I graduated from the Naval Academy with Nine Hundred and ’01 of my rock star classmates ten years ago today. Growing up I never wanted to be in the military. But at the insistence of my eldest uncle, the lone Jarhead in my family, I visited Annapolis on my college tour just to shut him up. Then it was all over for me.
I fell in love. The deepest, purest, most unconditional love – with the Naval Academy. Annapolis is among the most amazing cities in the country. And the Yard is deceivingly beautiful. The Academy, steeped in tradition, honor and camaraderie, is physically, mentally and emotionally challenging. Ridiculously hard to get into. Free. And (at the time) 87% male. During my visit, there were ruggedly good-looking men everywhere. Men playing lacrosse. Men running around The Yard. Men in uniforms that showcased their broad shoulders, washboard abs and perfectly shaped gluteus maximuses. Smart, ambitious men who would grow up to be generals, senators, astronauts… and investment bankers. This may come as a surprise, but the 87:13 ratio did factor into my decision making process.
I came home from my college tour singularly focused. I was going to get into the Naval Academy and I wouldn’t let anything stand in my way. To remind myself of this, I took a permanent marker and wrote U S N A in large print on my bedroom wall. Yes, I have been bat-shit crazy my entire life.
4 Years by the Bay
You will never believe or begin to fathom the atrocities that a Plebe endures. So I will just say that it’s worse than prison. It’s worse than tasting donkey sweat every day for the rest of your life. It’s worse than getting bit by a monkey, catching the plague and bleeding out of your eyes until the moment of your ill-timed death. To summarize in terms John Paul Jones would use, in a word being a plebe is horrible, unfathomable and inhumane.
After you’ve been a plebe, everything else seems easy. But the truth is, I was always a bad midshipman. I either laughed or cried whenever I was yelled at; neither response was tolerated. I broke every rule. I was a horrible runner. I was goofy, a dreamer, stubborn and worst of all, liberal. I stood out in every possible way. Despite my personal hardships, I knew every midshipman was suffering with me. There were days of tiny victories: spontaneous pep rallies in T-Court, splashdowns on 6-4, Chili con carne and Cannonballs with hard sauce for noon meal.
Shared pain unites every Naval Academy graduate. But it was so much more than that. We learned how to be selfless on the most basic human level, knowing that in time some of us would give the ultimate sacrifice for our country. We shared bonds of patriotism that were infectious: America. Fuck yeah! And we leaned on each other to survive.
Apple Juice. Orange Juice. Assorted Cereal. Fresh Fruit.
Ten years. It goes so quickly. I’m gearing up for my reunion in September where I, along with 4 of my lucky classmates, will become Flip Cup Champions. Yes, it’s true that I have no idea what Flip Cup is, but if you know me, you know that will not stop me from winning. Just sayin.
Really, I am excited to be around people who get it. My classmates know what if feels like to be in the middle of a deep sleep and woken by the sound of a clanking metal trashcan in front of your door. It feels like Armageddon. They know the pure joy of a 1MC announcement cancelling drill due to rain. It feels like the greatest moment of your life. And they know what it feels like to throw their covers in the air in front of the President of the United States and become commissioned officers. It feels… most favorable.
Here’s to you, mighty class of Aught One. We started together. We finished together.
Wednesday, May 25, 2011
Friday, May 20, 2011
IT'S LIKE COCAINE... FOR POOR PEOPLE
In the past, my idea of carb loading was adding extra syrup and butter to my waffles. And maybe some whipped cream. I can’t say that I’ve been particularly discerning about the food I eat, though I have recently turned over a new leaf (more on that in a later blog). But there are two things I am a snob about (as if this makes up for eating ice cream by the pint). I don’t eat fast food. And I don’t consume caffeine. I don’t drink coffee in the morning and I think soda is 50% of what is wrong with America.
I went to an early dinner with a friend last night. She is my trainer and also one of the healthiest people I know. So when she ordered a coke it immediately became the greatest idea in the world. I felt a pang of guilt ordering the forbidden fruit. But it felt like a naughty treat and it made every sip taste so much better.
My coke was a bottomless glass. Honestly, what can possibly be better than free refills? I sipped through my straw like a lost man who stumbled out of the desert into a fresh spring. The crisp sweet carbonation rolled onto my tongue and soothed all my senses. Lord, is this what heaven tastes like?
