1.  Talk about something that you’ve always wanted to do with your family while they are visiting during Thanksgiving.

2.  Be challenged by your superior, or boss, to “Suck Less” in a private place like the Internet.

3.  Accept said challenge using a classic quote, like this one I used from Ask a Ninja: “Sir, the gauntlet has been thrown.  The gauntlet has been picked up.  Now prepare for me to bludgeon you over the head with the gauntlet.”

4.  Brace self for witty retort.

5.  Get a glass of milk, then write a 3-month crash training plan.

* Note:  Make sure that you know as little as possible about the feat that you are about to attempt, recalling that surprises are the spice of life.  Also recall, only Communists stick to 3-Month Plans, so be sure to throw it out, you Capitalist pig.

6.  With bureaucratically savvy compatriot (Dan Deitrick), write a proposal claiming that you can deliver multiple things you aren’t strictly certain you can.

7.  Listen to either “Remember the Name” by Fort Minor, “Til I Collapse” by Eminem, “I will not Bow” by Breaking Benjamin, or “It’s all about the Pentiums” by Weird Al before every workout, and watch some moto Youtube videos every night before bed.  (I recommend the “how bad do you want it” series)

8.  Twist ankle in as inglorious a manner as possible, like tripping and falling over a nearly invisible object like a massive concrete curb.

9.  Make full recovery, and learn your lesson about remaining healthy during this important period of training.

10.  Dislocate toe in unfortunate schmelting accident.

11.  Have the props you need (bomb suits) to even attempt the records taken away for silly bureaucratic reasons.

12.  Ensure you have an ass-kicking, name-taking perma-optimist (Grant Adkins) who is insane enough to believe he can pull a bomb suit out of his ass.

13.  Gird your loins as you witness said ‘pulling’ out of said ‘ass,’ with only 24 hours to spare.

14.  Get pinned as an Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technician.

15.  Get fired up by friends (Brendan Danner, Joseph Grim, and Jeffrey Thomas).

16.  Run like hell alongside your broskis.  (Jered and Craig Smith, Greg Gerard, J.J. Thomas)  Make sure you listen to their advice for you to run faster.

*Note 2: Never turn down the opportunity to make a speech.  I’ve found that the half-delirious state after blacking out puts me in the perfect state of mind to speak in front of friends, family, family friends, and Commanding Officers.  Throw up that Hail Mary and pray you don’t say something stupid.

17.  Report to Ft. Benning for Army Airborne training.

I figured this would be a more interesting manner of telling our story.  I can hardly believe that we pulled it off, but we did.  From the beginning, this was a team effort, and the only reason it succeeded is because 11-36o-N had the faith.  Faith that we could get [at least passive] approval, faith that we could raise  money, faith that I could run hard and fast.  None of it would have happened if it wasn’t for brothers (and our one sister) of strong faith in one another.  The idea wouldn’t have gone anywhere if it weren’t for someone willing to throw the gauntlet, or others in convincing me I was right to have picked it up.  The whole event would have folded if people didn’t believe, in themselves, in me, but most importantly – if people didn’t believe that this was a cause worth fighting for.  28 February will always stand in my memory as a day on which Determination reigned supreme.

To the Wounded Warriors that are battling on the long road to recovery, we have not forgotten your sacrifice.  We have given great effort in support of it.  We have worked to honor it.

… And we work still …

Maybe here… Class 11-360-N is now made up entirely of Navy Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technicians.  We are crab-wearing members of one of the military’s most elite units.  Is our training over?  Not even close.  Are we content with our acocomplishment?  We have accomplished next to nothing.  This is only the beginning.

Although we have toiled, sweat, studied, and PT-ed away for over a year, our designation has the significance only in that we have been deemed ‘trainable.’  Being pinned with EOD Basic Technician badges is akin to the community’s acceptance of us as competent, intelligent, and cool under fire.  Yet, the standards of OUR community are so high that just to be deemed ‘trainable’ is a remarkable honor.  For each of us as individuals, this will forever rank as among our greatest accomplishments, and we will always identify ourselves as EOD – those proud few that walk towards the bomb, the IED, with Death lurking beside at all times.

Today, we stand ready to serve!  And our first act: set a new Guinness World Record, and donate $14,500 to the Wounded EOD Warrior Foundation.  Help us continue the trend!  We are just warming up.

