This was something I originally wrote and posted on Facebook in October of 2013 recalling something I did in October 2012. October 13, 2012 to be specific. So I thought it might be a good thing to post here on this anniversary for anyone that has twenty minutes that they aren't doing anything with.
And while everyone that knows me probably knows what event this was, I don't want anyone searching the internet to find it and get some insight into what that event might be about. So I have removed that name from the text. I also have added photos from the night (thanks to Heather M. for hanging with us and taking them all night) into the text where they fall in the story. Enjoy.
Someone says, “You know what we should do?” and it goes from there. This time is was Shane, and it started with a much subtler version of the question.
Shane in the last year had lost over 75 lbs. the hard way. He had been doing CrossFit workouts like a madman and was now lean and scrappy and “one tough mutha.” His transformation was amazing, and he was a completely different person. He had completed the Tough Mudder with our group in February of 2012 and continued to kick it up a notch ever since. Now he was eyeing GxXuck. Shane didn’t sell GxXuck to me as a “tough as shit military style challenge” at first. He presented it as the next logical step after Tough Mudder, as though the universe expected us to do it.
In June of 2011, I had begun running with Mechelle W., administrative assistant to the Fire Chief and someone I had come into contact with when I employed her help building and eventually teaching a class on some departmental software. Our running partnership was partly due to her encouragement but was mainly based in the fact that Bill Smith, my former supervisor, had retired from a career in the fire department only to pursue a career as a sheriff’s deputy. He had said he would be competing in a hiring process against “twenty-year- old studs” so he had started running. Incapable of an original idea, I thought, “Well, if he can do it, I should be able to as well.”
Mechelle had to begin very slowly with me. Tall and lean; she was fast. She had been running forever, and had recently been running laps by herself in the parking lot before work. Eight laps to be exact; eight equaled four miles. My first time out with her I could barely finish two miles. The sweat poured from my body, and I couldn’t catch my breath for an hour or two afterward. My mental state was so pathetic that I refused to run with my watch on because “it weighed too much.” True story.
By the end of that summer we were running four miles every day. We had quickly graduated from the parking lot loop because, for me, there was nothing more discouraging than passing the finish line seven times before being able to stop. She was happy about that because having someone to run with made running the streets a possibility; that is, she was no longer afraid of being “dragged into the bushes;” a definite possibility in DeKalb County in the wee hours of the morning. I, sputtering, panting, and sweating profusely, didn’t see myself as able to fend off an attacker armed with even a whiffle ball bat, but the new course made both of us happy. Win/win.
Over the next few months, we worked up to five miles a day, five days a week. Our course changed many times but we eventually settled on what we called the Tucker loop. A five-mile trek leaving headquarters on Northlake Parkway, taking Lawrenceville Highway to Main Street in Tucker and then returning down Lavista Road. Up until we started running that route I had always considered Tucker to be a fairly flat area, but it’s amazing how slight inclines turn into extreme challenges as the temperature drops below freezing and breathing becomes more and more difficult.
We worked at it all winter long. I bought running clothes for cold, and we worked on getting our times down. You can run faster in the cold, but it also feels like you can’t breathe. And sweating in the cold isn’t fun.
Speaking of fun, let me just say that running has never been fun for me. I’ve never experienced a runner’s high. Mechelle and I liked to use the time to talk and we have had some really great conversations. We would bounce work ideas off of each other and there were more than a couple of times that we disagreed to the point that words were exchanged at a pitched volume, and then the rest of the run was completed in silence, or with her running ahead.
Sometime in that winter my shins started to bother me. A spot on the inside of each calf that was only as big as a quarter but pretty painful. It wasn’t shin splints; at least not according to the Internet. When I went to see my doctor it was like the old joke: “It hurts when you do that? Then don’t do that.” Anyway, to this day it’s my gauge as to whether I’m pushing too hard in my runs.
I’m a sucker for functional stuff, and I have an extensive collection of backpacks. There’s nothing like a backpack to say, “Look at me. I’m headed somewhere, and I’ll need this crap when I get there.”
As Shane explained it to me, the GxXuck Challenge was a marathon endurance challenge where you carry six bricks in a backpack the whole time. (The rest of the world calls a backpack a rucksack, which is where the “GxXuck” name comes from. Ruck in this case is a verb.)
The creators of the GxXuck Challenge are actually the manufacturers of a line of rucksacks that they make for military and military minded people. The Challenge began as a marketing ploy to show how durable their rucks were, and it kind of took off from there. They now have different types of events all over North America and the world, most of which involve beer and having a good time; “good livin’” as they call it.
So I signed up and bought the ruck. It was quite an expensive endeavor, and one that I really didn’t give a lot of thought to. Shane had cobbled together a group of firefighters to do the Challenge; mostly DeKalb, but some from Roswell, Atlanta, and Smyrna etc. We had enough that GxXuck Headquarters had assured him that we could complete the Challenge together as a team. We were GxXuck’s first all firefighter team.
We trained together on several occasions: sometimes at a track, once at Kennesaw Mountain, and several times at Stone Mountain. Our Challenge date had it’s own Facebook page where people completing the Challenge October 13th could get to know one another. As it happened, we ended up training with some of the people that would be in the other (non-firefighter) group for October 13th. Someone would say, “Hey, we’re training at...” and people would show up. Our training involved getting used to wearing the ruck and bricks while running, hiking, carrying each other, and doing PT. Most of us had no idea what to expect, so we trained for some of the worst stuff we could imagine. Of course, my own imagination ended up falling short on what the Challenge would offer.
October 13th, the night of the Challenge, we met on top of the Underground Atlanta parking deck. Mechelle, Kevin D. and I were pretty early. We drove down together and had gotten a bite to eat at Tortellini’s on Ponce around 2100 hrs. We sat in the car, and I eventually went to sleep. Around 2300 hrs. Shane came over and knocked on the window. Our group started filing into the parking lot and milling around. Out came the beer and a mason jar with some clear liquid that I noticed no one would take more than a sip of. Everyone was feeling good and the mood was relaxed and fun, when blue lights appeared coming up the parking lot ramp from the north. Behind the cop car was another cop car. And on the other side of the parking deck were six cops on foot coming up the other ramp.
