GORUCK Challenge - A Look Inside Your Soul: QMN055
Martial Mental Models: The Quartermaster, Monday, 12 August
(This week’s report is a 16 minute read)
NOTICE: Given the length of KSA’s piece below we’ve abridged our normal weekly format to fit. Back to normal next week. Enjoy. (BJM)
BLUF: Brady asked me to share my thoughts on GORUCK events, so I've edited an essay I wrote some time ago. GORUCK, for those of you who don't know, is a SF-veteran-owned American company that… well, read about them yourself. Despite my editing skills, this is long, so pour yourself a drink.
KSA here. The first three miles always suck. It's not that they're painful; it's that they're uncomfortable. Adjusting the straps or waist belt doesn't help. It's just a question of getting used to your ruck digging into your shoulders and moving the weight - your new weight - and the rest of you forward, upward, outward... away from conventional comfort and towards the quiet embrace of discomfort.
Nobody tells you how boring rucking for distance is, especially if you're doing down-and-backs. The brain likes novelty and there's nothing terribly novel about watching a crescent of light from your headlamp illuminate a dirt trail for 30 miles in the middle of a cold, wet night in the middle of nowhere. During GORUCK's inaugural D.C. Star Course, I watched as my lamp turned the raindrops into sparks and tried to dodge the deeper, ticker mud puddles along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal as the storm-swollen Potomac roared by, shrouded from vision by brush and night. After the first few miles, there was nothing to see but mud and the rain-streaked faces of my teammates. At one point, perhaps two or three miles from the turnaround point, the trail seemed to narrow along a path was mostly rock with clear, fresh water trickling down onto the trail. It seemed brighter than the rest of trail, lit by a moon that I couldn't see. It was the only place I remember that didn't have any sludge and I let the crystalline water that ran off the rocks run over my shoes, giving me a brief respite from the mud. It was a uniquely sublime moment, at once surreal and beautiful. It left me with a sense of awe that I have carried with me since the event. There is beauty, even in the dark corners of suffering.
In the absence of novelty, the wandering brain can be tamed through repetition. Repetition offers some relief from the mind-dulling boredom of slogging forward for miles and miles with a ruck on your back and gravel beneath your feet. Sometimes I will count to ten over and over and over again, for hours, finding a certain indifference to pain and weather and everything else as I simply push on. Sometimes I'll remember a fragment of a poem or song and recite or replay it in my head. These distractions can be unexpectedly strange. In D.C., Beyoncé's "Halo" was stuck in my head for over 12 hours: nothing I would've admitted to my teammates at the time, but a solitary, private source of comfort.
You notice things about yourself and others in the midst of the indifference. Some are tangible, like the way that some people seem to make as much noise as possible when moving, breaking every branch, crushing every shrub, kicking every bottle. Others walk heel-step, seeking the dark spots and Earth underfoot, moving almost silently down the sidewalk or a trail. Others are less tangible: they are less about doing than not-doing. You notice very quickly who does not volunteer to shoulder a sandbag or weight during a rotation during a GORUCK event and how those who follow that course of action - or inaction - literally seem to become gray men, existing only on the fringes of the group off in the shadows, permitted to stay only by the grace of the group: the community in miniature that is forged by duress, the society that understands and even permits failure, but that cannot abide not-trying. They either disappear or prove themselves. You also notice the Spotlight Rangers: the ones who'll do stupid shit like bring more than the required weight, who make each event all about them, who forget that eventually the Cadre will find a way to teach them failure and with it, humility. They too, either prove themselves team players or disappear. You notice every new ache and pain as a novelty: you try to forget about the pain in your back or feet or shoulders by shifting your focus to some nascent pain beginning to beg for your attention. You notice these things because action disallows anxiety: pain demands that you live in the moment.
I've arrived at events wondering if I'll be able to hold my own, do my part. I've tied my shoes with a nagging anxiety that I will be the worst, most out of shape, most wildly unprepared person there. I've worried about people not liking me, childish though that sounds: I am worried that I'll be rejected, once again the last kid picked for a team. I've signed up out of fear - fear that I will never know what I am capable of, fear of failure, fear of fear, fear of rejection - far more often than daring. There is something in me, however, that thrives on that fear and uncertainty, that consumes it; that doesn't just endure it, but loves it. GORUCK is just one of the places I pursue it.
