or "I'll have 1/2 Regular Coke, and 1/2 Diet Coke. I'm trying to watch my weight"

The obligatory “fat Soldiers” post. I know you want it. I know you need it. This is my attempt to “chastise into compliance”, safely. We all know that I was crafting this. Subtle, and not so subtle, muffled, and not so muffled, comments verbalized and added to my scratch pad, and overall disgust.

Just recently, I finished reading Lights Out: Sleep, Sugar, and Survival by TS Wiley. A very interesting read, a lot of thought provoking concepts, but overall it just made me concerned (which I suppose is the intended reaction, to initiate action). The military climate is “up before the sun, down far after”. If you can pull down 5-6 hours of sleep, you’re a thief. The ongoing mantra is “sleep is a crutch” and Soldiers constantly catch flack for “laying in their racks” or “flopping out” during down time. Completely counterproductive to peak performance and focus. I understand that a giant gaggle of Soldiers lying on the floor, intertwined in a sea of digital camouflage looks unprofessional, but let’s be real. Forward thinking leaders like to quote some generic ghost Special Forces Soldier with the line “If you are moving you should be kneeling. If you’re kneeling, you should be sitting. If you’re sitting, you should be lying down. And if you’re lying down, you might as well be asleep”. It’s a crock, they never follow through. The stigma of sleeping is embedded deep within the military threadwork. In our group, we work pretty hard…behind a computer…at a desk…inside under fluorescent lights. Bad business.

Partially due to this disrespect for sleep, Soldiers are a mess. Definitely big trouble. As we represent a cross-section of ‘Merica, our forces are sloppy, lack athleticism, and are metabolically deranged.

Don’t worry though; it’s not all frustration and complaints. We are here to attempt to help you.

I really like the idea of the “Soldier/Warrior Athlete”. Service Members have a job that is inherently physical. Even if you’re a desk-jockey, you are more likely to find yourself in a situation where your athleticism will come into play, potentially in a life or death scenario. Plus the ‘Merican public expects us to be fit and look healthy, like we could actually hold our own if it came down to fisticuffs with the bad guys. The public views the military as “young, healthy, and fit” (I think). The military views SF, Rangers, SEALS, Force Recon, and PJ’s as “badass, strong, and unstoppable” (I think). These elite troops view themselves as the best, the average Soldier as weak and brainwashed, and the public as a mess (I think). How do we balance that out? Why can’t a focus be shifted back to our overall health? Not just the minimum standards. More control.

I walk through the dining facility here and I see grown (literally and figuratively) adults creating meals that would make a 10 year old cheer. “On man, you get to eat grilled cheese sandwiches, hot dogs, french fries, soda and ice cream AT EVERY MEAL?! I want to be in the Army. Cool!” Oh, sorry young ‘Merican, you’re too fat and brittle to serve. Get on a diet, start running, and try back later (when either you’ve developed an eating disorder, pumped yourself full of crazy weight loss pills, or in extreme cases had a surgery). Scary sequence, right? Once you get in though, have at it. Soda, Gatorade, Sweet Tea all flows from endless rivers of delicious into your gullet…and your pancreas cries.

You are a professional athlete.
Professional athletes use their bodies to earn a living. Soldiers are professional athletes. Your paycheck not only depends upon your fitness, but so too does your combat performance and survivability
Your body is your primary weapon.
If you are unfit or injured, you are a liability to your unit, not an asset.
- www.militaryathlete.com

Now I don’t claim to be a hardcore, zero defect, and “every Soldier is a rifleman and Warrior first and foremost” type of leader. I understand that there are Soldiers that joined specifically to do their part in a support role, away from the front lines. I do believe, though, that every Soldier should at least attempt to be better than average and take pride in the uniform, and the way you look in it (read: you’re not a fat slob in camo).