Speaking of training, it has taken the inevitable backseat to official military training, which is expected and takes precedence, yet puts me in the uncomfortable position of going into the final two weeks before the attempt without having a good idea of where I stand.  My second time trial, two weeks ago, was a frustrating affair.  In normal running, coming out of the gate at an overly ambitious pace leads to a finish in which you feel like you are going to collapse.  In bombsuit running, coming out of the gate at an overly ambitious pace leads to literal collapse.  Sub 2-minute 400′s would be great, if I could hold the pace.  Time Trial #2 demonstrated that this was unlikely.  Still, in this mental challenge, I can’t become caged by numbers, or my own expectations of what I can or cannot do.  Expect to win – CHALLENGE what you think is possible, Glenn.

Everytime I take my eyes from the goal: to support my wounded brethren – I am beset by questions and problems.  There are obstacles everywhere.  Grrrr.  Frustrating… frustrating to hear that my command may not allow me to compete in this at all; frustrating to have so little time to dedicate to training; frustrating to fear my own abilities.  Can I beat the records?  Can I overcome injury?  I have spent many of my few spare moments meditating on the Marianne Williamson quote:  “Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us.”  Is this true?  How will I overcome this fear?  More questions than answers.  My training matrix has been axed, reworked, and then thrown out entirely.  My body has recovered from the shin splints born of weighted sprints during 6-mile runs, a severely twisted ankle, a third-degree burn, and now it must fix this busted toe.  Navy bureaucracy isn’t even sure how to approach my request to allow me to take part in this “high-risk competition.”  Red tape is everywhere, and we duck one piece only to be impeded by another.

Yet, I am unphased.  I didn’t realize that this attempt, meant to raise money and awareness for wounded warriors, would come to challenge me so personally, so extremely, but my eyes are on the prize: 12,479 dollars raised for the Wounded EOD Warrior Foundation.  Obstacles might be everywhere, but they aren’t stopping me, and they aren’t stopping my classmates.  We are going to acheive our goal, whether before the 28th of February or after.  We are going to beat the World Record, whether before the 28th of February or after.  We won’t stop.  We won’t quit.  We are unconquered, INVICTUS, and like all of Explosive Ordnance Disposal, we recognize that we determine whether we succeed or fail.

“[We] are the Masters of our Fates;

[We] are the Captains of our Souls.”

This post is much more egocentric than I intend this blog to be, but I felt as though an update was necessary.  For a much more important update, click here.  There’s a war on, after all.

For one tough group, this has become a bit of a contest, one that involves 85 pounds of protective armor.   The members of the Explosive Ordnance Disposal community usually wear it when working on IED’s meant to kill them, but it has become an instrument of their altruism and competitive drive.  On behalf of the EOD Memorial and Wounded EOD Warrior Foundation, EOD soldiers from the Army, Air Force, Navy and Marine Corps have pushed themselves and their bodies to the limit, running mile in a bomb suit for speed.  First set in Iraq by Navy Lieutenant John Kehoe, the record has fallen from an impressive 10 minutes, 16 seconds, to the so-far unbeatable 8 minutes and 40 seconds.  Along the way, the record has passed through the hands of all four services, and has been utilized to raise thousands of dollars for wounded warriors.

Each time a new record is set, soldiers from the other branches of service sign on for another attempt, all with the hope of earning charity and sponsorship, along with the title “World’s Fastest EOD Tech.”  These challengers fight for a record through much more than just added weight, but the constricted breathing and movement of clumsy, rigid plating.   Training regimens for the record are no small commitment, and have expanded for would-be record holders, from their basic military fitness to 6-month sprinting/lifting/running plans approved by Navy SEALs, worthy of professional athletes, and only carried out by the truly committed.  As these words are being written, EOD soldiers around the world are fighting valiantly to defuse and destroy deadly ordnance, and simultaneously running hard in the hopes of proving once and for all that in every family, one brother is always superlative.

1.  I can beat all standing official and unofficial records.

2.  Beating said records is going to be approximately 42 times harder than I initially anticipated.*

   If you take a look at the record board, EOD Techs are hitting a bit of a wall.  Multiple attempts have occurred after up to 7 months of completed dedicated training, but no one has been able to break the floor of 8:40.  It has become an intimidating number, one that I dwell on in spare moments.  I don’t know whether to focus on it, or flee from it.

