Have you ever wanted to give up, but you didn't?
Nick LaRovere
Video Marketing Expert. Helping clients attract leads, increase sales, & save time using video. Also a film producer developing projects with investment opportunities.
This is the story of me being stretched to my limits... and learning I can endure more than I believed.
November 20th, 2020, from 9pm, to 9am the next day, I participated in my first GoRuck Tough event.
It is thanks to a men’s club I’m in, The Strenuous Life , created by the founders of the Art of Manliness site, that I discovered this event.
Over 35lb rucks on our backs, soaking wet clothes and boots, various exercises, 17.25 miles of varying terrain including Sentinel Peak in Tucson, and collectively lugging two 80lb sandbags, two 60lb sandbags, a 40lb sandbag, and a 25lb group weight, I learned a few things.
I learned that I’m not as tough as I think I am. Yet at the same time, I learned I can handle more than I thought. When I thought it was too much, I was still there, trying.
I learned that we (collectively) have little understanding of true adversity and suffering.
Conversely, I learned that the Human body and soul can bear much more than you think.
I learned that 12 hours passes quickly when your mind and body are utterly occupied with a strenuous activity.
I learned that even if you’re doing something that gets your heart pumping, you can still manage to nod off and fall asleep while walking.
ARRIVING IN TUCSON
7pm. With 3 others, I had a light dinner, my apprehension for what we were about to face rising continuously within me. Light conversation and conversation with a new member of the group were pleasant distractions.
8:40pm. Cutting things a bit close, we hit the bathroom (very important) before heading out to the park we were meeting at. It looked like we might run late, and I rummaged through my ruck, attempting to do last-minute organization and to-dos at any stop light that would allow.?
9pm. We were unfamiliar with the area, and scrambled around the park in our vehicles in the dark, looking for a telltale cluster of parked vehicles. We found the spot and I moved with nervous speed, tearing off my socks and applying tape to previously identified hotspots where I knew blisters might try and rear their ugly heads that night.
I slammed my feet into my boots and threw on my bag. I spun around, locking my Jeep and stomping with a purpose toward the group of 11 others circled around a nearby Ramada.
Our Cadre - or official leader for this event - Cadre Dan - instructed us to deposit our bags at our feet. He then conducted accountability - roll call in civilian terms. I slipped into that familiar routine and hung onto each of his words, listening carefully for all explicit and implicit meanings, like I remembered doing as a brand new Private listening to his drill sergeant.
He finished, noting the number of no-shows. 7 people had, for one reason or another, decided not to show up. He had us pull out the essentials from our kit and inspected each of our bags.
This is the first point where things could have been much harsher. For whatever reason, instead of imposing penalties upon us for missing this or that small item, he checked the necessities.
However, we were not totally in the clear.
THE CHALLENGE BEGINS
9:30pm. He appointed a team leader, and gave us a 30-second crash course in the vital role of a leader - above all, the safety and wellbeing of your people, secondly, their accountability, and third, that they succeed together, not as individuals, but as one.
Cadre Dan elucidated us in the traditional 4-letter-word filled grammar common to the military service, why and how much he hated when people failed to do what they said they would do. No-showing was heinous.
“It is unacceptable to say you will do something, and not do it. You are going to pay for those who did not show up today. Team leader, how many did not show up?”
“Seven, Cadre.”
“Do seven exercises. Ten reps each.”
Though in my experience this was far from the torture possible, the inclusion of our 35lb rucks added difficulty, and it was a somewhat demoralizing way to start our night. Those that haven’t participated in a GoRuck, or been in the military, are also unfamiliar with group punishment. When you are new to this military method of team-building, you always perceive the punishment as subjectively worse than it is.
When we finished our squats, step-ups, pushups, and so on, Cadre Dan continued.
He got out several large gym sandbags - the long ones covered in handles.
“I’ve got… two, three, four, five, six filler bags. Between that and your team weight, that’s seven. One for each person that didn’t show up. This would have been for the whole group of 21. You’ll still carry all of it, even though you only have 14 people. Take the filler bags, fill them, put them in the sandbags. Team leader, go find sand.”
