BigBen

5. There was a chin-up bar painted Fire Engine Red between the two sides of the H-hut barracks. Passing underneath it extracted a 10 chin-up toll. I could only do 5 or 7 chin-ups at a time. The penalty for this crime was variable; when we were on a short break between lectures, we would line up for the water fountain and a lack of requisite chin-ups was a return to the back of the line. At other times, a simple screaming was in order. It seemed as though there was an instructor stationed at all times by that god forsaken bar, and my failure to produce 10 chin-ups was constant shame. I felt as if I was the only one who could not perform this task.
A couple of weeks into training they ramped up the physical requirements measurably. Our runs seemed to go on forever. We were running one morning and I passed out. It started as a stitch in my side, but grew to a full cramp. My vision got blurry, and then a tunnel formed and there were stars. The pain went away, thank god, but I woke up in the base hospital. The doctor loomed over me, and the first thing he said was “What is your name, son?”
I answered simply, Last Name, Service Number.
He laughed, looked at the staff and quipped “You guys must run a tight ship over there for this kid to forget his first name…”
The instructors smiled, beaming like proud parents. All of my staff were there, Warrant, Course Officer, Master Corporal and Sargeant.
“Do you remember what happened?”
“No sir, I just remember running down the road.”
“You passed out of heat exhaustion. We pumped 2 litres of fluid into you. Marathon runners need about 1 ½ litres to recover. You were pretty messed up.” There was concern in his voice, like something was wrong and he was looking for me to fill him in. I had no idea what was going on, which led to an innocent disclosure of the damning facts.
He looked me in the eye, and I saw the rank on his shoulder. He was a major, easily the highest ranking person I had spoken to yet. We saluted them when we walked past them as a group, but I never thought I would be speaking to one…
“When was the last time you took a piss?”
“I don’t remember sir.”
“What do you mean you don’t remember?”
“Maybe a couple of days ago.”
“A COUPLE OF DAYS? What are you talking about? How much fluids have you been drinking?”
“I have juice and milk with my meals.” I said shyly. Was I not allowed to have juice?
“What about water?” he commanded.
“I’m not allowed to drink water. I can’t do 10 chin-ups.” I hated that damn red bar. I still do.
“What in the fuck are you talking about?” He truly did not understand what I was saying. I might as well have been speaking a different language.
I told him about that horrible piece of metal, and how every time I tried to get a drink of water, I was banished by an instructor. The instructors’ proud parental smiles gave way to a look of concern. Why was their child saying these things?
“YOU,” The doctor pointed at all the staff, “GET OUT.”
The doctor then proceeded to walk me through the whole story, forward and back, until he realized that they were killing us slowly with the water rationing.
Well, the shit hit the fan, and hard. I was not allowed to go back to the troop until I could eat a meal, so the doctor could rule out any bad problems with my digestive system. What is worse than Hospital food? Army food. What is worse than Army food? ARMY HOSPITAL FOOD. I simply could not keep it down. I took a bite, swallowed, and threw up. It was horrible. I spent three days in the base hospital trying to get out. Finally, the Warrant came into the room, and talked with me, alone. I remember the concern on his face. He seemed human, and genuinely interested in me as a person.
(I found out later that if I would have stayed in the hospital one more day, they would have had to kick me off the course for missing too much training. If they kicked me off the course, there would need to be an investigation. If there was an investigation, all of the instructors would have been charged for the little ‘water rationing’ incident)
“What is wrong, Troop? Do you want to quit?” he asked.
“No Warrant, I want to join you guys, but they won’t let me go.”
“Why not?”
“Because they say I have to eat something.” I was looking down at the covered plate of ARMY HOSPITAL food in front of me, trying to find a way out of this situation.
“Then fucking eat something.” Everything was black and white to that man, I swear.
“I can’t.” and with that, I pulled the lid back on the food tray.
“Holy Christ….” The Warrant gasped. He quickly composed himself, and said, “If you could have anything to eat, what would it be? Anything at all…”
I gave my food order as fast as I could. “Double-Quarter-Pounder-Meal-from-McDonalds-Supersized-with-coke-to-drink…”
“Get dressed son, I’ll be right back.” He marched out the door.
By the time I dressed, he was back, and a nurse was in tow.
“I am taking this man with me. Release him.” He said to her.
“I can’t do that without doctor’s orders.” She said, trying to impose her authority on a man who could look god in the eye.
“Then fucking get him.” He said, without changing expression. He had made up his mind that I was going back to barracks with him, and no one was about to stop him. I don’t think the doctor could have done anything either.
I was in no mood for niceties; I was eating like a soldier who hasn’t eaten in three days. I demolished that burger, and was finishing the fries when the doctor came in the room.
“He’s coming with me.” The Warrant said.
“Fair enough.” The doctor realized this was not a battle he could win.

__________________
3.141592654
Hey, if you are impressed with my memorizing pi to 10 digits, you should see the size of my penis.