That psychological quirk should not be confused with bravado. I have felt useless and bumbling during events, surrounded by people far physically stronger than me, convinced that I am the weakest link and that my pitiable performance is being met with inner sighs and silent disgust by both Cadre and teammates, all of whom, of course, are not thinking about me at all. It is during those fleeting moments of self-pity - and it is always a form of self-pity, especially masquerading as concern for the group - that you are forced to confront your limitations. The underlying purpose of these events is to illustrate - nay, force - the necessity of teamwork, of selflessness. You cannot be selfless if you're feeling sorry for yourself. You're not expected to be Superman, nor are you expected to become him. GORUCK teaches resilience through humility. If these events were easy - if no one ever felt as though they were being crushed, that they needed help, that their personal weaknesses were being exposed, leaving them raw and vulnerable and soft - then no one would leave an event any tougher than if they had shown up at a Starbucks, ordered a latté, and left. And to be sure, some don't.
When you're forced to look into the mirror of your weaknesses, whether at mile three or mile thirty, it is not the time to look for an exit. It is also not the time to self-assess. It is, however, the time to look to those around you and ask "what else can I do?" I can't yet PT like some guys do. I can, however, grind out miles and miles and miles. I can't yet move a 100 pound sandbag without slowing the speed of the group. I can, however, shoulder a 60 pound sandbag. It's not about what you can't do, but rather about what you can. But ultimately, it's not about you at all. Your strength, your muscles, your endurance, your brain - whatever you bring to an event - is there to serve your team. Indulgent self-pity over weakness, whether real or perceived, only serves itself. But it doesn't have to stop there. The philosopher Alain de Botton writes,
"The path out of self-pity involves an arc of development. We come to recognise that other people are not always being especially hard on us when they find us wanting. And we come to realise that our sufferings take place within a broad context of unhappiness. Far from meaning that our suffering doesn't matter, it's rather the case that all suffering matters and can unite the afflicted into a giant collective... Suffering doesn't have to isolate, it can also bring us together (emphasis mine)."
Every challenge undergone with another person or a team is a rite of initiation: or at least has the potential to be one. I assert that there are few experiences in civilian life that genuinely and meaningfully prescribe initiation. Most of the contemporary rituals we undergo, however grandiose, often prove sterile: empty of any meaning that outlast the moment. They do not change us. They do not engender growth. They do not show us what else is possible.
My argument is evidenced by the number of civilians - and I include non-veterans and non-first responders in this - that sign up for GORUCK events and willingly undergo abbreviated experiences of the physical training that warfighters volunteer for. The stakes are far lower, yes. But the spirit - the desire - is one that yearns for camaraderie, community, friendship, and kinship based on something deeper than the ones we locate in school or at work. As a young man in my 20s, then pursuing a career in law enforcement and working in contract security, I learned that there's a real sense of tribe that forms very quickly among those who endure the same kinds of suffering and stress together. Sound familiar? It should.
The "why" of it isn't interesting to me. I've read criticisms from people who consider it a sign of consumerist decadence that people sign up for these miniature sufferfests.
As one of the ostensibly guilty, I can't be objective, but I think that - like most criticisms of our community - is a shortsighted conclusion. In some participants, I know there is a sort of regret in not having enlisted or volunteered: a persistent questioning in which they wonder whether or not they would have had what it takes to become a warfighter, a warrior. Dr. Johnson summarized it neatly when he wrote that "Every man thinks meanly of himself for not having been a soldier, or not having been at sea." I believe there's a ring of truth to that. While I do not regret that paths I've taken in my life, I have sometimes wondered if I would have been an able soldier, sailor, marine, or airman; what my life would have looked like had I discerned a different calling. And make no mistake: to volunteer for the military is to answer a calling: to be a warfighter is to have a profession and not merely a job. Look at The Soldier's Creed:
I am an American Soldier.
I am a warrior and a member of a team.
I serve the people of the United States, and live the Army Values.
I will always place the mission first.
I will never accept defeat.
I will never quit.
I will never leave a fallen comrade.
I am disciplined, physically and mentally tough, trained and proficient in my warrior tasks and drills.
I always maintain my arms, my equipment and myself.
I am an expert and I am a professional.
I stand ready to deploy, engage, and destroy the enemies of the United States of America in close combat.
I am a guardian of freedom and the American way of life.
I am an American Soldier.
There is nary a trace of ambivalence in its declaration. Like all creeds, it is absolute. It is unequivocal. As such, it is a far cry - nearly foreign to many - from the excuses and platitudes we too often encounter from friends and co-workers... and in ourselves. The verbiage does not half-heartedly insist, "I will try." It states "I am" and "I will." It places accountability for upholding that standard at the foot of each individual, each member of a team. Those "I wills" form the heart of the creed: the warrior ethos. At its core, the creed represents an indictment of the will to self-preservation: a willingness - not merely an acceptance - to die; in other words, courage. As Steven Pressfield succinctly puts it,
”The Warrior Ethos evolved to counter the instinct of self-preservation.