With that, we were expected to take initiative and find sand, somewhere in this park unfamiliar to most of us.
We did. We returned with the bags, and we followed him to the nearby lake.
“Stack the coupons, roll up your flag, set it on the coupons. Don’t let it touch the ground.”
Don’t disrespect Old Glory.
He called them “coupons”. Coupons? The sandbags? Okay, they were now coupons. For the remaining 11 hours, he was undeniably in charge, and his word was law.
We had to atone for the sins of our absent teammates, and for the remaining 11 hours, those sandbags would be our penance.
THE FIRST MILES & THE LAKE DUNK
10pm. We walked at a very brisk pace around the lake. In an attempt to keep my mind occupied, I counted paces, using the Ranger beads on my pack to keep track. To my count, the circumference of the lake was about 1 kilometer.
After the first lap, we grabbed two of the sandbags to drag along, and had to do a 12 minute lap (or suffer the consequences). Arriving with a minute to spare, we then grabbed the remaining sandbags for another kilometer around.
12am. We returned to the lake start point. Cadre Dan ordered us to line up at the shore and link arms. We did, and a moment later he instructed, “one step forward… step. One step forward… step. One Step forward… step. One step forward… Step.”
We descended into the frigid, dark water to past our knees.
“Now turn around, and sit down.”
We did, and after a few seconds of huffing and puffing from the shock of the icy water, we did flutter kicks and pushups.
After getting out of the water, some more PT, getting back in the water, then back out, and allowing our bags to drain (mine unsuccessfully due to the lack of drain holes in the bottom), we were given our directions for the second leg of the night.
Cadre Dan had those who’d never done a GoRuck event to raise their hands. Given this was my first time, I had my hand up. I was the lucky winner, and designated as new team leader.
I was not in a mood to step up. Mentally, I had reverted to a mode of survival. I am not proud of the attitude I had at the beginning. But sometimes, there is something about being thrust into a leadership role that can make us step up to the plate and rise above our circumstances.
I sighed audibly as I stepped up to Cadre Dan.
“What, don’t want to do it?”
“No Cadre, I can do it.”
“Don’t worry, you’ll do fine.”
He gave us instructions and I flowed into a role I know well, directing a small group to accomplish a goal, from my experience in the Army, and directing indie movies.
Suddenly, it wasn’t all about me. It was about elevating the group.
I designated a local team member to be my navigator; delegation is essential, and I’m a notoriously poor navigator.
Soaked through and through, we set off for our 5.5 mile route to another nearby park.
The time there was fairly uneventful. We tried our best to keep a good pace, but found the sandbags slowing us considerably. Everyone was hanging together and doing their best to be good team members. Though generally slow going, our nimble group (compared to other events) of 14 made good progress.
I could feel some pain and real difficulty at this point. Hoping to distract everyone from said pain, I introduced the group to cadence, and explained for the sake of the civilians present.
I sang one of my favorites from basic training:
“They say that in the Army
The pay is mighty fine
They give you a hundred dollars
And take back ninety-nine
Oh Lord, I wanna go
But they won’t let me go
Ooo-oh, ooo-oh, ooo-oh woah woah
...and so on, about dancing chickens, exploding biscuits, and muddy coffee.
I admit I felt somewhat silly, but I wanted to step into my role and do the best I could to make things easier for the group, in what little ways I could. I have no idea if it worked.
It was still worth trying.
SWEET REST & SANDBAG TOSSING
Finally, we arrived at the park that would be our home for the next hour and half or so.
We were given a brief moment of rest while Cadre Dan decided our fates.
It gave us some time to drink water, scarf down something solid, and most importantly, change socks.
Unfortunately, my ziplock did not protect from complete submersion--lesson learned--so my ‘fresh’ socks were damp. But it was better than soaked like my current pair.
Thank you God, for small mercies.
A moment of rest. A few seconds to allow the burning in my legs, my shoulders, to recede to a distant ache. A moment to breathe, and maybe even crack a smile at a joke from a member of the group.
