He seemed a bit exasperated. \u201cWait here!\u201d And he walked off toward the exterior locker room door.<\/p>\n

While he was gone I entertained myself by watching the high jumpers kick high over a red lateral bar and plop gracefully into a sand pit. To me, it looked a bit painful, but they seemed to be enjoying it.<\/p>\n

Looking over to the track I was really shocked to see a boy speeding around, arms flying and legs a mere blur. I remember thinking that I\u2019d seen him many times in the hallway during class passing times. He was very tall and was shaped more or less like a pear. When moving down the hallways he\u2019d plod along on thick legs growing out of an almost basketball round butt. Above the waist he was all bone and cartilage\u2014with long arms almost as skinny as mine. He seemed hardly capable of walking; yet here he was speeding around the track like a runaway locomotive. With an almost purple tinge to the maniacal grimace on his face, and with his long brown hair flopping up and down with each dig of his spiked track shoes, he ran like a demon possessed. Boy, could he move.<\/p>\n

\u201cHere!\u201d The word shocking me out of my rubbernecking and making me jump just a bit. \u201cThese are old, and probably a little hard, but I think they\u2019ll fit you just fine.\u201d<\/p>\n

In his hand he held a pair of ill-formed black track shoes, whose spikes had long ago given up their metallic gleam for a thin coat of dark brown rust.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou got socks?\u201d He asked, with some hesitation.<\/p>\n

\u201cUh, no. But I think I can wear them like this.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cSuit yourself, but you\u2019ll probably blister up. When you get those on I want you to stand out in the grassy area inside the track and give me a hundred jumping jacks. When you finish those you can start on fifty squats, then finish up with twenty-five push-ups. Then come and see me\u2026if you can still walk, that is.\u201d<\/p>\n

I did the jumping jacks in quick order, the squats proved to be a lot more challenging\u2014making the last twenty, or so, make my upper thighs and butt feel like jello\u2014and the push-ups were a complete failure. Early in my life I had discovered that my arms were my weakest set of limbs and they weren\u2019t getting better as I got older. This particular weakness would soon end up putting my life in jeopardy.<\/p>\n

After walking around for a little while trying to get the stiffness out of my legs I heard the coach call my name.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet over here!\u201d<\/p>\n

I trotted over to where he was standing next to the red cinder track. \u201cYeah coach.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThat should\u2019ve warmed you up enough\u2014so now I want you to run me four laps around the track. When you finish come find me. Git!\u201d<\/p>\n

I put my head down and broke away, quickly settling into a pretty good gallop. Behind me I heard a bunch of yelling, so about a third of the way down I turned my head to see what was happening. Turned out, I was happening.<\/p>\n

The coach and a group of boys were waving in my direction and yelling like all get out. I turned back to see if maybe they were waving at someone else in front of me\u2014and suddenly I was face-to-face with a group of runners coming at me in the opposite direction. I spun off to my left and ran onto the grass strip narrowly missing everyone head-on.<\/p>\n

\u201cWrong way, ass wipe!\u201d One of the boys yelled as they resumed their rapid pace.<\/p>\n

It was then I understood: everyone on the track was running in a counter-clock-wise direction and I wasn\u2019t.<\/p>\n

Quickly regaining my composure I re-entered the track and began a slow jog back in the direction from which I\u2019d come. As I approached the coach I poured the speed on, in true deer-like fashion, and found that the faster I ran the more my heels began to hurt.<\/p>\n

As I ran by the coach I heard him say, \u201cOn your toes DeLeon, on your toes!\u201d<\/p>\n

Not knowing what he meant I just continued running through the first bend in the track. Hitting the straightaway I finally realized that the track shoes that I was wearing had no heels. From mid-foot forward the shoes had spikes, but the heels were nothing but a couple of layers of reinforced leather. No wonder. I was running the way I always had: heel down first, and then pushing of the front of the foot. But without a heel on the shoe, and the front packed with steel spikes, I was generating no speed at all; more or less just clumping along, letting my knees and hips take the shock as each foot slammed down on the track, heel first.<\/p>\n

By the time I came around the first lap I had finally understood what the coach had yelled out at me. I began to bring my feet down toes first, letting the spikes dig down into the cinder, then pushing off\u2014never letting my heel hit the ground. My speed increased and my knees and hips fell into a nice rhythmic rotation, but I was getting winded\u2014fast.<\/p>\n