Against this natural impulse to flee from danger (specifically from an armed and organized human enemy), the Warrior Ethos enlists three other equally innate and powerful human impulses:
Shame.
Honor.
And love."
This ethos isn't merely stated. It is lived. "The soldier's prayer," Pressfield notes, "...remains not 'Lord, spare me,' but 'Lord, let me not prove unworthy of my brothers.'" That prayer, regardless of verbiage or acknowledgement, is a prayer that asks that one be tested: a prayer for courage. Not for oneself, but for one's teammates.
There is a psychological component - atavistic and primal, dating to our pasts as hunters and fighters and voyagers and protectors - to our civilized selves that craves testing, initiation, and integration into a community. We crave the acceptance and acknowledgement of those we judge our peers, but especially of those we judge our superiors: not only those who've earned our admiration through accomplishments that have exceeded ours, but especially those that bring out the very best in us: the Cadre. As Pressfield writes, "ordeals of initiation are undergone not as individuals, but as teams, as units."
The veterans who created and continue to build GORUCK intimately understand that. They understand that there is an inherent value in the warrior ethos that has the power to make people better people. That is the portion of the bridge that they build across the epistemological and experiential gap that divides the civilian and military spheres in America.
GORUCK was a major part of how I became involved with the SF veteran community. (The other part of it was The Walking Dead, Blackphones, Star Wars, Game of Thrones, and cigars, but those are stories for another time). I haven't done an event since last fall, but I remain thankful for the lessons I learned during them and thankful for those who taught them.
I can't tell you what it was that I was looking for when I signed up for my first event in September of 2016: I wasn't an OCR guy. I wasn't a Crossfit guy. I just showed up, poisonously hungover, to a park in Brooklyn with my Rucker and weight. The sum of my rucking experience was relegated to destroying a 5.11 backpack with plates in Runyon Canyon when I lived in Hollywood during one of the loneliest times of my life. I have no idea what I was looking for. I had no idea what to expect.
All I can tell you is what I found.
I found what I thought were my limits and exceeded them.
I have found leaders who, through their courage, their examples, and the values embedded in the stories they've shared, have kindled a sense of gratitude, appreciation, and very personal patriotism..
I have found myself shuffling down a storm-blasted mud trail in the rain, sleep-deprived and exhausted, with people I barely knew, pausing to watch a doe and her fawns look at us with soft, dark eyes before disappearing into the grass.
I have found friends: people who make those first three miles - and every mile thereafter, whether literal or metaphorical - worth embracing, whether they are by my side or in my thoughts.
Lord, let me not prove unworthy of them. (KSA)
*****
GREEN BERET KNOWLEDGE BITE: SURVIVAL
Brady here. Last week I was inspired by John Peabody’s excellent guest appearance on the Why Is This Interesting newsletter explaining his Solo in Outward Bound and the effect it’s had on him. One thing every Green Beret today has in common with each other is their training in Survival, Escape, Resistance and Evasion (SERE). Having attended Fort Bragg’s SERE (other services have other versions) as part of the Special Forces Qualification Course (SFQC), each Green Beret carries with him a basic knowledge of survival skills in case he’s stranded in the wild without easy access to the things we take for granted today. Across a couple weeks, each Green Beret learns how to quickly start a fire with limited resources, build a shelter out of naturally occurring materials, trap and kill animals for food, find negations that’s safe to eat, and find drinkable water. I'll summarize the lessons here and direct you to some of the best resources and for valuable survival knowledge.
Survival, the art of keeping oneself alive, can be reduced to the search for food, fire, water and shelter. Depending on the environment, climate and season the priority of each requirement can change. Extreme winter situations mean starting a fire is top priority, and likewise summer desert circumstances would mean that the search for water would be top on the list. But for each one of these, there’s a little information on how to get started.
Food - Though the human body can survive awhile without food, much of survival training is about finding, catching, and preparing food. Snares, traps and primitive hunting methods are all part of the training, but truthfully require skill at building snares and finding the right place to put them. Conversely I've seen that being prepared for chance encounters with animals can pay off - so having a stout walking stick and good club on your person isn't a bad idea at all - just be ready to use them to stun & subdue your future meal.
