Ultimately, I convinced myself that the constant sprint/cruise combination was harder on the body than just maintaining a constant cruise, like an airplane, a car, or pretty much any powered vehicle. I resumed cruise control and abandoned my dash speed intervals. The air grew warmer, and as for the beauty…well, that pretty much lost its luster quickly and entirely as the march went on.

Why was I only just now learning this?

What the hell was I doing showing up to selection without knowing how best my body should negotiate this rough and varied terrain?

Well, mes amis, I came from an assignment in Key West, Florida. The mean altitude above sea level is about three feet. No elevation, no hills, nothing but flat expanses to train on.

It’s said that if the surface area of West Virginia could be flattened out, it would exceed that of the state of Texas. I supported that statement with every atom of my being as I scratched and crawled hand-over-hand up slopes that pointed to the sky and had no end. My rucksack performed its job magnificently, shoving my body flat against the slope at every opportunity.

Forced Walks and Long Talks

In the weeks prior to the long, 40-mile forced march, we practiced the long walk with…long walks. We walked slowly, with cadre who bestowed on us navigation teaching points in terrain association. The cadre-led walks were didactic in nature, yet still long and arduous, and lasted about a week. At regular intervals, the cadre would remind us that the speed we were traveling at was administrative and shouldn’t be confused with the much higher rate of speed that was necessary to successfully complete the course.

At the end of each day, we retreated to the barracks to shower, sleep, and enjoy superb meals at the Camp Dawson Chow Hall. The cooks in the dining facility were no ordinary cooks, they were Delta cooks. Like the operators in The Unit, all direct support and general support personnel are specially selected for their prowess in their craft. On any day, any one of these cooks could get out of the service and start up their own successful restaurant.

A Shout Out to Delta Chefs

Every meal was a feast, thanks largely in part to unit master chef Mike W. The selections were remarkable, and the food was always made from scratch. These men were serious culinary professionals of the highest order; any of them could give a Le Cordon Bleu chef a run for his money. I would have loved to see one of our guys on the reality show “Hell’s Kitchen” kick every other contestant’s ass. I recall a meal where the cook brought out a tray of mashed potatoes to the serving line and held us up while he rendered swirling wave patterns all across the top of the potatoes with a spoon, then sprinkled paprika on top. We were mesmerized.

The following week, we were sent out on our own to practice our navigation skills at full speed. The days were long, and the navigation legs grew longer. Most of us flailed about the countryside, lost, stupid, pissed-off. The class shrank as the boulders, deadfalls, steep slopes, heat, and monotony all began to take their toll.

More to follow in Part 3. Stay tuned.

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Editor’s Note: Let’s all do Geo a solid. Go out and buy his book and visit his website. I promise it’s all good stuff. — GDM