You know how music is the ultimate memory trigger? How when x song comes on and all of a sudden you can visualise a scene in its entirety. How you can remember, re-feel the emotions of the moment?

This came upon me tonight while listening to some Tom Petty. I won't back down to be specific. Tom Petty was and has always been a favourite of mine and his music just seems to be a trigger for memory.

When I found this particular album I was in the middle of Basic Training for the CF. I'd picked it up from the Can-Ex. Astute readers will notice the parallel regarding the songs title and the trials that I was undergoing at the time.

I am not a physical person . . . I've never been a sports type, although I love playing football and riding my bike (both motocross and pedal). Basic training was a difficult time for me. I could get by with the reduction of self (although my folks still have a letter from the lowest point and it is telling of my mental state). I had problems with the physical aspect and ended up being re-coursed. I spent four weeks in the wussy ward waiting for my second chance and a tendon to heal. It was during that break that I picked up the tape.

Flash forward five weeks after being returned to the system.

We're on a bus, we've just finished our week in the field enduring numerous drills and late night simulated firefights (remember, keep one eye closed, and GOD DAMN count your rounds!) We know what's next, we've been told by the ten-weekers ages ago. We've seen the hobbled in sick bay.

After the week in the field we don't get a ride back to base . . . we get a ride to the drop-off. What follows is a ten mile run with full kit back to the base.

After ten weeks of training, ten miles is a non-event. Without kit we'd already done it. Not an issue. There is a difference though between shorts, runners and a tee compared to boots, combats, pack and an FNC1 rifle. About thirty or forty extra pounds all told.

Amazing country, the fields of West Nova Scotia. If it hadn't been for all the trees I might have been homesick. Lots of cows and, I think, alfalfa. For the runners reading this, you'll know.

The runners will know how your mind just kind of goes into background. You see and hear everything, but you don't recognise it, you're on auto-pilot. One step, another, another. The rhythm of the platoon starts with thud . . . thud . . . thud . . . thud as everyone gets into the time that has been drilled in over the last ten weeks.

That time begins to lose it's hypnosis at the half way point.

People started lagging. To my continuing surprise, I wasn't one of them. Yes I hurt, my lungs ached, I could feel the blister at the base on my right big toe. My arms screamed for release from the rifle, but I didn't stop running with the platoon in my place.

7 miles down or so and then we strung out. The frustration of the Master Corporal was evident.

So I and a few others began to drop back. At first we simply harangued my slower teammates, berating them on to a faster pace. It's amazing what a bit of yelling and screaming will do. When that began to fail, we helped.

This really got the ire of the Master.

He dropped back, running while smoking a cigarette. He interrogated the first person he came to.

In a loud . . . incredibly loud, voice about five inches from the scape-goats face, "What the bleeping bleeping bleep are you bleeping doing? Is that your bleeping bleeping bleep rifle?"

Equally loud, "No Master Corporal! I'm helping the platoon!"

The Master ran back to the head of the formation.

You see, in the military, you are never judged on your own accomplishments. You are judged on the accomplishments of everyone.

Anyway, one of the songs that played on the bus radio during the ride to the beginning of the run was Tom Petty's "I won't back down."

That's a lesson that I'll never, ever forget.

Cheers,
lance

Posted at: 22:50 | Comments (3) | [misc] | G