The Foreign Service Journal, February 2006

68 F O R E I G N S E R V I C E J O U R N A L / F E B R U A R Y 2 0 0 6 R EFLECTIONS Exceeding One’s Grasp, Marine-Style B Y W ILLIAM V. R OEBUCK It sounded like such a good idea over a few libations at the Marine House. “Do a little physical training with you guys early in the morning before work? Run through an olive orchard? Sure, I can do that.” I was also comforted (falsely) by the assur- ances of the gunny that “Hey, at PT, we’re only as fast as the slowest guy.” It began to dawn on me on a cold, rainy morning the following week, as I dressed my tired, stiff body, that maybe it was not such a good idea after all. My reservations grew as I climbed into the van full of 20-year-old Marines. We ended up doing PT at Damascus’ Tishreen Stadium. Access doors to the track and field were locked, so we circled up for warm-ups outside the stadium. It is hard to describe what happened next. I heard mention of some “daily sev- ens,” which apparently included a few calisthenics. “No problem,” I told myself. “I was doing jumping jacks before these boys (or maybe even their daddies) could ride tricy- cles.” Fifteen minutes later, I found myself with a distended tongue hang- ing out of my mouth and a severely collapsed lung that was no longer pro- cessing enough oxygen to stop me from wheezing. It turned out that the warm-up laps we did before the first round of exer- cises were at a pace that I normally reserved for my “kick” at the end of a leisurely run. The “daily sevens” revealed themselves to be seven sets of things like side-straddle hops, squat thrusts, “cherry pickers,” “steam engines,” and an insidious assortment of other exercises. One Marine did the cadence, the others did the count, and I puffed and groaned and cheated furiously on the 10 push-ups we were doing between each exercise. As we headed for two laps around the stadi- um, before another set of seven, I heard, “This time we’ll pick up the pace, guys” and saw a Marine go by me like a two-legged deer. I decided to shift into higher gear and show these guys what a former Rocky Mount Senior High School track also- ran was capable of. I quickly discov- ered that the clutch of my leg muscles and the transmission formerly known as my respiratory system were not going to cooperate. It would be nice to report that I eventually found my rhythm and that I began catching up to — and even passing — a few of these young squirts. But that would be skirting the truth by a country mile. I gritted my teeth to get through the ten thou- sand calisthenics, hoping hamstrings wouldn’t snap or bursas burst, as I cursed myself for the foolish mistake of venturing so far out of my age bracket (nearly always a fool’s errand). As I climbed back into the van, it was all high fives and “good job,” but I was absorbed in my private thoughts: “What is the maximum number of Advils a person can take at one time without suffering major organ dam- age?” Yet through the fog of pain and the miserable sense of having been the inspiration for the Allman Brothers ballad, “Tied to the Whipping Post,” I realized that I had enjoyed the crazy outing. (OK, maybe I was suffering from an exercise version of Stock- holm Syndrome.) I appreciated the Marines’ organized drills, the playful wisecracking and their sympathetic individual suggestions that I “take it easy,” “maybe skip a set or two — we do this every day.” But I knew that once they were out of earshot, they probably added “… next time, get yourself a walker before coming out here.” Would I do it again? Probably. I’m sure I wouldn’t hesitate if, as often happened with me, my ambitions became king-sized and the memories of my ancient glory days (such as they were) became hazily magnified, possi- bly by some strategic imbibing at happy hour. As I stepped out of the van, I was reminded of the poet Robert Browning’s famous adage (slightly paraphrased): “A man’s reach should exceed his grasp, or else what’s a Marine Corps push-up for?” n William Roebuck joined the Foreign Service in 1992 and has served in Kingston, Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. He is currently assigned to Damas- cus. The stamp is courtesy of the AAFSW Bookfair “Stamp Corner.”