The First Song of Spring February 28, 2010
Posted by midswatch in Home, Navy, Writing.2 comments
Eleven days down. Eighty-nine to go. Memory 12/100:
I remember the Dark Ages of Plebe Year, the time between Christmas Break and Spring Break. The trees had no leaves. Snow fell sporadically throughout the months, and gray clouds concealed the opportunity of hope that a blue sky would have provided. For a plebe, the Dark Ages are not simply a fairy tale. While upperclass can hibernate in their racks, watch movies, and play video games, the plebes are left with old fashion fun: cleaning rooms, shining shoes, reading history books, and staring at walls. At one point during the Dark Ages of my Plebe Year, I took this photo because I was so bored I didn’t know what else to do. Notice the white walls that we couldn’t decorate, (and how small I was!)
One day, I remember walking back from class after receiving a failing grade on a chemistry exam. Discouraged, I kept my head down. I watched my feet, one foot step in front of the other—noticing my shiny shoes. Then, I heard a noise I had forgotten: the singing of birds. Oh Sweet Melody! Life DOES exist outside of this gray dungeon. The sounds of singing birds took me outside of Plebe Year, and I remembered home, waking in the summer to the squawking Blue Jay. It doesn’t take much to swing the mood of a plebe, and nature had done it for me. To this day, I anticipate the first song of spring.
Swimming February 27, 2010
Posted by midswatch in Home, Navy, Writing.Tags: high dive, swimming
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Ten days down, ninety to go. Memory 11/100:
As would be expected, the Naval Academy has an Olympic-sized pool, used for the varsity team as well as swim lessons. A 10 meter platform towers over to complete the ensemble. As a plebe, I had the opportunity to get acquainted with both symbols of fear during swim classes that started Plebe Summer and continued through second-class year.
I flopped in the water, like a goldfish drowning without gills. Water flooded my ears, nose, and sinuses, effectively blocking any chance at hearing much needed instruction by the coaches’ yelling. I took my cues from the other poor souls in the water. I would judge all of their faces to see who to follow. The problem was, most good swimmers validated swim class—this left all of us aqua-rocks to fend for ourselves.
The goldfish analogy continues, as there are windows overlooking the pool, utilized by tour groups frequently throughout the day. As I gasped for oxygen, grasping for the wall, lane-lines, and bodies to stay afloat, camera flashes assured me that my anti-triumph had been immortalized on Japanese, French, and Texan film. Onlookers pressed to the glass, and I can only imagine them pointing me out, “Look at that really pale kid, who can’t swim. Yes, the skinny one whose goggles just filled with water. His eyes must be burning!”
We had to jump off of the 10 meter tower at least once to graduate (rules have since changed.) We stood in a line that wrapped up the spiral staircase to the top—water, sweat, and nastiness dripped on our faces from those standing above, an insult to our fear of jumping. I finally made it to the top, and I realized just how much I didn’t want to jump. I figured it was too late to turn back, so I walked forward without looking down. As I fell, I remember my legs searching for the water that hadn’t come yet. Then I hit in force, immediately spreading my arms to slow the sink. I made it to the surface, swam to the pool’s edge happy to be back on solid ground.
I took swim class for three years. All of my lessons culminated in the Forty Year Swim. It’s forty minutes of swimming in khaki uniform. There was no touching the wall for the duration of the test, and there was a minimum number of laps (I can’t remember how many.) I did a type of back stroke the whole time so that I could always breathe. Better swimmers did freestyle or sidestroke most of the time.
Seventy-Six Trombones and Push Ups February 26, 2010
Posted by midswatch in Navy, Sports, Writing.Tags: 76 Trombones, PRT, push ups, sit ups
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Nine days down, ninety-one to go. Memory 10/100:
I will take my final Physical Readiness Test [PRT] as a midshipman tomorrow morning. The test consists of two minutes maximum effort push ups, two minutes maximum effort sit ups, and a 1.5 mile run. I am not nervous because I know I will pass and do fine, but I still won’t enjoy it.
Looking back to when I first decided to apply to the Naval Academy, I remember thinking I needed to figure how many push ups I could do. The results would help me gauge my chances of getting accepted. My performance gave me little hope.
Making sure no one could see me, I put my hands down on the wood floor. After lifting my knees, I was already tired. My arms gave up after 22 elbow popping weakling push ups. I guzzled a glass of water and tried to let the blood return from my head. To put the 22 push ups in perspective, the minimum number for the PRT as a midshipman is 45, and the maximum is 101! I had a lot of work to do.
Every morning after that, I played “Seventy-Six Trombones” on my CD player after I got out of bed. To the sound of the music, I squeaked out 22 push ups the first morning, 23 the next, 24 after that, 25, and so on. The goal was to get to 76 push ups. I think I made it one day—I honestly can’t remember.
Maybe I’ll do 76 push ups tomorrow morning to honor my past history with the number.
Brigade Boxing February 25, 2010
Posted by midswatch in Navy, Special Events, Sports, Writing.Tags: Brigade Boxing, Plebe Boxing
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Eight days down, ninety-two to go. Memory 9/100:
Tomorrow evening will be the Brigade Boxing Smoker. The results will reveal the best boxers at the Naval Academy. To get in the spirit of bloody noses, bruises, and beatings, I will provide the link to last year’s Army/Navy boxing smoker.
Plebes take boxing once a week for half of a semester. I remember it being my favorite part of every week. I took out all of my frustrations on my opponents—I honestly wanted to hurt them. I was lucky enough to fight guys who did not have the same aggressions, so the fights went pretty well, for me. I remember telling my mom, “I hope they write home about me.” It didn’t take much to learn some humility. When we had the final exam, consisting of a graded fight, my opponent tried obviously harder than usual. We both walked away, sniffling a little blood. I haven’t boxed since.
Brigade Champions February 24, 2010
Posted by midswatch in Navy, Sports, Writing.Tags: Army, Basketball, Championships, West Point
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Seven days down, ninety-three to go. Memory 8/100:
Historically, 10th Company’s intramural basketball team has been lackluster. I remember having frustrations as a youngster when the firsties didn’t show up for our games. The same happened last year, but we had a good base of second-class, so we at least had enough to play. I considered our team to have a clean style, so unregulated games against brutes resulted in more bruises and scraped knees than wins. Most of our games last season consisted of whirlwinds of angry elbows, desperation shots, and walking away with hope for the next game.
This year, the class of 2010 was in charge. We had a good showing to every game, and everyone was ready to play. We had the help of two plebes, one I now call “Swoosh” because he rarely missed a shot. Our big man was a youngster, previously on the junior varisty basketball team—a very nice addition. We also had an exchange Cadet from West Point, ingeniously named, “Army.” I also called him “50%,” because that was his chance of making any shot, anywhere on the court: layups, three pointers, falling out of bounds at half-court.
Our season record was 29-2-1 (we tied one game because we had to go back for evening meal formation.)
Just as we rolled through most teams in the regular season, we performed well in the play-offs. We had support from others in our company who came to cheer us on in the finals—I felt like a small-town hero.
We won the championship, and we will go down in the history books (if one is ever written about Brigade intramural basketball.)
In order to remember the team, we took a picture. Army was leaving that day to go back to West Point, so we rounded everyone up in the P-way. Realizing Mat wasn’t there, we went to him. He wasn’t too happy about us disturbing his nap, but it made for an even better picture.