I immediately surmised that we had a few different problems. Foremost was that this looked like a big party that we were having on the top of the parking deck; almost certainly a violation of parking deck law, probably printed on the back of the ticket we got when we drove in and that no one actually read. The second problem was that our party involved non-taxed spirits. The mason jar was being passed in the vicinity of Mechelle’s rental car when the cops arrived so it got stashed under some clothes in the back. My mind started working overtime trying to figure out what I knew about moonshine and the law. I tried to remember every Modern Marvels and History Channel show that I had ever seen on moonshine or Appalachia.
Unfortunately for me, after years and years of training my brain with facts from these shows, my mind went back to the beginning: the Dukes of Hazzard, my first “exposure” to illegal liquor. We were surrounded by cops, possibly about to get searched and patted down, and all I could think about was, “Did Bo and Luke get chased by Boss Hogg for possessing moonshine or for making it?”
Shane made a beeline over to the first cop car and leaned in the window. Before I knew it the blue lights were off, and they were all walking away. I asked Shane what he told them and he said, “We are all firefighters meeting here to complete a military challenge.” Very simply put and exactly what the cops needed to hear apparently. They ended up wishing us luck on our Challenge and were very nice about the whole thing. I asked one of them how they got here, and he said that the security guard for the parking deck had called it in that there was a fight on top of the parking deck. I told him that they should go down, find the security guard, and kick his ass.
Earlier in the day, I had texted Mechelle and Shane to say that I was excited and scared shitless. All of this was still very true, and as the point when we would have to start on foot for the State Capitol approached, I became more excited and more nervous.
After spending an hour on the parking deck roof comparing packs, sharing supplies, and passing the bottles, we headed off to the Capitol just after midnight. It’s amazing how deserted downtown Atlanta is on a Friday night at midnight. It’s kind of a testament to how much of a failure Underground Atlanta is. The only people in the vicinity that we could see were the homeless guys hanging outside of a church caddy cornered to the parking deck. Before we had left the top of the parking deck, we watched over the side of the deck as a couple of them below got into a fight, no doubt over some choice spot to lay a sleeping bag.
The move to the Capitol steps was mostly quiet. As we approached the Capitol, we were joined by additional GoRuck participants who were going to be in the other 1:00 A.M. class. There were already a few people gathered on the Capitol steps. We introduced ourselves as we walked up and then threw our packs down. I figured this was one of the last opportunities to put it down for the next 12 -14 hours.
It wasn’t long before people started looking for spots to urinate. We had all taken advantage of the top of the parking deck before we left. Apparently, no one in the other class had.
A State Trooper approached us on foot. One of the team members from the other 1:00 A.M. group walked over to the Trooper. I learned later that he actually was with Georgia State Patrol himself and had assured the State Trooper that we would behave. Of course, when he said this he didn’t know that someone had already gone to the top of the steps near the building and taken a piss. It was all on security camera video.
The trooper left us alone with a warning but they staged a car on the curb where they could watch us. Just before 0100 hrs three individuals approached from the south, crossing the street carrying stuff. They weren’t very intimidating looking guys: two kind of smaller looking guys and one that appeared a good bit older.
One of the rules of the GxXuck organization is that all of the cadres that lead Challenges have to be Special Forces. The fact that they didn’t look intimidating, intimidated me even more. I had developed this image in my head of drill sergeants yelling as they made us do PT until we threw up; really hardcore stuff from guys that this country sends overseas to kill bad guys. Instead, we got some guys that look like they could be working in a law office or something. When they addressed the group they did so at a volume just above a whisper.
We had been doing a little research prior to our Challenge and had heard with some degree of reliability that Carlos would be our cadre. The only things we knew about Carlos was what we knew from the website and what we knew from previous Challenge participants. According to his bio on the GxXuck website, Carlos "spent seven years as a Marine Recon Corpsman with two deployments. A longtime student of the ruck, he now lives in San Diego. His three tips for getting better at rucking - beer, and two others that he forgot.” And according to previous Challenge participants he was one of the hardest cadres in the history of the ruck. Since this guy was the Marine version of a paramedic we figured it only made sense that he was going to be assigned to a group of firefighters.
Carlos addressed our two groups together. He began with the following at just above a whisper, “This is about as loud as I speak so if you can’t hear me move in closer.” Everyone leaned in. He proceeded to tell us that there were a few administrative items that we needed to take care of. First, we needed to sign the Death Waiver; a two page list of legal jargon that I only skimmed. After all, I had signed one of these online when I registered. And if this thing really did kill me, I figured I wouldn’t really care what it had to say. We were instructed to initial each of the thirteen or fourteen bulleted legalese items and sign it.
The second item to take care of was to take roll and make sure everyone that had shown up had paid. They turned this over to people from our groups to manage. Each group, 278 and 279, lined up in two columns facing each other and as your name was called you sounded off what group you were in. “Voorhies – 279.”
It wasn’t until we were done with all of this that we realized we weren’t getting Carlos as a Cadre. Carlos announced to both groups that he would be taking 278 along with a Cadre in training that would be shadowing the group. Class 279 would be led by Cadre Ben.
 |
| Cadre Ben in a photo from the GxXuck website. |
Ben appeared to be mid-thirties. He stood a little taller than me and was of a noticeably smaller frame. He had blond hair cut close to his head, was wearing a GxXuck t-shirt, a pair of workout type pants and a black ball cap. He led us over to a grassy area on the Capitol grounds and had us form two lines. Very quietly he informed us that from now on anytime we stopped we would line up in two rows before him. He instructed everyone to lay their pack on the ground in front of them and open it up for inspection. Then he reminded us all that this was the last time our rucks would touch the ground until we were done or there would be consequences.
Ben made the assumption that since we were a group of firefighters we would know where we were going all night. He announced that our first destination was Centennial Park and was a little surprised to find out that none of us knew exactly how to get there. We explained that we were all firefighters in other counties and that we didn’t really know downtown. We did have an Atlanta firefighter in our group, and he said that he kind of knew which way to go.
 |
| Jimmy S. and Shane at the head of the column as we are about to leave the Capitol. |
Centennial Park
Before we left, Ben explained that we could only cross streets during a “walk” signal and that if anyone got caught in the street once the hand went solid, they would be dead. This was the rule for the entire length of the Challenge. It meant moving as a group and moving quickly. To this day I don’t look at crosswalk signals the same.
