TL/DR: It’s a story - there is no TL/DR. Edits: broke up into smaller paragraphs.

I’ve always felt that I lucked my way through the army - the right place at the right time. I joined right out of high school on an open Infantry enlistment. I sincerely doubted whether I was good enough to be a soldier. I thought it would really smoke me, but I could run, I was a former high school wrestler and I did just fine. Last day or two, a DS nudged me and a couple of guys into volunteering for Airborne School. Formation runs in airborne school at that time were all the rage, but I was young and healthy, and I can’t say I really felt “smoked” at any time - room inspections were worse than Basic (there was never any rhyme or reason to them, I feel like they were just time fillers), and I got my jumps and graduated.

I didn’t know this, but around this time the army was preparing for the activation of 3rd Batt, the Ranger Regiment was in the near future, and they needed joes - apparently, there were plenty of E5s and above available throughout the army, but not lower enlisted - like I said, right place, right time. I knew nothing about the Rangers/Ranger School. In formation the afternoon before airborne graduation, our black hat 1SG just said, “E4 and below volunteers for Ranger School, fall out”, and from the company maybe 15 to 18 of us did. We got quick instructions from two Ranger NCOs - these guys were both very wiry-muscled and extremely no-nonsense individuals that just seemed in my mind to exist on another level, and I recall thinking that maybe my reach had exceeded my grasp. They put an E4 in charge of us and told us where to report the next day. So, after getting my wings pounded into my chest by SSG (DS) Mitchell - the same DS that nudged me to airborne school - he asked me where I was headed. Told him to Ranger School, and his face lost a bit of color. He wished me luck; I formed up and we boarded a bus to join the other hopefuls at what was then called Red Square (I don’t know if it is still the same). Got smoked for what seemed like hours - pushups, flutter kicks, low crawling in that shitty red Georgia clay. After that, we piled into a building (can’t recall if it was a Quonset hut or an actual building, just remember it had gleaming polished wooden benches). Got a briefing on Ranger Indoctrination Program, and it seemed like every other sentence was “if this doesn’t sound like something for you, feel free to stand up and report outside for processing back to the regular army” - every time, that exact phrase.

RIP was the only training I had where the cadre always told us to quit. We drew our gear next door, got smoked in the pit with all our gear (two duffles and change) and got housed in the old WW2 barracks - the best thing about them was a minimum of cleaning and they were too ratty for inspections. RIP at that time was around 3 weeks - turned into around eight for me because I recycled - missed more than 72 hours of training due to dehydration sickness - which earned me more smoking once I was part of the recycle/holdover pit - in holdover I had to carry a filled five-gallon water can everywhere for a week or so, which I was required to drink from and keep topped off at all times.

In theory, there was no weekend training in RIP, but we were all in the barracks and were fair game for formations, PT, smoke sessions, 5-mile runs, knowledge quizzes, Ranger Creed sound-offs, bunk stacking lifts, so many damn flutter kicks - you name it. RIP was the hardest environment I ever experienced in the Army. Some deployments/schools were more physically or mentally challenging, but RIP was both and at another level - constantly fucked with, yelled at, PT’d, smoked, trained, obstacle coursed, woodchip pitted, memorizing Ranger knowledge, Creed, Rules, Handbook, land naving, patrolling, so many ruck marches, so many 3, 5, 8 and 10-mile runs. Always being encouraged to quit - man, today’s version of me would not have made it. But quitting never crossed my mind, even as a lowly holdover recycled Rippie - I hadn’t experienced the regular army, and I plain didn’t really know any better. Because of my recycle, I “windowed” into staying at Ft. Benning and was assigned to an HHC that was the buildup/holdover unit for the future 3rd Battalion. Being untabbed in any Ranger unit is just not fun - drops were frequent and always meant a default 25 pushups +5 (+1 each for Rangers, Unit, CO, 1SG and the Ranger in the Sky), 10 +5 pull-ups before chow, after chow, before PT, after PT. More PT, more smoke sessions, more Handbook, etc. I built some awesome muscle memory.

Anyways - six weeks later I was sent to Ranger School - a privilege to go as a then PV2. I made it through RAP and Darby and into the mountains - was called a lizard due to my rock-scaling ability, but that sucked because it meant I caught the attention of an RI or two, but I made it through Dahlonega. The first mission in swamp phase, I get hit with the platoon sergeant position, with a new 2LT as platoon leader on an air insertion/ movement to contact. I’m 19 fucking years old, and don’t know shit about air insertions, and neither does the LT. Fortunately, earlier I met some enlisted guys from the 101st and the LT was more than happy to take guidance from them, and the insertion went well (I’ll leave for another post how long leadership positions were in swamp phase compared to Darby and Mountains). I spent the day running my ass off communicating with squad leaders, keeping personnel counts, keeping the movement in formation, etc. That night the RI only said for me to keep my head down and be a good Ranger - took that as a positive sign. Now, those who know the amped feeling of a leadership position in Ranger School, also know that the two things you immediately want to do after getting out of the position is crash and hygene. I couldn’t do either - sleep for obvious reasons but I thought I’d be able to defecate. No dice.

This is where I thought about quitting. It’s like six days later, and I’m really backed up. I’ve been being a solid team player and Ranger Buddy, doing all I can to help, keeping my mood serious but light, and just following orders, not sleeping, taking point when told, taking initiative, not getting lost getting back to the ORP, all the things, but I’m realizing I have a real problem - I haven’t “gone” since the end of mountain phase, and it’s getting damn uncomfortable. I’m drinking tons of water hoping to “unclog”, but it isn’t working. Finally, early the next morning, we roll into a PB, I tell my Ranger Buddy it’s time and, breaking every fucking rule in the book, I run about 50m outside the perimeter, throw down my weapon, unclip the LBE and toss it down, rip down my trousers and bam. I went. First hard but then very messy. Finishing up, I realize my TP packets are stuffed in my first aid pouch on my LBE, which I’ve thrown down. On the ground. In the dark. So what do I do? While in the full squat position, tired and not thinking, I started patting around for my LBE. I pat around a few times and pat right into my messy deposit.

I almost yelled out but didn’t. I stood up, staring, wholly demoralized with a hand full of feces. I finally got my pants up, found my gear, and walked back to the perimeter, almost in tears. To this day, I don’t know why this hit me that hard, but it did. I was done. “Soup fucking sandwich” done. “Literally don’t need this shit” done. Told my Ranger Buddy what happened, and God bless this badass from the 9th INF (a unit I would later serve time in as a green LT), he helped me wash my hand, he dug up some sand to swirl my hand in, told me to hang in there and get tabbed - almost done, nothing like being a battboy, how being a tabbed & scrolled pfc/spc will be the shit, etc. He said all the right things.

It was enough. Got me through Florida, sucked it up in desert phase, and got tabbed. I never saw my Ranger Buddy again (if you remember this post and are on Reddit, PM me), but I’m pretty sure, in those 10 minutes of talking me down and helping me out, he gave me motivation for the next 15 years or so of service. There were many times later in my career when things really sucked, I would think to myself “Well, at least I don’t have a handful of shit”, and I’d suck it up and drive on.