“That’s it for the warm-up Kevin, ready to begin?”
I nodded and followed Will to a corner of the gym.
“Here’s how it goes, I will perform the exercise, you follow. We get through a circuit, then we go through it again in stations without rest, thirty seconds each station, just watch for my movement, you’ll know when to switch. There’s just one rule, don’t fall behind.”
Will began with a straight barbell with maybe sixty or seventy pounds. He pressed the weight overhead for fifteen reps and moved on. Next was a squat movement while holding one of the handle bar weights which he called a kettlebell. When he popped up, he would swing the weight from between his legs to almost overhead and let it drop, squatting, starting the movement over.
Next was push-ups performed between gymnast rings which were suspended from the ceiling to hang about waist high. He followed that with box-jumps, then pull-ups, then weighted rotations from ground to shoulder height.
At the end of this he was breathing just hard enough for me to hear it but no harder. He talked as if he taken a brisk walk instead of this death march.
“Keep pushing, Anderson,” he said through his own efforts.
I was falling behind in rep range, again feeling slight irritation at my lack of speed and stamina compared to his. He must have been at least thirty years older than I and he was kicking my ass. I pushed harder, grunting with the added strain of all out determination. Still my repetitions came much slower than his, and he was not disguising his distaste.
“I know it hurts, Kevin. Many things about this training are going to hurt. What you need to realize right now is none of that matters. There’s a job to do so you do it, understand?”
I was on the verge of puking and was only capable of nodding. By the end of my first circuit I wanted to collapse.
Will looked at me and laughed in the way someone does when they know you’ve just eaten something unsavory.
“There’s one,” he said never losing the grin. “Now you know what you’re doing so let’s cut the bullshit and put forth some effort.”
Will turned away and started over. This time he was pumping along like a maniac, forcing the weights this way and that as if they were merely toys. I didn’t ask how many would follow; I really didn’t want to know. We ran the course three more times, each subsequent go Will would encourage me with kindness.
“Did you do any physical training at all during your months of basic? Was I wrong about you Anderson? I can get you a tissue Anderson, I mean if you want to just stop altogether and have a good cry about it.” And so on . . .
I believed it was over when he said time. I was wrong.
“Over here ladybug.”
Another motivational name given to pump my weakened spirit.
“This will truly test your metal state. I mean, so far your efforts have been top shelf, so I would expect nothing less here.” The tone was perfect sarcasm. Some shit Peter would have said after running the obstacle course in junior high. I would have laughed if I had the energy.
Will attached a length of tubing around my waist which was affixed to two lengths of surgical tubing which in turn were attached to the wall behind me.
“You run, Kevin. Run like your ass is on fire and the whole room is catching. You’ve got enough give here to make it thirty yards. You’ll need to stretch it to forty to reach that tire. Each time out you must touch the tire. Ten sprints, no rest.”
Will barked, “Move!” and I was off. He was out of his mind. The tubing would stretch to thirty-five, maybe thirty-six yards, nothing close to forty. That fucking tire might as well have been on the other side of the moon because I was not getting to it.
At the tenth sprint I fell to my knees and vomited what was left of my morning meal.
More kindness followed, “There you go, princess, you let the bad stuff go, Ol’ Will knows how you feel. No shame in leaving morning chow on the floor.”
I spat, the bile and acid lining my dry mouth hung to my lips. “Motherfucker,” I breathed to myself.
“What’s that, Anderson?”
“What’s next, Will?” My attitude was as sour as the inside of my mouth.
Will let out a shout and a chuckle, “Now I’m Will. The formalities have been washed away from your squeaky clean soul, have they, son? Shit, perhaps next go round I’ll be dirty cocksucker, or that black sonofabitch, huh baby?”
Will was out of his mind I was sure.
Will walked me to another corner of the dungeon. Three bags of various dimensions were held in a line, two suspended, one was prone.
“I saved the best for last, Anderson. Judging by the way you handled yourself in the shitter the other day, fighting is something strange and new to you, so before we start, I’ll show you a few things.”
It took all the patience I had left not to attack him right then. Exhaustion mixed with intense physical pain will do that to a person. He was trying me that was all, seeing where the fault line ran along my psyche, what button pushed would reveal the weakest point. The heat flashed briefly and left me. I was too smart to fall for that ploy. I would maintain bearing and see this torture through.
Will pointed to the first bag, “Basic heavy bag. We’ll drill this with straight jabs, hooks, elbows, forearms, and knee strikes.”
Will applied each strike to the bag as he spoke. His fluidity was impressive and whatever daydream I had had about wanting to punch his sarcastic mouth dissipated.
“Second bag, the man bag, is for focused strikes. You have a head and torso just like a man here, work the strikes necessary to incapacitate an opponent. We all breathe and see the same way.”
Will was still talking; however, I was back in that dirt floored barn, my grandfather showing me the ropes, explaining the very same principals. I felt his presence among us just then.
“Anderson! Son, are you with me here?”
I said that I was.