So we headed out at a brisk run for Centennial Park. I don’t remember this happening, but the photos definitely show it, and Shane confirms it; Ben killed Shane on the way to Centennial Park. He hadn’t gotten caught in a crosswalk or anything. Ben just killed him.
GxXuck is a military challenge run by military bad asses, and military bad- asses “leave no man behind.” This meant that Shane’s pack needed to be carried by someone else and a different someone else had to carry Shane. There are a couple of different ways to carry a person and since Shane had lost a lot of weight and gotten down to around 175 lbs. he was carried across the shoulders in a modified fireman’s carry. For someone heavier like me there were a few more options, but we’re not to that part of the story yet.
Watches aren’t allowed on Challenges per GxXuck. They don’t want you to be able to measure your time or to see the end of the suck. So I don’t know what time it was when we arrived in Centennial Park, but it was completely deserted. Cadre Ben led us down to the fountain and instructed us to form up on the rings. I think he was a little disappointed that the fountain wasn’t running.
 |
| Rucks are on our fronts because we are about to be on our backs. |
After the two lines were formed we began our physical training (PT.) We did pushups, flutter kicks, and many different variations and combinations of exercises. Cadre Ben liked “Jack Webbs” and “Starlings.” If the exercise required you to be on your back, then your pack was rotated around to be worn on the front. And the team weights, a sledgehammer Ben brought and a piece of firehose weighted to 25lbs that we brought, were also maneuvered so that they never touched the ground.
After a good bit of PT on the fountain we moved over to a grassy area near the concession stand. On the way to the grass, John G. broke out of line and grabbed a recycling bin; he had apparently been caught short and needed somewhere to go. When we lined up on the grass, Cadre Ben noticed that we were one short and quickly explained that no one goes anywhere by themselves. This lesson would be reinforced with physical training. The repertoire of exercises was expanded to include burpees, inchworms, bear crawls, and elephant walks.
Simply put, burpees suck. A squat, throw your legs out straight, do a push-up, pull your legs back under you and stand. You know, looking at it on paper it sounds pretty simple. But burpees suck. They really suck when you have thirty pounds on your back, and I found myself unable to keep up.
 |
| That's my bald head between Peck's legs, unable to get off the ground. |
An inchworm is pushups with the legs of the man in front of you on your back and your legs on the back of the man behind you. It’s a lot more weight but the real challenge is the coordinated movement of all in the line. If you don’t all go up together, everyone falls. I could push myself up but could tell the guy behind me was really struggling. When we had practiced this in one of our training sessions, Shane had been behind me and was unable to get up with what he called my “tree trunks” on his back. My tree trunks would prove problematic later in the Challenge as well.
At some point pretty early during our time in the grass, Logan B.’s backpack broke. Logan had opted for the cheaper option of providing a non- GxXuck bag to carry his bricks. The bag was shot. The problem was that for Logan, the only option was to carry the stuff in his arms, or ask us to carry it for him.
A guy that had been shadowing us in the park and taking pictures ran forward with a ruck. He obviously had completed a Challenge before, and recognized the predicament that Logan was in. He, very generously, offered his ruck to Logan and told him, “I’ll get it back later.” I started to really wonder what kind of a brotherhood this GxXuck was. How very cool that a stranger would give another person his $300 ruck and send him off into the night.
After that magic moment, the PT continued.
 |
| I'm thinking, "Someone kill me now." |
A bear crawl sounds innocuous enough, and we all got on our hands and knees and started crawling in a large circle. That’s when we were reminded by the Cadre that bears don’t crawl on their knees. So you “crawl” on your hands and feet, in a circle with your ass high in the air until he tires of seeing you do this. Then he makes you go the opposite direction. Because you are bent over so much, your pack slides up your back and comes to rest on the back of your head. It’s really an uncomfortable, unnatural movement. Bears might like it, but I didn’t.
The Mental Game
Somewhere during the bear crawl, I lost my nerve. I decided that if the next twelve hours was going to be like this, I wasn’t going to be able to finish. I had already started to cheat. Anytime Ben looked away I cheated on the exercise. He had to have known that some others and I were doing this because he intentionally would position himself between our two lines so that he could only see half of us at any time. Very gentlemanly of him, I thought, but we were entering the territory where I wasn’t really “doing it” which was what made Tough Mudder kind of disappointing for me.
All along leading up to this night I had expressed to Shane, to Mechelle, and to Shane and Mechelle together my greatest fear about this Challenge: I did not want to be a burden to the team. Here we were only about....well, I don’t really know how long we had been at it, but in my mind it felt like a day. There wasn’t even a hint of sunlight in the sky and I was done physically. But worse, my mental game was done. My worry about burdening my teammates was crushing any resolve I had.
Every muscle in my body was probably screaming, but my back was screaming the loudest and drowned the rest out. My neck was definitely aching as I was trying to keep my ruck from running over the back of my head.
We bear crawled in circles for what seemed an eternity, and I decided that I was going to stand up and eliminate myself from the Challenge. It came on me that quickly.
Flashback to last February. When we had done Tough Mudder, I had simply gone around one of the obstacles that I couldn’t complete. It was this huge slick sloped wall that looked like something a skateboarder would like to mess around on. You were supposed to get a running start, jump before you lost your footing, and then grab the top edge and pull yourself up. There was no way I would do it so I went around the obstacle. Now, don’t get me wrong. Tough Mudder was challenging. I “finished” it and got the headband. But then I realized that anyone could sign up for it and walk around all of the obstacles and claim a headband. It was quite a let down and the sense of accomplishment I took from it actually came from surviving the brutal cold that day. (33° with a 15 mph wind for 4 1/2 hours with many water obstacles. I didn’t stop shivering for six hours after getting out of the cold. The toughest part of Tough Mudder for me was the surviving the cold, which had nothing to do with TM.) In other words, Tough Mudder hadn’t broken me. I hadn’t let it. I cheated and cheated myself.
But here I was, practically at the start of the Challenge, and I was broken. I was ready to quit. I didn’t want the team to be punished because I couldn’t carry my end of the bargain, so I decided I needed to get out before I was a liability. The only thing that gave me pause was trying to come up with the right choice of words. As we continued to bear crawl, I kept running phrases through my head to see how they would sound as I addressed the Cadre. How many “sirs” should I throw in? How official did I need to make it sound? Do I thank him?
No doubt anything I said would be repeated for the group and my words would be turned into a teaching moment for the rest of the team. Still I tried to come up with the right combination of phrases as we continued to go round and round.