The juxtaposition between hard-charging combat troop and post-teenage adultino is never more evident when witnessed in the lobby of a Starbucks. Allow me to attempt to recreate the scene:

“Bro, I’m so glad to be done with that field exercise. If I had to go another day showering with baby wipes and crapping in a cat hole, I’m pretty sure I would have wasted everyone, not just the OPFOR.” “Yeah, I was posted out on perimeter watch the other night and started catching bugs and lizards to chew on to stay awake. That made for some interesting e-tool/trench adventures. Plus I carved my girl’s name into my forearm…and it came out pretty sick.” “I can’t wait for this playtime training to be done, so we can finally get over there and send some real lead downrange. This tour might be my chance for a Universal Soldier ear-necklace.”
Barista: “Good morning, what could I get started for you?”
“Hey, dude, what was that thing you got last time we were here? That was the shit. Oh, right right. I’ll have a venti orange mocha frappuccino.” “ORANGE..MOCHA...FRAPPUCCINOS!”

And then it gets really Don’t Ask Don’t Tell Repeal. These kids (and crusty old salty dudes) are combat hardened, battle worn, 3 or 4 or 5 or 6 trips to Iraq/Afghanistan/wherever and they still think whipped cream and sprinkles is coffee. Much like a teenager showing up at a Superbad house party with a backpack full of Smirnoff Ice or Mike’s. It just seems wrong.

The example set for them isn’t doing much in the way of helping. Each day I witness tubby Soldiers making their way through the soft serve line. Soft and jiggly. Capable of no sort of reflexive maneuvering, short of their spherical-ness bouncing off of the chair or ground (if the chair collapses, obviously). I watch these Soldiers like a hawk, ready to catch them in the beam of shame and raise my eyebrow in an expressive physical shout of “I’m watching. We both know that is a poor idea, don’t we? I’m disappointed in you. You’re decision making privileges are revoked.” Except, they outrank me. Majors and Colonels, all buttered up, strutting around like the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man with extra syrup on their french toast and pancakes and a plate of cake (at lunch or dinner, it’s not that crazy). “If Fatty Arbuckle can make it that high in rank as a gelatinous blob, then what the hell, pass the Bleu Cheese dressing.” Oh, he has a profile. Free pass. Negative, and then I’m the AH.

There is a lot of misinformation out there, and like most good Soldiers, they just go off of what they are told. Red label – Low Performance; Yellow Label – Moderate Performance; Green Label – High Performance, nice. Good attempt Army, but you are still a little off. Still buying into the Low-Fat/No-Fat BS and cramming low quality carbohydrates down Soldiers throats. “It’s cool Sir. I need these (pancake/french toast/syrup) carbs for energy (to sit at a computer desk all day, indoors, under fluorescent lighting)". “Why don’t you get some bacon, at least?” “Oh no Sir, the doc told me my <insert some ailment here> risk was increasing due to my <insert misdiagnosed hormonal or nutrient> levels. I don’t want to have to take any more pills…than the 20 I take already.”

To try and counteract the info put in front of their faces, I try to add little tidbits (of the minimal amounts I think I understand) and it still won’t hit home. “I really want to lose weight/be stronger/be sick less often/feel better/blah blah, but I just can’t give up my <insert gross unnecessary comfort food here>. “OK, well good luck with that. Please tell no one that we spoke…or that you know me at all. Gracias.”

Before my brain explodes, my last request, for those of you who support us at home:

Please don’t send us Halloween candy. No one here needs it. Rather than a “bit of home” how about contributing to our collective health? Try and get over the emotional connection between Candy Corn and dressing up in costumes to run around the neighborhood. I need a Warrior Athlete who can drag my geared-up 220 pounds out of the kill zone and away from a burning vehicle. I’d say 15% of our group could pull that off right now, even with maximal adrenaline. It’s concerning. Let them find comfort in the fact that they can perform when called upon, and look and act the part of a United States Service Member.

Thank you, and goodnight. Most likely, my next post will be from out of the US. International gripes, all over the world.

Be right. K.