One thing is certain: I don’t want to be caged by that number.

     Too many cages these days – not enough can-do.  So first, focus on what can be done.  I need to get out of my head, and set my goal.  Then, write a ridiculous training plan (on top of daily military PT) to get there.  Here’s a taste of this week:

I have a number in my head, and I am on the crazy train[ing] plan to achieve it.

*Running in a bombsuit is hellish.

I believed it then, and I believe it still, and I stand by my pride at being a Naval Academy Grad.

But what I didn’t understand until very recently, was the difference between service and sacrifice.  I’ve noticed that this is something that plagues not only the Junior Officers, but also the Junior Enlisted that I am privileged to work with.  We have the cognitive dissonance associated with being overwhelmingly proud of Serving, while having made little or no Sacrifice to base that passion upon.

As our class has proceeded through EOD training, we have seen the human toll of military operations.  Sacrifice may be a part of the job that we are unfamiliar with personally, however,  we see it everywhere.  How can we be proud when we have done so little next to these champions?  In EOD, it is especially prevalent, signs of serious combat and trauma are unmistakable – twitches and scars that are harder to hide than the emotional burden that goes unnoticed.  How criminal I feel to be proud, when my hardest evolutions have been PT-based sleepless nights, where the greatest danger to my person has been a rolled ankle, or a broken bone!

My understanding culminated when I saw one of my military brethren at the on-base track… a man who gave his leg in the line of duty, a man who, after fighting to stay alive in the minefield that tried to kill him, fought through rehabilitation to get back to his brothers-in-arms.  He has been restored to active duty, and I saw him this afternoon while training.  Standing on a prosthetic leg sporting “Air Force” lettering and an EOD emblem (called “The Crab”), it took a long time for me to muster the gall to speak to him, to let him know what we were trying to do for Wounded EOD Warrior.  Of course, when I did, he humbled me with his forthright assistance.  ”How can I help you, sir?” was his response.  What?!?  ”How can I help you?”  I wanted to say – how can I prove to you that I would go to any length for you?  That I would sacrifice as you have Sacrificed…  But then I remembered.  That is what this bomb suit mile is all about.  Class 11-360-N, and all its members, want to show how committed to serving we are – how committed to sacrifice, however small a bomb suit mile and donation might be.

What I didn’t say to him weighs on me: “Your courage is incredible; you are trying to go back to a place that blew you to pieces.  You inspire me.”  But I think I know what he would respond with: he would probably shrug it off, and say something like, “it’s all for the guy next to you.”  I know this because I’ve heard it every time I’ve ever had the cajones to ask why.

That is true Sacrifice.

We are doing this for you, Staff Sergeant, you and every Wounded EOD Warrior, past, present, and future.  Thank you for your Sacrifice.  Thank you for inspiring us.  Thank you for showing all of us young guys how to give, and how to live.

All you feel is weight – and it is everywhere.  It is kinda like being buried in sand at the beach.  You feel every swing of your arms, every lift of your legs… every single movement.  Muscles you didn’t know you have scream in protest.  Everything is damped and slow, as if underwater.

You are out of breath instantly.  30 feet into the run, and you are over this whole ‘mile’ idea.  “5,250 feet left,” you think, and you start wondering how you are going to finish this.  What World Record?  Not passing out is such a high concern that you forget why you started running to begin with. 

After half a mile passes, everything starts to become simple.  Not the movement, of course, but the world.  Everything outside of gasping as much air as possible fades and is forgotten. 

They call out my half mile split, but the numbers are lost in the tunnels that have become my senses.  All that matters is air.  I get the feeling that I am remembering something forgotten long before, like a punch line to a joke that escaped my memory years ago – some simple truth that I ought to express but can’t. 

I don’t dwell on it, because it’s the last lap of this subconscious hell, and the intensity of the pain is beginning to overwhelm all else.  Run harder, I tell myself, but my body has begun to reclaim control from the manic driver who decided to push this hard.  As I cross the line, I immediately come to a stop and am held up by unknown hands that I cherish with desperation.  I am vaguely aware that I am drunkenly grabbing at my helmet, trying to pull it off despite the strap that I feel keeping it in place.  I can’t stand on my feet without support, until they tell me my time, and adrenaline surges anew!  I didn’t reach my goal, but I am within striking distance. 