Thankfully the bear crawl came to an end just as I was about to step out. The elephant walk was next and I thought maybe I could do this one and recuperate. Once again, it sounds rather simple on paper; everyone in a circle places one hand between their legs and reaches forward for the hand between the legs of the person in front. Not a hard concept at all. But bent over like we were and pretty worn down at this point it was like a death march. My mind again began to work against me and I started plotting my exit. Round and round we went. Cadre Ben quietly reminded us that we could go all night like this until we got it right. What weren’t we doing right?
All “good” things must come to an end and so did the elephant walk. Mercifully it happened before I had a chance to exit from the Challenge. We then moved back to the fountain area as a snake, like a line of schoolchildren holding hands and forming one long line. The Cadre instructed someone at the front to lead us up and down the bench-like area at the back of the fountain. Each level was like skipping steps and we climbed up and down over and over. When we reached the end of the steps we went back to the beginning and did it again. I think we covered the area a total of three times.
 |
| Just like sweaty, beatdown schoolchildren holding hands. |
From there it was back to our patch of grass for more PT. More flutter kicks, burpees, Jack Webbs, Starlings, and everything else. I was so worn down I could barely raise my legs off the ground six inches. And raising my legs to a ninety-degree angle as commanded was impossible. This went on for an undetermined amount of time until the Cadre finally told us to “refit,” the military version of take a break.
Everyone moved to the concession building and used any available area to sit and rest; all the while making damn sure your pack never touched the ground. I ended up sitting on a wall next to Chris V. and helping him keep the flag from touching the ground. Someone gave the Cadre some beer. Maybe if we got him drunk, he would ease up a little.
Piedmont Park
After only a few minutes, the Cadre called out, “Jason Voorhies” to which I jumped up. Obviously he was making a joke of my name from the Friday the 13th movies. It really set me on edge. I didn’t know if he was going to kick me out for not carrying my weight (literally) or if he had some other torture in mind for me.
When I got over to where he was sitting, I noticed Mechelle was sitting with him. I was informed that Mechelle was leader for the next mission, and that I was assistant leader. They both asked me if I knew where Piedmont Park was. I did. The Cadre once again speaking in a whisper used his phone to show me a spot on the map on the far side of the Piedmont Park and explained that a UAV had crashed there. We were to proceed quickly to the location, secure it, and remove the UAV. I had to ask what a UAV was. I was informed that it was an Unmanned Aerial Vehicle.
Mechelle and I quickly discussed what path we would take to the park. My plan was to proceed straight out of Centennial until we hit Peachtree Street. Take that until North Avenue or Tenth Street. Then once on Piedmont we would move until the first drive past the Botanical Gardens. The trail would be on the right.
Simple enough. We gave everyone a three-minute warning that we would be moving out. Mechelle and I formed everyone up in two columns and we started out. I was very glad to be running and not doing PT.
Things went pretty well for the first two blocks. At an intersection, Cadre Ben informed everyone that Mechelle and I were dead and then told everyone to line up with our backs against the wall of a building. We were to take a seated position with arms extended in front of us. He proceeded to ask anyone, “other than the dead ones,” where we were going? What was our mission? What was our timetable?
 |
| What a horrible, horrible feeling. |
As bad as I felt in the park, this was ten times worse. Most of these people were firefighters in my department. All of them were firefighters somewhere and well accustomed with Incident Command. I had broken one of the cardinal rules of Incident Command and failed to inform everybody of the objective, strategy, and tactics. I had assumed since he had told us in a whisper that our instructions were secret. A rookie mistake and one that I as a battalion chief should never have made. The penalty, of course, was physical.
As Mechelle and I were now “dead,” we would have to be carried. Off came our packs and they were handed off to others. Mechelle, weighing in at 120 lbs. was not a challenge and was quickly thrown across someone’s shoulders. Her length was more of an issue than her weight, as I remember someone mentioning her feet dragging the ground. My 230 lbs. was a different problem. I think I recall someone putting me over his or her shoulders by themselves, but that quickly became a bad idea. One person can’t carry that much weight for long.
Next idea was two guys, one under each of my arms with guys carrying each of my legs. This spread the weight but the guys under my shoulders were constantly stepping on the feet of the guys carrying my legs. In addition, I kept sliding down in between the two guys under my shoulders.
 |
| Dead Bill being carried. |
I don’t discredit the effort involved in carrying someone my size, but being carried isn’t exactly easy either. To keep from slipping down constantly I had to try and make my body as rigid as possible in the shape of a cross. This was incredibly tiring.
The guys carrying me couldn’t go more than a block without having to trade out with another group. A rotation of groups quickly developed. I apologized to every group that came up, for committing the command mistake and getting us into this situation. My greatest fear had been realized: the team was having to carry me. I had only considered it figuratively, but the literal embodiment of my fear was even worse.
At first, the guys carrying my legs were carrying them on their inside shoulders. The next evolution of our carry was with my legs on their outside shoulders. This was a little easier for me. But the next and final evolution was for one person to carry both of my “tree trunks.” This meant that the shoulder guys weren’t walking on the feet of the person in front. The shoulder guys also came to the realization that holding each other’s ruck gave me something to lie across so that I didn’t slip between them. All in all, they and I were making the best of a tough situation.
Jamie L., the other female member of our team, took a turn with both of my legs on her shoulders. She slapped my shin and yelled back to me, “You need to shave these puppies!” I had to laugh. She then added, “24 hrs. ago I never imagined I would have my head between your legs.” I replied, “Yeah, I didn’t really see that one coming either.”
The ride to Piedmont Park was a little surreal. Keeping my body as rigid as possible took obvious physical strain, but the mental strain was surprisingly a factor. I don’t even remember what streets we took. I know what the tops of the buildings looked like, and I saw my share of trees. At every intersection I would hop down and another group would rotate up to take a turn. All of that coordinated with the ever-changing crosswalk signals.
Soaking Wet
They carried me for two and half miles. When we arrived at Piedmont Park, what should have been a dark quiet park was abuzz with activity. Saturday in the park was going to be Gay Pride Day and there was a lot being set up. There were golf carts running around moving people and stuff. We entered the park and moved forward to a small restroom near a portable light. Cadre Ben said we could take fifteen minutes to refit. The restroom doors were closed so we took to using any and all bushes in the area.