“Good, nice to have you back, last you have the hundred pound bitch. You’ll notice there are no strings attached.” Will pointed to the long solid bag like a model on the Price is Right, “I call her the bitch because you’re going to get to know her intimately, and soon enough she’ll be just like the wives most other Marines have, a heavy nagging pain in the ass.”
Will looked to the first bag and with an open hand extended the way, “Three minutes on the first, two minutes on the second, and one minute on the last. And when you arrive at the bitch and all of your hope is gone, I’m looking for what’s left. Not what you think you have son, what I think you have. We clear?”
“Yes, Will, we’re clear.” I wasn’t sure what he was hoping for. I had already left breakfast in another corner of the room.
I began with straight jabs, and in the beginning the pain was tolerable. My shoulders and back were on fire from the exertion. Two minutes later when I was required to mix it up with knee strikes and elbows, my lungs burned hot and cried their very own siren song. Will was chattering as I carried on, “The samurai believed everyday would be their last. The Spartans believed death a glorious thing, to give until you had no more and then give that, your imagination will get you killed. Thinking you may die, allowing yourself to feel pain; a coward’s pitiful attempt at saving themselves instead of finishing the job will kill you quicker than any enemy’s blade.”
I had moved to the second bag, the one with a face. I had so little left already, I pictured Will in the rubber faces place and continued.
“You have to let it all go, son, every day, every time out of the gate, let it go. It won’t matter when you’ve already accepted death.
Understand we’re all already dead. Every day that passes, you are dying. So let it go. No pain, no future, no past, nothing exists but right now, nothing but the job at hand.”
The bitch was what was at hand, and I looked to Will for some guidance. My hands were firmly upon my knees, the bile surging to the top of my throat.
“Pick her up, son, pick her up and slam her dow
n.”
The words became my mantra. “Let it go” played in my head like an advertising jingle. I left it all on the bitch that morning, wrenching the bag up off the floor with a bear hug and slamming her down to the deck and doing it again and again until Will told me to mount. Once on top of the bitch I let fly, or rather dangle at this point, my forearm strikes to her unyielding surface. I had nothing left but contempt. My anger, passion, desire, drive, were all lost in that corner of the gym floor. I wasn’t capable of speech because I had no breath, no rational thought because my mind was grayish oozing paste. I was surprised to find I didn’t care, probably because I’d lost that capability.
My eyes focused on his face. He was saying something. His mouth was moving after all, but I just wasn’t making it out. He pulled me upward and I resisted only with the minimal force left in me to collapse. He was still talking, and my ears allowed the distraction.
“Walk with me, son. You did good, real good, let’s walk now, boy.”
We, he, was walking for us. I was along for the ride. My feet found stride within the first what? Ten, twenty steps? Who knew?
“C’mon Anderson you with me now?”
“Holy shit Will.” It was the first words I remember saying.
“Good Liberty, son, you were going on like a test monkey over there. You back with it now?”
“I am, Will.” I think I smiled then because Will smiled back.
“That’s enough for today, boy, that’s enough for today.”
I woke up sore. I blinked and turned my head from side to side. The room was dark. I fumbled for the light, found it on the second or third pass, and switched it on. My body was twitching in various spots. What had Will said about dehydration? There was a note taped to my door. It read, “DRINK” followed by, “Come to the kitchen after you’ve read this.” I opened the small refrigerator, grabbed two bottles of water, and downed them one after the other. I didn’t feel queasy until halfway through the second one.
I located Will hard at work slicing and dicing vegetables. He didn’t turn around when I entered, just spoke ahead to the space in front of him. “The prodigal son returns. How was the nap? You drink as instructed?”
“Two bottles upon waking sir.”
Will grinned as he transferred the mushrooms, peppers, and zucchini to the waiting skillet. Will always wore some form of grin or smile; it was a good quality in one so intimidating.
“You like fish?”
“Uh, sure” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d had fish outside of a fish stick.
“Good thing. You need to cut out the red meat and get on board with the vegetables, fish, and chicken. And I don’t mean KFC extra crispy.”
“Yes sir.”
I could smell the chopped vegetables begin to sizzle; my stomach groaned with hunger.
“You always that delicate? I mean your stomach?”
I felt shame immediately, followed closely by that simple desire to yell, “Fuck off.” I answered only after a decent sized pause.
“I apologize for my earlier lack of bearing, I--
Will cut me off, a bigger than average grin replacing the serious grimace he had worn for the slight.
“Just screwing with you Anderson, that workout should have required a defibulator and several paramedics. You did well, a real solid first go. I’m proud of your efforts.”
I breathed out, the shame fading and relaxation finding my shoulders. “Thank you, sir.”
“Grab the big pot there and dish out a large helping of rice for both of us.”
I was not surprised to find the rice was of the brown variety. Will brought the rest of the meal to the table. After putting everything down, he slid one of the Salmon filets onto his plate, then placed the other on mine. It smelled less fishy than I would have imagined.
“A light teriyaki glaze, it takes away some of the natural fish qualities.” Will provided emphasis to the word “fish.”
