Secretary of War: Demanding High Standards Isn’t Toxic – It’s Leadership

Active duty didn’t tolerate that. We had NCOs on our backs ten hours a day; it was almost impossible to get soft. But the Guard was different. By the time I rejoined the Washington State Army National Guard, things had improved – especially with JBLM nearby, but there were still too many troops out of regs. Now I was the NCO. Time for the old-school approach? “Stop stuffing donuts in your crumb catcher and go burn a damn calorie!” But barking wasn’t going to work. These soldiers weren’t lazy – they were juggling civilian lives, jobs, families, and fast food. They didn’t have the time, tools, or guidance. I started slipping too… still within standards, but far from my prime. Then came the wake-up call: I had the crazy opportunity to run with the big dogs. Some would call it opportunity; others, being thrown to the wolves. Suddenly, I found myself attached to the 19th Special Forces Group – and SF standards were brutal: 80 push-ups, 80 sit-ups, a 14-minute two-mile, a 12-mile ruck in 2.5 hours, and to put a cherry on that crap-cake, six pull-ups from the dead hang. My first PT test with them was humbling: strong on push-ups, average on sit-ups, and a 16-minute two-mile. Then came a 12-mile ruck – 45 pounds, under 2.5 hours for SF standards. I made it, but by the skin of my teeth. Next, an obstacle course that chewed me up. Then they took me to the pool to finish me off. Wrong answer. Hulk Smash! Put me in the water, and I’m still fast, boys. But afterward, they pulled me aside. “Look,” they said. “We like you. But now you know what SF standards are. You can either do it or you can’t. You’ve got two months to meet them or you’re out.” No excuses. No ego. Just a line in the sand. One Bite at a Time That hit me like a sledgehammer. I’d been preaching standards for years, but now I was the one coming up short. So I went back home. I did what my dad taught me decades ago in the pool: break it down. Practice doesn’t make perfect – perfect practice makes perfect. My living room and the street in front of my house became my gym. I faced the same challenges every Guard member knows – civilian job, wife, kids, a life outside the uniform. The juggling act was real, but this time I was the clown. So I picked a number. How many was I willing to commit to every time? Every time I walked into the kitchen – 25 four-count sit-ups. The cabinets made perfect foot anchors, and that four-count trick doubled the work to 50 reps without overthinking it. Every bathroom visit meant 25 four-count push-ups – another 50. Yes… I washed my hands, sicko! Every pass under the pull-up bar in the hallway meant ten dead-hang pull-ups. Easy. Repeatable. Suddenly, I was logging 300 quality reps a day. The runs and rucks were tougher, but I attacked them with the same logic. I did the math: a mile is 5,280 feet. Two miles, 10,560. Divide that by 14 minutes – 755 feet per minute. So I grabbed a measuring wheel, marked 755 feet from my front step, and started running that distance on the minute. Out, back, rest, repeat. Seven miles a day, one minute at a time. As I got stronger, I didn’t run faster; I just took away the breaks. Down, back, down, back, then rest. The rule was simple: no break until the marks, and maintain exact one-minute intervals. Once a week, I tested myself with a two-mile run at that pace. At first, I couldn’t hold it. When I started to fall behind, I didn’t “just do my best.” That’s where most people go wrong. I’d stop, walk, and reset – teaching my body the difference between race pace and recovery pace. Within two months, my two-mile time dropped from 16 minutes to 13:28. Not only did I meet the SF standard, I earned the Army Physical Fitness patch. That experience taught me something important: with structure and consistency, anyone can meet the standard. You just have to take it one bite at a time. That lesson carried over when one of my specialists got flagged for failing his PT test. His two-mile run was over 20 minutes. I told him, “Pace out 530 feet. That’s your minute mark. Run it back and forth. Rest where you need to, but hit your marks.” He passed his test. Proud day for him, and a reminder to me that it’s never about punishment. It’s about leading from the front and showing people the way forward. But he was still overweight, so we took a trip to the grocery store. “What’s your favorite ice cream?” I asked. “Chocolate.” “Solid answer.” We grabbed a carton of Breyers chocolate and checked the label – 23 carbs per serving, minus one for fiber. So, 22 net carbs. “It’s obvious that if you ate nothing but ice cream, you’d be big as hell, right?” “Absolutely.” “Alright. Keep that number in your head.” Then we shopped for his normal stuff. Oatmeal – 23 carbs. “That’s one bowl of ice cream,” I told him. Monster Energy Drink – 27 carbs per serving, three servings per can. “That’s three and a half bowls of ice cream right there. And that’s before breakfast.” He started to get it. “From now on,” I said, “everything you buy, look at it in terms of how many bowls of ice cream it equals in carbs. Subtract fiber – that’s free. But carbs are the enemy, not fat. Meat, cheese, eggs, mayo, mustard, lettuce… those are your friends. Fat isn’t perfect, and you don’t want to go out of your way to chow it down, but carbs are what wreck you.” I told him, “Don’t get twisted around the axle about this. Just do the math. Make smart swaps to reduce your carb intake.” And for God’s sake – stop stuffing donuts in your crumb catcher!” He laughed. But then he did it – and the weight came off. That’s when I knew I was onto something bigger than just my own comeback. This wasn’t about vanity or punishment. It was about reclaiming pride in the uniform – one soldier, one standard, one bite at a time. As we transition into this new era for the military, one that – politics aside – has been a long time coming – I encourage leaders to lead from the front. Show your troops how to be all they can be, rather than just kicking them out. My life was saved once by an officer who saw more in me than I did. Maybe you had a similar experience. Now it’s our turn. High standards aren’t toxic – they’re the cure.