The Cadre said he was going to go off and scout the park. He also instructed us that when he returned we had all better be soaking wet. Since we had to always be in groups of at least two, I called over to Chris M. and we went into the dark to scout out possibilities in a soccer field. We were looking for a way to turn on the sprinkler system but couldn’t find one. We did find a water fountain but there wasn’t any way to get the water onto everyone.
Another group of our team had located the sprinkler valve and turned on the sprinklers for the field. They were running around in the water that smelled remarkably like sewage and probably was pulled from the lake in the park, which probably was full of sewage.
Chris and I returned to our water fountain. Stevy D. walked up and had a disposable water bottle in his hand. I took out my knife and cut the bottom out. Now we had a means to funnel the water to run past the bowl. All we needed was something to collect the water in.
There was a pile of paint cans and things back over near the bathrooms so we went and got one. It started with us filling the can about half full and pouring it over each other. But it quickly became evident that we were losing a lot of our collected water onto the ground as it ran off. Chris had a great idea and yelled out, “everyone take off your shirts and shorts.” I got his idea immediately and stripped. We would ball up our clothes and dunk them into the paint can. It would maximize the water we were collecting. Everyone stripped down to their underwear.
By the time Cadre Ben returned we were all wet. Some of us smelled like sewage, but we were all wet. We formed up in our two lines, and Cadre Ben addressed us. I think I remember him mentioning how wet we were and not being completely happy. He directed us to move into the grassy area where we again formed our lines.
He told us to put our packs on the ground in front of us. Well, that was the one rule we couldn’t break so I started getting really nervous. He ordered us to lie on the ground on our backs. Now, the grass was covered in dew as it was a pretty cool night, but the grass was also covered with poo- poo water thanks to sprinklers that the guys ran. The Cadre ordered us to roll to the left. Then we rolled to the right. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Now we were wet and covered with grass.
Cadre Ben had a large two-court volleyball sand pit behind him and he told us to move into the pit and reform our lines. “Onto your backs.” And we rolled left and right. Left and right. This was followed by Starlings with a Twist.
Starlings with a Twist are squats where you grab whatever is at your feet and throw it above your head as you jump up and turn 1⁄4 to your right.
 |
| That's me on the very right tossing sand. |
So it rained sand. It went all over my head and I could feel it going down the back of my shirt. We then army crawled across the pit and back, which is much harder than I could ever have imagined. Ben had threatened us with a time component to getting across. By this point I found myself cheating on the PT anytime I thought I could get away with it. As soon as Cadre Ben turned his head, I was bear crawling again; anything to get across the sand pit. And I wasn’t alone.
Now that we were covered in sand from head to toe, it was time to put our rucks back on. Ben explained that we still had an objective to meet and he wasn’t sure, but he thought we could get to it through the park. I don’t remember who led this section, but I counseled that the safest and most assured route to our objective was to return to Piedmont Road and continue the way we had started. We were virtually at the entrance to the park so it really wasn’t like we were backtracking.
Logs That Are Actually Telephone Poles
When you wear a rucksack with a bunch of bricks in it, you quickly learn a few things. One of those is that the back of your shirt is going to climb right up your back. This exposes your skin to the ruck and wears the top layer of dermis off almost immediately. So the strategy I was using was to keep my shirt tucked in on the backside. This had been working up until now. All it was doing post sand pit was collecting the sand inside my shirt around my waistline, which was then being ground into glass with the friction of the ruck rubbing on my back.
I really thought that by the time we made it to the objective I was going to be in really bad shape all over; my back, my feet (my shoes and socks were full of sand), and especially between my thighs where I usually have problems with chaffing when I run. But the sand really didn’t bother me too much. I was able to shake most of it off as we ran.
I almost jogged right into one of those posts that they put at the entrance to the park to keep people from driving in. It might have ended my night, but I saw it at the last moment and stepped right. The pace was quickened and I found myself at the rear of the column; not from being tired or anything else, that was just where I ended up and there wasn’t much of an opportunity to move. One of the guys from Smyrna that I hadn’t met before this night was having trouble with his legs cramping. I think I remember offering him Gatorade out of my hydration pack and maybe some of my shot blocks for the electrolytes.
We ran past the entrance to the Botanical Gardens and took the first right just as I had planned when we had left Centennial Park. Headlamps came on as we moved into a wooded area on what appeared to be a seldom-used dirt road. About two hundred feet into it, Cadre Ben informed us that the “drone” was up in the woods and we needed to retrieve it. Stevy D. and four others went up to get it and pulled it out using webbing. It wasn’t a log like we were expecting, but was an old telephone pole that someone had cut down with a chainsaw a long time ago; and it was the fat end of the pole. It was only about fifteen feet long and almost two feet wide, but it was also soaked with creosote and tar so it weighed much more than a normal log of the same size would.
Once down on the dirt road many of us stepped up to shoulder the log. We quickly found out that it was very heavy and too short. Because of its length, only about five guys could get on it at once without stepping all over each other. But the weight was heavy enough that we could have used twice that many to shoulder it. We carried it only for about two hundred yards into a clearing. There, Ben told us to set it down gently and take a break. It was still dark but the sun was coming up. The moon was amazing.
 |
| Too many people on that log. It won't last for long. |
As the light began to filter over the treetops I could see that we were on the other side of the park, near where DSW used to be on Monroe Drive. It was almost like an area where power lines would be except there weren’t any. There were, however, some picnic tables and large concrete barricades. Everyone took off their rucks, got hydrated and ate some food.
 |
| Refit as the very first hints of sunlight break over the trees. |
Ben was standing off by himself and I took the opportunity to thank him. I said, “I am a battalion chief and an incident commander. I’ve commanded my share of fires and other incidents. Thank you for reminding me how important it is to keep your folks informed as to your strategy and tactics.” I probably sounded like a brown-noser, but I meant it. It was a very good lesson and something I took away from the Challenge that I won’t forget.
We must have stayed there for around thirty minutes, maybe more. When I thought we might be moving out, I sought out the team weight and got it around my neck since I was still feeling guilty about being carried for two and a half miles.
 |
| This picture is a little misleading as the sun had only just come up. That's me in the back with the team weight on. We're about to get that telephone pole back up in the air. |
Lenox-Wildwood Park
We moved out along a gravel road toward Monroe Drive. I can’t remember whom Ben picked as the team leaders for this leg but we were going to some park I’d never heard of off of Cumberland Drive.