Will began eating without any formal interlude. He was taking good size bites of fish and rice as he spoke, “Let me give you the breakdown of the next couple weeks. We will continue on the path of hardening your disposition. Mental toughness is just as important as physical aptitude, in many cases more so. You’re in good shape, and fortunately that will help expedite the process. I wasn’t sure how much of our initial time together would be solely physical training. I’m very pleased at what I saw today. Like I said, a couple more weeks of blow outs like today and we will move on to the rest of your training.”
Will put his fork down alongside his plate, leaned back, and exhaled, “It’s a bad habit from the field, eating too fast, really screws with digestion. Now that I’m retired, I try with much effort to slow it down. Still, in this place, explaining the times to come.” He cocked his head to the side and made a slight smack with his lips,
“The excitement takes me back, might as well be running through a jungle with one bullet left and twenty rice cookers chasing me.”
I hadn’t touched my food yet, I wanted to hear everything Will was saying. He caught on, encouraged me to eat and remained quiet until the meal was finished.
“You do like fish, excellent.”
“It was really good, sir.”
“Glad to hear it, seeing we have a few more meals to share before our time is over. What‘s your favorite dessert?”
I answered without hesitation “Chocolate ice cream.” I hadn’t had it since coming to this place; I salivated at the thought.
“Not anymore.”
“Sir?”
“Shit makes you soft, son. All of it, pies, cakes, ice cream, shit is poison. Sugar and fat, you don’t need either. The body needs what it needs. Good shit in, good shit out, and all that. You think these meals we share are in an effort to convince you I have a softer side? Perhaps confess to you one day in a moment of weakness I still wet the bed when there’s thunder in the air?”
“Do you, sir?” It was the first funny line I had delivered since being in his company. Will thought so too gauging by his expression.
“No, son, I don’t. I’m teaching you to survive, to burn cleanly. You’re going to be tasked with some crazy shit. Your system needs to be rolling on frequency tuned greased rails, get me?”
Will turned and turned back, an apple was in the air between us, I having no idea where it came from.
“That’s dessert. If you’re still hungry, smear a teaspoon of peanut butter on it.”
“Wow, thank you Will.” My sarcasm wasn’t lost on him.
“Now were getting it, like a couple of human beings exchanging thoughts and ideas, instead of one highly evolved human and his wonder chimp.”
I ate the apple and Will talked. He was a good speaker, engaging, articulate, even when making gross references. He was easy to be around, not at all like any of the D.I’s I had experienced. I was thankful for the opportunity to learn from him. The following day passed in the classroom, literally, a classroom. Will believed in letting the body heal. He said breaking it down over and over without recovery time left you weak. We sat across from one another, he teaching, me listening and taking notes.
It was unlike any class offered in high school, or any school for that matter. He was going over anatomy and wound ballistics. He had a full body reference chart, similar to those found in medical school, along with photographs of various wounds, both entry and exit. He had begun with blunt force trauma, moved on to edged weapons, and sewed it up cleanly with small caliber bullet wounds. It was fascinating. So many ways to hurt people, kill them. We are fragile creatures, I supposed that was part of the lesson. Will dispelled the myth of the quiet throat slash, where the assassin swoops in and runs a sharp blade across his victim’s throat to stealthily gain entry on a vantage point. Will described it briefly, then aired a short video of horror, the kind which I never knew existed. The piece was grainy and shaky, as if the cameraman was either too scared, or too excited to hold the camera still. One man, beaten and crying, tied to a chair, two m
en beside and just to the rear of him. It was bizarre and surreal, and I couldn’t peel my eyes away. One of the men pulled a pistol from his waistline and pointed it at the man’s head. The man was sobbing, pleading for his life.
The second man acted so quickly I all but missed it. I was so focused on the gunman. In one fluid motion, the other brought a knife forth and ran it in a deep horizontal line across the begging man’s throat. I was unsure what had happened until the sound came, and the blood. It was as horrifying as it was shocking.
The sound of air escaping that freshly opened void, as the man continued to cry out for the life which was rapidly passing. I felt my blood turn cold then, felt my face flush and anger sweep over me in an intense fold.
Will stopped the tape, “That’s why we don’t do that. I shouldn’t say don’t. We prefer not to. If you’re in a life and death struggle and the other guy also has a knife and that’s the target you have, then yes, you do it, but if there is another option, take it. Clear?”
I had questions. “Will, where is that from? What did that guy do to deserve that?”
“What I show you here is strictly for your education. They’re not docudramas to ponder over the who’s and why’s. Okay?”
Will’s face was stern, so I knew better than to ask further questions, “Yes, sir.”
Will continued on, waxing poetically about what it really takes to break a neck, a leg, an arm, and so on.
Will pushed his chair aside and asked me to stand. I faced him, noted we were roughly the same height. “How would you break my neck from there?” Will asked as if requesting the time from a stranger. I answered that I didn’t know. “C’mon, son, you’ve seen it in movies, right? Just grab my head on either side and give it a good twist, right?”
I smirked and replied, “I’m guessing not?”
“No. The head has a remarkable range of motion. Go ahead if you don’t believe me, take my head into your hands and turn it either way you like.
I’m still reasonably limber, might even be able to see the crack of my own ass with your assistance.”
OBLIGATION Page 12