The Army-Personal Narrative

I’m three miles in on a four-mile morning training run along the sandy Southern Californian coastline. I can’t breathe, and all I see is the ground an inch in front of my face. My Drill Sergeant’s booming voice jolts me back into my senses. I push myself up as I spit out the mouthful of wet sand between my teeth, and immediately my legs begin propelling me forward. My running buddy, De Guzman, already got 10 or so seconds on me so I lean forward, wipe my face, and keep advancing. For another what feels like an eternity, I feel my arms and legs robotically pumping. My heart is racing, my entire body is shaking, my eyes begin to slowly shut, and then I see it: Lieutenant Colonel McMahon standing by the Academy gates, announcing everyone’s times.