Just as we got to Monroe Drive and took a left, Ben “spotted” two large pieces of jagged concrete about the size of an overinflated basketball; just not as light. (In reality, I think he had found them earlier on Friday as he had scouted the route we would take.) He told us to pick them up and bring them. So now we had the team weight hose, the sledge, and the two pieces of concrete to carry with the log. It didn’t take long for us to organize a rotation of people to carry the log; four groups of the same height individuals, because when you’re carrying a telephone pole, being the same height as the person in front and behind you is the most important thing.
There was a “tall,” “middle,” and a “small” group. In there somewhere was another “middle” group but I don’t think we ever had a different name for it. A group would carry the log as long as they could and then switch shoulders. That seemed to make all the difference until you just couldn’t go any further. Then someone would yell “Swap!” and the next group would come in and replace the current group.
There was a little confusion as the commands to “Switch” and “Swap” were being used interchangeably, but we eventually got it worked out. It’s absolutely amazing how quickly things organize themselves or work themselves out. I have to wonder if that’s because we were all firefighters, or if that’s the way groups go. I think the former probably has more to do with it than I realize.
At first we kept bringing the column to a halt to make the swap, but we quickly learned to do it without stopping. I took my turn on the log and had a group of similarly heighted guys to accompany me. You could definitely tell when someone in your group was off the log as you had the sensation that your spine was compacted to about a foot tall. We all had dirt from the log smeared up the sides of our faces and heads. Some more than others, but not for lack of participation. I think some of us, like Pigpen, just attract the dirt.
I also carried the concrete a good bit on this leg of the Challenge. The only way to effectively carry it was in front of you, arms at full extension with it resting against your stomach. The edges cut into your wrists something awful, and it scratched the hell out of your stomach, but there really wasn’t any other way. I tried it on my shoulders, but it was only balanced there, and I didn’t want to risk dropping the “coupon.”
When we got to the park we gently laid the log and concrete boulders down at a trailhead. Ben took off down the very narrow trail and we followed downhill. By my estimate it was now about 8:30 or 9:00 and still very cool. It felt good with all of the exertion, but I had a feeling the temperature was about to matter a little more. The downward slope of the terrain we were on, upward slope opposite us, and the fact that we were now in a wooded area and not the neighborhood we were just in signaled only one thing: water.
At the bottom of the hill was a “stream” or as much of a stream as you will find in a city. Storm drain runoff and whatever else might be in it. Ben had us all walk out into the stream. It was of varying depths from ankle deep to knee deep. I was confident I knew what was coming and chose to go to the deepest part of the creek. Most others were jockeying for position in the shallowest parts. Ben, standing on the bank looking down on us told us that we all looked tired and said we should have a seat.
The water was very cold. It being early morning, the outside air temperature was actually colder now than it had been all night. I turtled up quickly but must admit I was glad to be off my feet. A few guys started apologizing for urinating in the stream. I was contributing to the pollution, but figured in all reality that it wasn’t the worst thing in the stream. Ben warned us that unless there were turds floating past us he didn’t want to hear any complaining. “I’ve been in much worse for much longer. I don’t want to hear it.”
 |
| "Vigorously agitating" the stream. That's me in the deep water. |
After sitting for a few minutes we were invited to do PT in the stream. We did starlings in case we weren’t wet and cold enough, throwing the water up in the air and letting it rain down. Once we started stirring the water up, it really did begin to smell more like a sewer. We did flutter kicks and were warned to “vigorously agitate” the water “or else.” We even did push-ups. This kind of PT was where my strategy of positioning myself in the deep stuff was paying off. I was practically floating and doing very easy push-ups.
 |
| Poo-poo water push-ups. |
I have no idea how long that went on; long enough that we were all ready to stop and get out. Some of the group was a little more germaphobic that the rest of us, but to their credit they were in it with us.
After a while we were offered a chance to get out of the stream, but we would have to answer trivia correctly. We stood together in the creek, knee deep and huddled together for warmth. I asked Ben if we could appoint someone for the group to give a kind of final answer so that we didn’t have any disagreements. He appointed me. He gave us options for categories, and it was obvious he was using some form of Trivial Pursuit on his iPhone.
We had to pick a category, and the majority of folks either opted for Sports/Leisure or Entertainment. The one Atlanta firefighter kept saying he wanted History, but he was the only one. I didn’t think it was smart to gamble whether we died of hypothermia as a group on one person’s knowledge. He seemed a little put out.
 |
| A good time for a game of Trivial Pursuit. |
I can’t remember all of the questions Ben asked, but a few of them stick out. He asked us what year John Kennedy was shot – we got that right. It turns out that Def Leppard’s drummer lost his arm in 1985 and not 1984. We got that one wrong after much deliberation. He asked us how many eyeballs in a standard deck of cards – we got that wrong as I counted the eyeballs out loud for everyone. He asked us what a group of crows is called, and I immediately answered a “murder” and that it was our “final answer.” Most of the group seemed surprised and indicated that they had never heard that.
He then asked us the question that I am sure none of us will ever forget. “What do you call a group of unicorns?” No one in our group had any ideas. I told the group that all through school, if I didn’t know the answer, the best answer was one that would make the teacher laugh. So we went about trying to think of funny answers. Among my favorites were “Unicorns” and a “rainbow of unicorns.” It turns out the correct answer is a “blessing of unicorns.” We got it wrong so back in the water for more PT.
The water was cold, but it was nothing compared to the cold we experienced at Tough Mudder. Bret L. was shivering noticeably in front of me. I reassured him it wasn’t that cold and that it was just a mind game. Tell yourself it’s not cold and you won’t be cold; at least that should work for the first hour or two.
Ben let us off the hook and told us to go back up to the head of the trail and refit. Some of us tried to get dry socks on and stuff, but I really just saw this as a waste of time for me. Jamie L. crossed the street to sit in the sun. I yelled out for someone to join her before Ben saw her on her own. Everything was absolutely soaked except the inside of my ruck. There was a little bit of water inside, but not as much as you would have thought for as long as we were in the water. I took the opportunity to eat some Gu and a Shot Blok.