Cadre Dan decided to have us conduct a sandbag tossing and sprinting competition. Even though this lasted an hour and a half, it distracted us with the unique pleasures of competition, and that too was a mercy.
In hindsight something comes to mind about this event.
A line of the Warrior Ethos (an extract of the US Army’s “Soldier’s Creed”), comes to mind. Here’s the whole ethos, and what Cadre Dan wanted to hammer into us through the team structure, emphasis on staying together (we succeed or fail together), and persistence, which is what this event tests the most:
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
It didn’t come to mind during the event, but having recited it myself on countless occasions, must have sunk in. I don’t consider myself to be a strong-willed person. I struggle with a sense that I am, in fact, weak.
I want to embrace that side of myself and take the easy way so strongly. Yet, I detest it.
Years ago, I was in Army ROTC at University of Arizona. I was trying out for the “Ranger Challenge” team. During the event, our class instructor, a Master Sergeant who probably stood, barrel-chested and hardened, at 6’ 2”, 220lbs.
He was the real deal. I was 19, and I looked up to him.
As I struggled to flip a tractor tire for the ump-teenth time, he yelled at me, “What, are you ready to quit? Do you want to quit?”
In that moment, I certainly did not want to quit yet, but my spirit was dampened by the difficulty of the test ahead of me. Making the decision to participate was easy. I was gung-ho. But in the moment of execution, it was far from the ease of making the initial decision.
I guess that could apply to many decisions and commitments in life.
However, I couldn’t stand the idea of being a quitter - or called one. When he yelled at me and called me out, anger rose up in my gut and my reply flew out like bile, directed at everything and everyone and no one, at the same time.
“No! Never!”
WALKING INTO THE WEE HOURS
The rest of our experience was rather mundane. Other than a short play-by-play, it’s not worth getting into.
It was hard. It was strenuous.
We walked many miles, carrying our collective burdens, climbed ‘A’ mountain, and walked more.
We struggled up that mountain, and at points along the remainder of the 17.25 miles we walked, sometimes I became frustrated. Frustrated, and angry at the arbitrary burden I carried.
A strap on an 80-pound sandbag was broken, which greatly increased the difficulty of carrying it. Sometimes we got a bit irritated with one another. But for total strangers, we got along quite well given our circumstances.
We had a common purpose.
When we reached the apex of ‘A’ mountain, we had a moment to rest, and took a group photo.
To my amazement, I learned the time. It was nearly sunrise. I could not believe nearly 10 hours had passed.
As we descended the mountain and made our way back to the road, the sun rose and lit the remainder of our path.
At that point, our trek was fairly easy, filled with the empowerment of hope and anticipation of rest, the weight off our shoulders, and a cold beer.
As you can imagine, we were relieved to finish.
Personally, aside from exhaustion--I had nodded off while walking and standing several times during the night--I was satisfied that I had committed to doing the thing, and despite my great apprehension, I had made it through.
After breakfast with my friends (and dozing off in front of my eggs and bacon), I slept in my Jeep. I was too exhausted to drive anywhere safely. After a few hours, I moved to a better spot out of the sun, and slept more.
MY PROFOUND LESSON
When I felt it was safe to drive home from Tucson to Phoenix, I grabbed some coffee and hit the highway.
Driving silently, I thought about the events of the past 12 hours.
At times, I wanted to quit, but I didn’t have it in me to quit. I am glad to discover that I can do much more than I thought.
I am stronger than I believe myself to be. I glimpsed my limitations, but I did not find them.
A powerful, profound sense of gratefulness gripped me.
I thought of all I know about the world and the many challenges of the people in it. Then I thought about my struggles and all the challenges I’ve faced.
I had completed a challenge that gave me a sense, however fleeting, of the great gap between what I have, and what could be taken away, what I have suffered, and what I could suffer, and how even this experience I’d volunteered for was greatly merciful in comparison.
I was glad that, perhaps, for a moment, I could catch a glimpse of what others had experienced, and not forget.
Project Manager @ PPS Coatings
2 年Awesome story Nick