          For weeks, it has been a constant nag: “Can I break the record?  Can I really do it?”

The answer after my first Bomb Suit Mile – I am going to do it. 

1.  How do you enter a community of legends?

          The Explosive Ordnance Disposal (EOD) community has been kicking ass and taking names since Draper Kauffman started blowing up obstacles to clear lanes for landing craft in the South Pacific.  Swimming miles towards enemy beaches from dropships, Underwater Demolition Teams (UDT) would, under sniper and artillery fire, map enemy beaches, destroy mines, and set the stage for every amphibious invasion from Normandy to Okinawa.  Soldiers and Marines, landing in combat on hostile beaches, would find signs erected, welcoming them to enemy-held territory.

Explosive Ordnance Disposal has grown and evolved with ever-changing munitions threats, but from Vietnam to Desert Storm to Kosovo to Afghanistan, the bravery and altruism of EOD Technicians has remained steadfast and true.

As a point of order, I’d like to remind anyone who reads this that we are talking about soldiers whose idea of an easy mission is one where all they have to do is walk up to an explosive, figure it out, defuse it, and carry on.  The tough ones are when you have to do that, only under fire, under water, under a ticking clock, or under the extreme stress of clearing a minefield before it kills an entire unit.  Chief Sosa, United States Navy, did all those incredible feats - only all at once… clearing a minefield on his hands and knees… with his bare hands… for over 200 yards… while his military brother was bleeding out next to him.  But no big deal.  A day and a[n earned] Silver Star later, Chief Sosa was back to it, defeating IED’s that terrorists engineer specifically to kill him.

          Or take Gunnery Sergeant “Iron Mike” Burghardt, who realized he was walking into a trap just before it detonated around him.  Rather than diving away, he elected to yell at others to get clear, affording a split second that he didn’t benefit from.  After doing a little flipping and flying courtesy of the high explosives, he got up, refused to be taken away on a stretcher, and let the enemy know that he wasn’t defeated.

GYSGT Burghardt lets al Qaeda know what he thinks of their assassination attempt.

This is the legacy of military EOD.  All four services united against the enemy of all mankind.  If it goes boom, they will defeat it.  If they can’t, then they will die.  “Initial Success or Total Failure” is their guiding light, and they live it every day.  When the wars stop, they don’t.  100 million landmines don’t disappear.  Millions of sea-mines don’t vanish into the abyss.  Up to 21,000 Luftwaffe bombs remain in Great Britain alone, and many tens of thousands more in Germany (including two this weekend).  Combat is just a part of the job for these courageous few - the true enemy lurks in the undying nature of warfare itself.  As long as we fight, we will continue to add to the already unending reserves of explosives.  An Italian historian once said, “to defeat cannons and soldiers, cannons and soldiers are needed.”  Today, whether named so or not, we are at war.  Cannons and soldiers are required, and they serve bravely.  But when the soldiers need to defeat IED’s and ordnance, they call EOD.  Even heroes need heroes.

…So how do you enter a community of total BAMF’s, of living legends?

Not by being meek and timid.

I am Daniel Glenn.  On February 28th, 2012, the 24 members of EOD Class 11-360-N will be pinned as Basic EOD Technicians.  After more than a year of intense training, we have accomplished nothing and owe everything.  We understand that we have everything to prove, and everything to learn.  We intend to make a statement on our graduation: though we know nothing of what we will face, we are ready for the challenge ahead, we want nothing more than to live up to high standards EOD has set–we humbly honor those who have gone before us and pay tribute to heritage and brotherhood.

On February 28th, 2012, EOD Class 11-360-N will attempt to break two world records, and raise more than $10,000 for the Wounded EOD Warrior Foundation.  Whether you are EOD, a soldier, or citizen of the world, we all stand under the shield of these valiant men.  Join us, and be a part of the mission to pay tribute.

Jolly Old Ben Franklin provides our donation hyperlink.

Very respectfully,

Daniel Glenn, Class 11-360-N

V/r,

~Daniel Glenn