Freedom Park and Banana Peels
Ben appointed Chris V. as leader and then asked if anyone knew how to get to Freedom Park from where we were. I said I did, and Scott S. said he knew as well. Ben appointed me as assistant leader again. I discussed with Chris the route we should take and then quietly, and to the side, begged Ben to make someone else assistant leader. I told him that being carried for the march to Piedmont park had taken me out of carrying my weight (literally) and that if I had to sit out this leg as a leader not carrying any weight, I wouldn’t be able to hold my head high. He acquiesced and I called Scott over. Scott became the assistant leader for this leg.
To my absolute surprise, right before we were going to head out, Ben instructed us to pick up the telephone pole and the two pieces of concrete. I was sure we were going to leave the log there, but I was wrong. That goddamned thing was heavy, and I was really tired of it. But you learn to play the mind game, so you pick it up cheerfully and head out. We started off again, and the plan was to go back to N. Highland, take a left to Ponce, left to Moreland and then to Freedom Park.
As we started off, with our telephone pole, two concrete coupons, sledge, and fire hose, Ben added an extra component to our movement. We were to do “banana peels” which Ben explained were a military tactic to fight an enemy approaching from behind while continuing to move forward.
The idea was simple enough: if pursued by a “threat” from behind the entire two columns, except for those carrying the pole, the concrete, or another person, would turn and face the rear. The last (now first) person in each column would fire their weapon toward the threat at the rear until empty at which point they would peel off to the outside and make their way back to the telephone pole which was still moving. The next last man then fired. Under a live fire situation, this run was when you reloaded. As we didn’t have weapons, you positioned your arms as though you were firing a weapon from your shoulder and counted to five to account for emptying a magazine. When all in the column had emptied, it was back to regular business.
The tricky part of it all was what Ben qualified as a “threat.” He announced to the group that bicycles and out of state license plates on cars were threats. He further warned that we had better not let him see one before we did. At the sight of a threat, we were to yell out, “Threat!” and commence our banana peel.
What all of us, including Ben, had failed to anticipate is just how many bicycles and out of state tags there are in the Virginia Highlands area on a Saturday morning. Once we made it to North Highland, we couldn’t go more than two minutes without someone spotting a threat. Often, we would see a threat while already executing a banana peel because of an earlier threat. It seemed like non-stop banana peels.
We did this the entire five miles from the creek to Freedom Park. At some point, Ben killed Pabel T., so we had to carry him. I took my turns. Pabel was really hurting. Talking to him quietly as I carried him, and remembering the effort of being carried earlier, I started to realize that being carried is at least as hard as carrying someone.
I also began to realize that the people that were watching us come past must have been really puzzled. There they sat in front of their favorite Saturday brunch restaurant enjoying the sun, when a group of folks carrying a telephone pole and each other came through at a very fast walk. Add to that, every few seconds one of them yelled, “threat” and they all pretended to shoot guns before running to the head of the column. It must have been a really interesting sight. At times I saw Ben drop to the side and explain to inquisitive people what we were doing. I was glad they now knew, but there was a part of me that didn’t want them to know. We would leave them with a, “What the hell?”
At some point on North Highland a car drove by and the driver yelled out the window, “GoRuck!” I really can’t express how happy and proud it made me that someone else, who had probably done it before, understood what we were doing, probably understood where we were mentally, and was offering encouragement. It really was one of the high points of my experience.
The movement to Freedom Park continued, and we eventually made it to Ponce, then Monroe. To this day, every time I drive through that intersection, I remember (somewhat fondly) carrying that telephone pole.
When we got to Freedom Park, Ben marched us up to the absolute top of the hill under some large oak trees. We were able to put the log down and refit. I want to say we did some PT there, but I can’t remember if it came before break or after. I remember doing burpees in the dirt/gravel and my knees were getting really chewed up because I was cheating.
 |
| Refit in Freedom Park. |
Eventually, we took a break and most of us sat on the telephone pole or the ground leaning up against a tree. I chose to lie down and put my ruck on my stomach. I ate some more Shot Bloks and maybe a Powerbar. I had been out of Gatorade for quite a while. I really had thought that we would have more opportunity to get water. Someone went over to a house that bordered the park and asked a woman if we could use her hose. She was more than happy to let us and many of us walked over and filled our hydration bags.
Ben told us that we needed to carry the telephone pole down to the woods, but we all said it looked really good in the middle of the park on top of that hill. Really, none of us ever wanted to pick up the damned thing again.
Back To Centennial
The next mission was to be a fast movement back to Centennial Park. Ben chose Jamie L. and Bret S. as our leaders and we headed out, straight up Freedom Parkway. Ben had given us a very short timeframe to make it back to Centennial; I want to say it was 45 minutes or something. We were running.
When we came to the intersection where Freedom Parkway goes left and right, and Ralph McGill is straight- ahead, the group wanted to go right. That would have led us back to Ponce and would have taken us way out of the way. Ralph McGill would take us straight back to Centennial, and I yelled to go straight. I had to yell a couple of times, but we eventually went straight.
While we were running, a woman ran past us. She seemed a little irritated about us hogging the sidewalk, and I wanted to tell her, “we have 30 lbs. in the backpacks, lady. We’re in our 12th mile. Give us a break.”
Ralph McGill is a long road with huge hills. You go up. You go down. You go up. You go down. Jamie and Bret did a good job keeping us moving. A few of us were beginning to have problems with feet, ankles, etc. so we put them at the front so that we didn’t leave them behind unknowingly.
When we crested the hill at Boulevard, Ben stopped us and had us all take a “seat” against the wall of the parking deck. Very quietly, he yelled at us and told us that all of us had more to give; if we didn’t, we would be face down on the sidewalk. “So either f--king do this or don’t.”
A Massacre
We picked up the pace. We were determined to make our objective. Somewhere around Piedmont, Ben killed someone. I don’t remember whom. Maybe Jaeson D. Off came the ruck and we started a rotation of carrying. We went another few blocks, and he killed someone else. He ended up by me in the column, and I started positioning myself behind him. I didn’t want him to get any ideas about killing me. Out of sight, out of mind.
We made it to Northeast corner of Centennial Park. We had many dead at this point. If I remember correctly, Jamie L. was carrying three rucks beside the one she was wearing. Ben had killed some guys that were about my size, and it was eating up four people for every one dead. All told I think we had five “dead” at this point.
 |
| Dead. Dead. And more dead. |
As we started the climb up the hill to the park entrance, Ben got around to killing me again. I threw my arms up, our signal for “I’m dead and need someone to carry me.” Everyone that passed me was carrying someone else or something. Melvin C. was my only opportunity, and he told me to climb on.