Later that evening I went to the gym and had my best workout since my Half Ironman in NOLA. I was pushing myself and my body was listening. For the first time in a month I felt like a genuine badass. Two and a half hours of pure awesomeness.
I hadn’t made the connection yet.
I got home, did some laundry and jumped in the shower. This is usually when I start to wind down. But I felt like I could still go out and run five miles. I looked at my hands and they were shaking. It was 11:30 at night so scrubbing my bathroom with military precision seemed like the right thing to do.
I have a beautiful shower. It is tiled with a glass door. I am a clean person, but I hate cleaning my shower. Not last night… I felt euphoria. Cleaning! Lord, is this what heaven feels like?
45 minutes of scrubbing later, my bathroom was ready to pass any white or black gloved inspection. But the rest of my house was already clean and I was still on fire. I went down to my basement to change out the laundry and started sprinting in place like “She’s a Maniac,” from Flashdance. It occurred to me that this is not what heaven feels like, but perhaps instead, cocaine. Bobby, Whitney, I get it. I’m not mad at you.
I want to say that I crashed and had a great deep sleep. But I turned on Ocean’s 11 and set my sleep timer. I followed along to every word and heard the TV click off 30 minutes later. My thoughts still raced. It’s not supposed to happen like that. The little sleep I was able to get turned me into an unsuccessful bank robber in cahoots with Matt Damon and George Clooney (not all together that bad). But I woke this morning with a headache, my body no doubt craving its new elixir. The idea of running two miles, let alone five seemed like a horribly unnatural idea. And Bobby and Whitney seemed once again a tragic prequel to The Legend of Charlie Sheen. *Losing.*
So what I know is that last night was amazing. But to be able to replicate that feeling will require me to completely abstain from caffeine for months so that my body will continue to react like crack to this wonderful over-the-counter drug. This just confirms what I’ve known all along. I am destined to be a superstar. And I will be much better at my recreational caffeine use because I am in control of my own body. And I can quit any time.
I went to an early dinner with a friend last night. She is my trainer and also one of the healthiest people I know. So when she ordered a coke it immediately became the greatest idea in the world. I felt a pang of guilt ordering the forbidden fruit. But it felt like a naughty treat and it made every sip taste so much better.
My coke was a bottomless glass. Honestly, what can possibly be better than free refills? I sipped through my straw like a lost man who stumbled out of the desert into a fresh spring. The crisp sweet carbonation rolled onto my tongue and soothed all my senses. Lord, is this what heaven tastes like?
Later that evening I went to the gym and had my best workout since my Half Ironman in NOLA. I was pushing myself and my body was listening. For the first time in a month I felt like a genuine badass. Two and a half hours of pure awesomeness.
I hadn’t made the connection yet.
I got home, did some laundry and jumped in the shower. This is usually when I start to wind down. But I felt like I could still go out and run five miles. I looked at my hands and they were shaking. It was 11:30 at night so scrubbing my bathroom with military precision seemed like the right thing to do.
I have a beautiful shower. It is tiled with a glass door. I am a clean person, but I hate cleaning my shower. Not last night… I felt euphoria. Cleaning! Lord, is this what heaven feels like?
45 minutes of scrubbing later, my bathroom was ready to pass any white or black gloved inspection. But the rest of my house was already clean and I was still on fire. I went down to my basement to change out the laundry and started sprinting in place like “She’s a Maniac,” from Flashdance. It occurred to me that this is not what heaven feels like, but perhaps instead, cocaine. Bobby, Whitney, I get it. I’m not mad at you.
I want to say that I crashed and had a great deep sleep. But I turned on Ocean’s 11 and set my sleep timer. I followed along to every word and heard the TV click off 30 minutes later. My thoughts still raced. It’s not supposed to happen like that. The little sleep I was able to get turned me into an unsuccessful bank robber in cahoots with Matt Damon and George Clooney (not all together that bad). But I woke this morning with a headache, my body no doubt craving its new elixir. The idea of running two miles, let alone five seemed like a horribly unnatural idea. And Bobby and Whitney seemed once again a tragic prequel to The Legend of Charlie Sheen. *Losing.*
So what I know is that last night was amazing. But to be able to replicate that feeling will require me to completely abstain from caffeine for months so that my body will continue to react like crack to this wonderful over-the-counter drug. This just confirms what I’ve known all along. I am destined to be a superstar. And I will be much better at my recreational caffeine use because I am in control of my own body. And I can quit any time.
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