Three weeks ago, it was Cpl Ose's turn to lead PT. He led us on a medicine ball run. That's a variant of an indian run, where you all run in a single file, and the last guy in line has to run up to the front, then the new last guy sprints to the front, etc. For the variant, we had a fifteen pound medicine ball, and you had to sprint to the front carrying the ball. At the front, you passed it to the guy behind you, he passed it behind him, and so on, until the ball is in the back and that guy runs to the front with it.

At first I thought it wouldn't be bad, because all the time passing the ball means you do less sprinting. But that ball is heavy. And passing it back means you can't relax while you're in the middle of the pack. All in all, it was a brutal three-mile pain train, in the cold rain.

Our poor gunny put out like a champ, keeping up with the younger guys. [N.B. I am not a younger guy.] He put out so much he came down with pneumonia that morning, and has been on antibiotics for three weeks now. Sucks to be him.

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Monday morning, 0500, PT time. In the rotating cycle of who leads the session, today is Gunny's, mine is Wednesday.

Except that Gunny is on leave, so we skipped over him. Whoops. Wish I had a plan.

It was cold and drizzling a slow, steady, depressing rain. As we stretched out, the Lance Corporal gallery started to mutter about what they were going to do in the weight room after I took us to the gym, where it was nice and dry. I can't stand being seen as too predictable, so I took us off running along the Habu Trail, the base perimiter track. Did I mention it was raining? My glasses fogged and misted up, making them so useless I put them in my pocket so I could at least see things nearby. We ran out about a mile and a half, stopping twice for calisthetics, then ran back about a mile. The last half mile I cut everyone loose for an individual effort run back to the barracks.

Then I got to share a bitch session with Cpl O on that last individual effort section, as we were the two in the back. LCpl C falls back every group run, complaining that his knee hurts. He's been to the sports medicine clinic, and they can't find anything wrong with him. But after trailing all morning, whenever we call individual effort back to the house, he takes off like a jackrabbit. So he can run fast when he wants to. Cpl O's and my opinion was that he's undoubtedly in pain. But guess what, we two old guys hurt every time we PT. Setting a pace to stress 19 year olds is murder on us 30+ types. But we do it, because it's our job as Marines, and because being fast can save your life in combat. So our pain-wracked legs and backs give us very little sympathy for someone that complains it hurts when he runs, but then makes great time when it's in his personal interest.

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We PT as a shop three times a week, which is the Marine Corps standard. Mondays and Wednesdays are standard issue running around and doing calisthetics. Fridays we try to mix it up with something more fun, usually a game of some kind.

Today we met outside at 0500, where Cpl P (whose day it was) announced that we were going to run to the gym (a mile), then play raquetball. Now, unusually, our OIC had showed up. That's unusual because officers do not generally PT with enlisted. Running PT is an enlisted function, and if officers are there it can interfere with the NCO's authority. In addition, officers can almost always carve an hour or two for PT out of their normal workday, so they don't have to get up extra-early like we do. Lastly, leaders are expected to be more enduring than their troops, so if the officer falls out, it looks bad.

Now, our OIC falling out is not a credible risk on a normal day, as he's built like a truck. (Callsign: "Shreck"). So I suspect I could dust him on a very long run, but I wouldn't catch up to him until mile five or six.

So anyway, P announces that we're going to play raquetball, and our OIC snickers. "You do realize that not only do I own my own raquet... I own my own gloves and goggles?" But too late now, we set out on our run.

He hadn't brought his gear, so he checked out kit from the gym like the rest of us did. And he was the only one that actually knows the rules, so we just divided up into a group of three and a group of four, and wacked balls around inside the court. All was going well until I took a hard richochet in the face, right over my left eye. Nothing too strange to me, I am used to participating in athletic activities that involve me getting struck by stuff.

The goggles they issue don't fit over glasses, so my regular spectacles were the only protection I had. The impact knocked them off, I cursed as the other guys laughed, I picked the glasses up and put them back on and we got back to business.

My vision was a bit blurry immediatly after the impact, but that's normal, and it goes away in a few seconds. Except it wasn't! After a minute of play, my left eye was still very blurry, although my right was fine. I started to get worried. Was I concussed? Was my eye injured?

Then I realized that my left lens had popped out of the frame. I called a time-out while I found it on the floor, popped it back into the frame, and blessed 20/25 vision was mine once again!

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