Water - probably the most important ingredient to survival is getting drinkable water - and finding it is priority one. It can take only a few days to reach a deadly level of dehydration depending on your environment and level of exhaustion - minimizing strenuous activity can help extend what water’s already in your system. Beyond that, once you've found water, being prepared with purification tablets or building a fire to boil your water are the best ways to make it drinkable. There are ways to gather condensation or rain that generally don't require this, though.
Fire - to stay warm, boil water and cook food you’ll need fire. Making and successfully using a bowdrill is tough- especially if you’ve never done it before. For this reason I try never to do much without having at least a couple redundant firestarting means with me at all times - which usually include a lighter and flint. Finding and keeping kindling dry is a big deal too- in a survival situation you're doing that a lot. Starting a fire in wet conditions is very, very tough - and so being mindful about your surroundings and supplies is always important here.
Shelter - more than just keeping you dry, a well made shelter can be the difference between life and death. In extreme cold situations, properly constructing a shelter in relation to your fire, and creating a heat reflector can get you through the very worst nature can throw at you. Shelter is always a work in progress - it can never be complete. One of the greatest resources for primitive living knowledge are the Foxfire Books - a 12-book anthology of interviews with Appalachian elders in the 1970s about how they’ve lived off the grid using traditional methods their whole lives. They contain wisdom well beyond shelters and food, but some of the concepts in here can really improve your approach.
Two more lessons about survival I’ve found valuable:
Keep it together. Often survival situations begin with a catastrophic event - a plane crash, an attack, an escape. It's key to gain you bearings and make a full assessment of your situation and likelihood of rescue where you are. Having knowledge means having confidence - and while the US Army has an official survival manual, SERE instructors actually recommend the SAS Survival Handbook. Written by a 26-year SAS veteran and survival instructor, the 500+ page guide has no equal. Buy it, read it and practice it’s methods - you’re not likely to have it on hand when you need it the most.
A knifeless man is a lifeless man. A sturdy, sharp knife is so critical to survival that I've found the best approach for me is to pack a good knife for each survival or medical kit I have. This meant I had to find a relatively inexpensive, but sharp and easy to sharpen knife for each. And for this you can't beat a Mora knife. Priced from $10 to $80 they come razor sharp and their Scandinavian grind makes it easy to keep them sharp. I have…a few.
What can you do today to start getting prepared for a survival situation? Creating a small survival kit is a great first step - and you can fit one in an Altoids tin. And no skill-building exercise is worthwhile without practical application - so take the time to try out some of the methods you see in the SAS Survival Handbook and Foxfire when you're out camping or hiking.(BJM)
*****
Y’ALL STARTIN TO LOOK LIKE ELVISES: Surfers, Hippies, Hipsters, and Snowflakes - Counterculture In SOF (8 min) ”How is it that the most disciplined soldiers in the world can outwardly display such contempt towards, and non-conformity to basic military standards? Beyond that, do Special Operations units indoctrinate their ranks with counter culture, or is it that those counter culture individuals are the ones who are drawn to, and are more likely to succeed in the world of Special Operations?” (BJM)
GETTING TO REAL INSIGHTS: Huge study explores genetics of PTSD in more than 165,000 U.S. veterans (5 min) “Recently published in the journal Nature Science by collaborating investigators at UC San Diego and Yale University, the study is the first PTSD analysis to draw upon genetic information collected by the Million Veteran Program. Created by the U.S. Department of Veterans Affairs, the voluntary initiative seeks to create a medical database large enough that researchers can see patterns of genetic variation capable of providing indispensable road maps for the future treatment of many diseases. Though the program does not yet have its full sampling of one million records available, there is already enough data in place to allow the research team to study more than 165,000 veterans. Using sophisticated computer modeling techniques, they were able to compare the genomes of those who experienced a key symptom of post-traumatic stress to those who did not.” (BJM)
TIME & UNCERTAINTY: Why Startups Don’t Bid on Government Contracts (10 min) “If the government can lower the barriers to entry at all stages of the procurement process, that will go a long way toward counteracting one respondent’s characterization of how government procurement currently works: “slow, designed to favor a preselected winner, and looking for a specific answer.” If the government seeks out startups, search costs can be partially shifted from the startups to the government. If startups begin to view the bidding process as a learning opportunity through which all bidders receive value, then the bidding process will move away from the current winner-take-all model, which has a large risk that is more easily borne by established incumbents. And if contracting costs can be lowered through simplification, then startups will be more willing to pursue government contracts. By applying private-sector lessons to the public sector, the government can more fully enjoy the creative destruction that startups provide.” (BJM)
Remarks Complete. Nothing Follows.
KS Anthony (KSA) & Brady Moore (BJM)