Approaching the spot where the coach was standing, talking to a couple of boys, I raised my chin and put on a burst of speed. Flying by I heard him yell, \u201cPace yourself boy, you got three more to go.\u201d<\/p>\n

It didn\u2019t take much longer for me to fully understand what he\u2019d meant this time. My breathing was now coming in short gasps, and I felt a hot watery bile beginning to rise deep in my throat as I headed down the back straightaway. I knew I was spent, but I still had two and a half more laps to go. I had blown what little stamina I had on the first half of the first lap by running full speed. I had to slow up a bit. As I attempted to slow down, I found that it was getting very difficult to keep running toes first. My heels started thumping down, as my running got more ragged.<\/p>\n

Passing the coach for the second time I barely heard him say, \u201cJust give me one more. Just one more lap. You can do it!\u201d I got back on my toes and pushed.<\/p>\n

As I entered the back straightaway again I knew I was in trouble. My chest was on fire from the inside out, my legs had turned into rubber, and my rhythm was all but gone. I was less deer-like and more wooden puppet-like.<\/p>\n

Not wanting to admit that I was failing miserably I reached deep down into myself and pushed even harder. My six senses had been reduced to two: hearing my tortured phlegmy gasps for air, and watching the track ahead of me become smaller and smaller\u2014as if I was running through an ever shrinking black tunnel.<\/p>\n

Hitting the front straightaway I don\u2019t remember having any feeling in my lower body. I squinted my eyes trying to push the ever narrowing tube of blackness closing in on me from all directions and tried to find the coach somewhere ahead of me. A couple of times I felt myself drifting off the track and on to the narrow strip of dirt just off the cement border\u2014the moist soil pressed between the spikes weighing down my shoes and making it that much harder to pick them up and push them forward.<\/p>\n

The hot moist air and my almost herculean efforts to keep moving were no longer making me sweat. I felt oddly cool. Weak. Then, blackness.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

There was some kind of grit in my mouth; like Grape-Nuts, but with a rubbery dirt taste. Voices far off, wondering how I was; another voice ordering someone to \u2018give him air\u2019. I felt my entire body jerk as I suddenly inhaled a cloud of ammonia-like air. I choked and coughed, pulling violently away from the awful, stingingly putrid odor burning my nose and throat, and drowning my blurry vision with cold wet tears.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere, that\u2019ll bring him around.\u201d The voice of authority said.<\/p>\n

Cooler air rose up into my nose and my head cleared just enough to let me know that I was on my back. I wanted to clear my eyes but my right arm seemed to be caught behind something and I couldn\u2019t bring it up to my face. I tried to wrench it loose.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhoa, there. Take it easy, kid,\u201d I heard the voice say\u2026now much clearer. \u201cGet me that towel over there,\u201d he told someone. And I felt a semi-soft cloth dab my eyes. My forehead was now beginning to sting and the side of my face was hurting.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK, we\u2019re gonna sit you up, OK?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201c\u2026kay,\u201d was all I could manage to say.<\/p>\n

Hands went under my armpits and gently hoisted me into a sitting position. The cloth covering my eyes fell off and the sudden surge of bright sunlight clamped my eyes tightly shut.<\/p>\n

\u201cGet that kit over here so I can clean off these scrapes on his face.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat scrapes?\u201d I mumbled as my eyelids fluttered, finally settling on a tight squint. I began to make out sets of legs all around me and a low murmuring of inquisitive voices.<\/p>\n

\u201cLook up here, Frank!\u201d as a hand pushed my chin up. A shadow blocked the fierce sunlight and I say the coach\u2019s face\u2014his eyes centered on my nose. \u201cCan you see me okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYup,\u201d I said. I noticed my right knee was stinging.<\/p>\n

\u201cAlright,\u201d the coach said, \u201clet\u2019s get these scrapes cleaned a bit before we take you back inside.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat happened?\u201d I finally asked.<\/p>\n

The coach stepped away from me, at the same time gripping my arms and pulling me up. A couple of hands pushed me from behind.<\/p>\n

\u201cCan you stand okay?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI think so,\u201d I responded, not sure I really could.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou just took a little tumble coming off the last turn. How many laps had you done?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cLaps?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, how many times had you gone around?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cI don\u2019t remember.\u201d I answered, really trying to recall just what I\u2019d been doing before I found myself on the ground.<\/p>\n