With his ruck plus me and my ruck, he was easily carrying in the neighborhood of 300 lbs. I was positioned across his shoulders with one leg and arm wrapping his neck for him to hold on to. I bounced and watched his feet. I knew he would tire, and I didn’t want to fall on him and hurt him. As soon as I saw his steps start to get irregular and wander from a straight line, I hopped off. I threw my hands up for someone to carry me, but there wasn’t anyone. Melvin signaled for me to climb back on, and I did. We repeated this every forty yards or so. It got more frequent the closer to the park entrance we got. The weight and the hill were taking their toll on Melvin.
As we got to the park entrance we were scattered. Some were in the park; some were back with Melvin and me. I noticed that Ben was ahead and he wasn’t looking back. I left Melvin and sprinted 100 feet toward Ben, running the whole time with my arms up so that if he turned around I could freeze and make it look like someone had just put me down, and I was waiting for someone to pick me up.
 |
| Melvin C. is an absolute beast. |
Using this tactic, I made it very close to the fountain, waited for Melvin to catch up, and then climbed back on for the last twenty feet to where Ben stood. If Ben knew, he was playing along.
The park was full of people on what had become a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Ben told all of us to get in the fountain. We stood on the rings directly in the fountain. Kids typically play in the fountain, but here was a group of adults wearing matching shirts and backpacks. The park visitors didn’t know what to think.
I had a jet of water hitting me between the legs, and I must admit it felt really cold and good. We stood there waiting for instructions. I noticed many people around were watching, no doubt trying to figure out just what was going on.
Refit
I can’t remember how long we stood there, but Ben eventually told us we had made our time hack and to refit. We sat down in a shaded area and I pondered our situation.
The best I could figure, we were still a mile from the State Capitol (our starting point.) We had at least a mile to go, and if it was anything like that last few miles, I wasn’t sure how we were going to do it. I looked over and could see the grassy section we had been doing PT in almost twelve hours ago. I thought back on how I had almost quit, and I was proud that I had hung in. This was easily the most physically challenging thing I had ever done. Then I snapped back to the reality of the situation and the fact that we weren’t home yet.
Ben called Shane up to lead for the next leg. I saw them leaning over his iPhone. No doubt Ben was telling him about our objective and timetable. Then Shane turned around.
I’ll paraphrase Shane: “Guys, that last push was awesome, and we did really great. Our next objective is George Washington Park. Does anyone know where that is?” No one said a word. He continued, “It’s about three miles north of here. Now that last push was hard, but I know you guys can do this. We just need to push and...”
Shane continued to speak while my mind raced. Three miles north? The Capitol was south of our location. We were going away from the finish line, and a good ways away.
Shane continued to give us a pep talk, and I tried to concentrate on the words he was saying. I was going to need every bit of encouragement I could get, in order to keep going. He said, “I know you can do this. You guys are awesome. We can make this...” Then there was a long pause. “...but we don’t have to - because we’re done.”
I almost cried. Seriously. I was so happy that I almost cried. That never happens to me. A wave of emotions came over me. Joy. Exhaustion. Relief. Most of all I was proud of having finished this thing. And what a group of people to do it with.
Everyone started hugging each other. Not that polite hug where you really don’t touch, but that hug where you mash bodies together and pull people close. God I was happy.
We took quite a few pictures of the group with Ben in the center. Then Ben lined us up and passed out our GxXuck Tough patches, which “can never be bought.” He went to hand me mine, and I asked him to affix it to my ruck, instead. Then I shook his hand and thanked him.
 |
| I was so, so, happy. |
Why?
The walk back to the parking deck was a long and somewhat painful one. I ached all over. My feet were killing me, and we still couldn’t put our rucks down yet. Things were finally beginning to rub together that I didn’t want rubbing. But the walk was a very happy one.
Once back at the car, we all got out our reserve dry clothes. A few of us used the top of the stairwell as a changing room and one by one changed into other clothes.
 |
| Some dry clothes and a hard won piece of cloth. |
Mechelle, before leaving Centennial Park, in typical Mechelle fashion, had invited Ben to go get pizza and beer with us. We swung by his hotel and picked him up before heading to Fellini’s on Ponce.
Ben was a cool guy, and he relaxed and just hung out with us. He eventually told us that he had PT’d us for three hours; about an hour and a half more than he regularly PT’s groups. I was surprised and at the same time a little relieved. No wonder I had been broken in the park. The next day I would plot our Challenge on a map and find out that we had rucked for over 13 miles. Not as many as I was expecting, but we had spent a lot of time exercising in place; not racking up miles. All told, we carried that damned telephone pole five miles.
I bought the table a pitcher but still didn’t break my lifelong abstinence, although this would have been a great moment to celebrate with my first beer. The high that I was feeling kept me going past being physically and mentally spent. I drank about five or six root beers; probably not the wisest, but they were cold and good. We hung out for a while and then said our goodbyes.
The following four days I pissed blood and these little crystals that I then collected to give to my urologist for testing. I was only really sore on Sunday, and not as much as I was anticipating. The Challenge definitely took a toll on my body, but I recovered.
When I explain to people what the Challenge is, or why I did it, I get all kinds of responses, ranging from admiration to consternation. Some object to the idea of “paying someone to do that to you,” or “paying that much for a backpack.” Others seem fixated on ideas revealing their own insecurities; that I now think I am better than they are. Nothing could be further from the truth.
The Challenge was about me and about our group. It’s not a race. There is no set finish line. One Challenge can’t be compared to another, and everyone’s experience is unique. I wanted to be pushed to my breaking point. I found it and worked past it. That’s the lesson for me. That’s the reward. It didn’t have anything to do with those folks who see my experience as a challenge to their own egos.
For the first few months after our Challenge, the thought of completing another Challenge was out of the question. I had “checked that one off my list.” But now as we approach the one-year anniversary of Class 279, I find myself wanting to test myself again. I want to experience the teamwork and see if I can do better pushing myself. In the words of Chuck Yeager in The Right Stuff, “Find out where that ol’ demon lives.”
So I just signed up for a Challenge in January. Should be fun.
- Originally written in October of 2013