\u201cHe was just about to finish his second lap, coach.\u201d A voice answered from behind me. \u201cI was about to pass him when he went down like nobody\u2019s business!\u201d<\/p>\n

Ripples of juvenile laughter came from all around me, and looking around I saw that I was surrounded by a large group of boys. I assumed they were all the ones that had been out on the field and track when I took off running but I couldn\u2019t be sure.<\/p>\n

The coach put one arm over my shoulders and grabbed my upper arm with the other.<\/p>\n

\u201cCome on, let\u2019s get you cleaned up and get you home.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d I said weakly as I let him lead me back to the gym office.<\/p>\n

***<\/p>\n

My reception when I finally got home that evening wasn\u2019t what I expected as I walked through the door bruised, limping, and still a bit dizzy. My mother asked what had happened to me but really seemed more concerned in hearing why I was coming home so late. After I assured her that I hadn\u2019t received my injuries in a fight, but rather just fell down while running (like a deer), she quickly lost interest and went back to washing the dinner dishes.<\/p>\n

After skipping track practice the rest of the week, to allow my bruises and ego to heal, I showed up on Monday right after school. I found that I wasn\u2019t as eager to dress out in my old gym shorts and rusty cleats, as I\u2019d been the week before. I was still sore, but not from my bruises. Instead a lingering tightness in my calves and hamstrings made walking a bit uncomfortable, and jogging almost unbearable.<\/p>\n

After jogging slowly and painfully a couple of times around the track, and being lapped countless times by several heckling and more accomplished track team members, I quietly loped off the track and headed for the dressing room. No one seemed to notice me as I slowly walked back to the main building.<\/p>\n

Riding home on the bus that afternoon I accepted the fact that, although I thought I was a runner, I was nowhere close to being a competitive runner. I was skinny, half malnourished, possessed absolutely no endurance, and more importantly had yet to develop any kind of mental focus and discipline that would allow me complete difficult tasks.<\/p>\n

Now, as I completed my third mile of a five-mile jog during my second week at Lackland Air Force Base, I found myself running smoothly, but at a much slower pace, which allowed most of the other runners to pass me like I was standing still. Later I would either pass those runners up, completely winded as they struggling to complete the course, or on their hands and knees retching up what remained of their early morning breakfast. I had accepted that I was no athlete and to complete a five-mile jog I would have to start slowly and maintain a steady, but slow, pace throughout. I never set any records but I never failed to finish.<\/p>\n

Around the fourth week of our training we were required to complete an obstacle course consisting of scaling eight-foot walls, swinging across a small stream while hanging onto a thick rope, and crawling under barbed wire netting while the drill instructors fired blank rounds over our heads. However, the most daunting obstacle was my having to scale a thirty-foot dirt cliff by gripping a thick rope and pulling my body up, hand over hand, until reaching the top where the instructors waited to haul me in. Once I was off the ground I was on my own. This didn\u2019t go well at all.<\/p>\n

I\u2019ve mentioned before that my arms have always been scrawny, and even after doing countless push-ups and pull-ups had done nothing to \u201cpump me up\u201d! So, for the first ten feet or so I did OK. Then, I made the fatal mistake of looking up to see just how far from the top I was. It seemed as if I had not gone more than a foot; but then I looked down. I was higher than I thought but briefly entertained the thought of maybe jumping down and starting over. That is, until I heard the instructors yelling at me, and threatening to do make me do this climb twice more if I quit now. I gritted my teeth and strained my skinny arm muscles, begging them to do the impossible.<\/p>\n

All sound ceased and I glued my vision on the drill instructors\u2019 red puffy faces\u2014eyes bulging and yelling their guts out. They implored me\u2014and they threatened me with death itself. They called me a sissy, a fag, a weak shit, and countless other names that all but washed over my tortured body. Swinging wildly from side to side, arms scorching and hands burning as the rough hemp rope dug into my palms, my fingers began to lose their grip.<\/p>\n

Two feet from the top I knew that I was done. In a sheer panic I looked down\u2014preparing myself for a long and probably fatal fall. I saw some of my squadron-mates\u2014mouths open, eyes wide, just waiting for me to start my descent.<\/p>\n

Just as I lost all feeling in my hands and my arms I finally gave up and loosened my grasp. I slid down an inch or two, my knees scraping the rough dirt and rock face of the cliff. I saw the toes of my black sneakers loosen a few pebbles and wondered if they\u2019d hit the guys down on the ground gawking up at me.<\/p>\n

Just as my grip began to come loose, the rough hemp rope burning my palms, I felt a rough slap along the top of my shoulder that made me jerk my head up. Another shocking blow caught me under the right armpit and incredibly strong fingers dug into my sweating flesh. My slow descent down the cliff face stopped.<\/p>\n

\u201cLet go of the fucking rope and grab my arm!\u201d<\/p>\n

Sergeant Rice\u2019s face came into blurry focus and I felt his hot humid breath blasting my face.<\/p>\n

\u201cGoddammit! Hold on to me or you\u2019re going down!\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOK,\u201d I said weakly, and reached up with my right hand gripping his fatigue shirt right where he\u2019d sewn his starch-stiffened sergeant\u2019s stripes. My fingers locked on to his sleeve as his other arm grabbed me behind the neck.<\/p>\n

I felt myself being roughly pulled up and over the rock-covered precipice, and just like that, I was saved.<\/p>\n

As his rough hands rolled my exhausted body over on my back I saw Sergeant Prince about ten feet away standing with several other drill sergeants. They all had that \u201cdeer in the headlights\u201d look on their collective faces.<\/p>\n

\u201cLemme look at your hands, DeLeon,\u201d Rice said, \u201cyou just about bought the farm, didn\u2019t you?\u201d<\/p>\n

I was at a loss for words, and still in a state of shock.<\/p>\n

\u201cYour hands look a little scratched up but there\u2019s no real damage. If you had fallen just then, your ass would be a bit like Humpty Dumpty right about now\u2014don\u2019t you think?\u201d<\/p>\n

I shrugged, still not able to verbalize anything intelligible.<\/p>\n

\u201cOK now, get off your ass and join your group at the next obstacle.\u201d<\/p>\n

He pulled me up by my skinny, and now almost useless arms, and pushed me in a direction away from the cliff. I commanded my rubbery legs to break into a fast jog but all they could manage was a pathetic jump\/hobble. Focusing on the cargo net ahead hanging loosely between two tall telephone poles like some giant black spider web, I dared not look back fearing that I\u2019d see the group of instructors pointing at me while doubling over in fits of hysterical laughter.<\/p>\n

Reaching the net I summoned the last of my strength and began to climb to the top. Swinging my still semi-paralyzed legs over the top strand I rolled my body over and began the short descent down the other side.<\/p>\n

The rest of the course was pretty much a blur, and at the end I collapsed to the ground and lay on my back, completely exhausted. As I listened to my heart trying to beat itself out of my chest, I looked at the clean blue sky, sprinkled with delicate cotton ball-like clouds and I felt a deep shudder shake my body.<\/p>\n

\u201cALLRIGHT YOU FUCKING FAIRIES!! GET OFF YOUR ASSES, FORM UP, AND LET\u2019S QUICK-MARCH TO CHOW!!\u201d<\/p>\n

Gladly, <\/em>I thought, as Sergeant Prince continued to bellow insults. You can\u2019t hurt me now motherfucker! <\/em>I thought as I glared at Prince. See, I conquered this fucking course! I\u2019ve been to the edge of fucking hell, and lived! Yeah, Humpty Dumpty may have sat on that wall\u2014but today he had no great fall!! No sir, I am no longer a wimpy ass!!<\/em><\/p>\n

Finding that long sought-after cache of inner strength I jumped up and ran to the quickly gathering formation, finding my place and snapping to attention. Chest out, chin up!<\/p>\n

I stood there, stone still and breathing deeply, feeling an electric-like wave of self-confidence suddenly surge through my body. At that moment, and for the first time ever, I was no longer scared of anyone or anything. Standing there watching Sergeant Prince as he harangued each and every one of us for being \u2018pussies and scumbags\u2019, I realized that as of that moment I totally owned my life and my future; and it was then that I became a true believer in myself and in my own abilities. I knew then that given even just the slightest bit of opportunity I could achieve anything\u2014ANYTHING\u2014that I put my mind to.<\/p>\n

Hell yes! <\/em><\/p>\n

Now let\u2019s march this bitch to chow. I\u2019m fucking hungry!!<\/em><\/p>\n

<\/p>\n

\u00a0<\/strong><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"