Never stop pushing: A “seasoned” soldier’s lesson learned from competing for the GAFPB

Photo By Sgt. 1st Class Charlotte Reavis | CAMP ARIFJAN, Kuwait - Sgt. 1st Class Lisa Rodriguez-Presley, of the 1st Theater Sustainment Command- Operational Command Post, jumps into the deep end of the pool as part of the German Armed Forces Proficiency Badge competition, here, July 9-12. Rodriguez-Presley was the oldest female competitor to complete the GAFPB this July receiving the silver badge. (U. S. Army photo by Staff Sgt. Charlotte Reavis, 143d Sustainment Command (Expeditionary))  

KUWAIT

07.13.2018

Story by Sgt. 1st Class Lisa Rodriguez Presley 

143d Sustainment Command (Expeditionary)

Pushing through the final half mile of the silver level ruck march for the German Armed Forces Proficiency Badge at Camp Arifjan, Kuwait on July 12, I was doing some real soul searching. After all, it was July in the desert and let’s just be honest – it was hot and miserable. As one of the more “seasoned” soldiers competing for the badge, and looking at how physical the challenge is, I’d been questioning myself the entire week, asking “Why am I pushing myself to do this, and what do I have to prove?”
The decision to compete was spur of the moment. I was originally going to be out of the country, but after a last minute travel cancellation, the opportunity presented itself and I decided to take on the challenge. My youngest son, Staff Sgt. Gabriel Wright had just completed the GAFPB three weeks earlier, and in the spirit of our friendly Army mom/Army son competition, I thought to myself, “I’m going show him that mom has still got it!”
For those not familiar with what the competition entails, it’s no walk in the park. Swimming, sprinting, strength, shooting, and endurance events are part of the four-day long competition. Each day is physically and mentally challenging, and as I was so graciously reminded by my son, I’m not one of the “young bucks” anymore. The phone call to deliver the news to him about competing made me think, but didn’t dissuade me.
“So you’re going to do the GAFPB. That’s awesome mom,” he said.
“Thanks,” I replied. “I haven’t trained because I didn’t know that I was going to be here, but I think I’ll be ok. The swim is what seems to get a lot of people and it’s not really much different than what I had to do when I was in Marine Corps boot camp with swimming.”
“Mom, I’m not trying to be mean or anything, but that was like 30 years ago.”
And there it is…
It was nearly 30 years ago, but outside of being a little slower, I don’t really feel that different. The desire to push myself and test my limits is still there and so I acknowledged the truth of his statement, but decided I am not going to allow that to be the excuse for why I can’t do something. I may not be successful, but I’ll trust the process and just keep trying.
Day one was the swim test. Swim 100 meters in your uniform (minus boots and socks) in under four minutes and immediately get out of the pool, go to the deep end, jump back in, remove your uniform and throw it completely out of the pool. Thankfully, I know how to float, so after the swim the uniform part was easy for me, but it wasn’t for everyone.
Watching your fellow soldiers struggle with something is difficult, especially when you can’t help. People came to the pool and supported their troops, cheered and told them to keep pushing. At the end of the day though, not everyone made it.
Day two was the day I knew would be most challenging for me. I am not a sprinter and honestly don’t think I possess a speck of athletic ability, but I have lot of determination. On the other hand, my husband spent much of his life as an elite athlete who sprints with ease and when I conveyed the events to him, he didn’t hold back his concern.
“So you have to sprint,” he said in a troubled tone. “No offense babe, but I’ve seen you sprint. Even when you think you’re sprinting you’re not really moving that fast.”
“I know,” I said. “But all I can do is do my best and we’ll see what happens.”
“Well, whatever happens, know you’re a bada**. Most people wouldn’t even try.”
There were three events – a shuttle sprint, followed by the flexed-arm hang and a 1000 meter sprint. I did well on the flexed arm hang and okay on the 1000 meter sprint, but the shuttle sprint was my Achilles heel. By the end of the day I knew I would be competing for the silver level badge, but I was encouraged by the fact that I was still there. There were more soldiers who didn’t make it.
Day three was the day I was waiting for – shooting. I was a police officer for 15 years and shooting was one of my strengths, but it was 117 degrees out and standing in line for nearly two hours waiting to shoot in full body armor took its toll. I got up to the line to shoot and my arms felt like lead. High winds were blowing sand in my eyes in spite of wearing eye protection, so what would normally be an easy feat turned out to be harder than I thought. Still, I shot well, five out of five and moved it along. Fifty of my fellow soldiers did not.
The final day was the one I dreaded the most – the ruck march. Though I drank water after the day at the range I wasn’t 100 percent and I knew it. I just figured I’d muscle my way through it, because it was the last day after all. The distance you had to ruck depended upon what badge you were eligible for – gold, silver or bronze. Since I was eligible for silver, I had 90 minutes to do nine kilometers while carrying a 33 pound ruck sack.
I started my running app to track my pace and distance, but I didn’t account for the apparent flaw in the GPS technology my app was using, and I realized at the turnaround point that I was behind. I was going to have to run. I ran in intervals, continually checking my watch but I knew I was cutting it close.
“You have to keep pushing,” I told myself aloud. “You made it to the final day. You can’t quit.”
Even as I said those words, my body was trying to convince me otherwise. With two minutes left and about 400 yards to go, a soldier whose name I don’t know ran up to me and told me if I was going to make it I would have to run the rest of the way in.
“You have to run,” he yelled. “You’ve gotta do this. You can make it. Just stay with me!”
I was completely exhausted. I ran a short distance with him and began walking again. Everything in me was telling me to stop and to be completely honest I just wanted to cry.
He was joined by my battle buddy and now there were soldiers on each side of me urging me to run.
So I ran.
As I approached the finish line the soldiers who had already finished were there cheering for me. I crossed with only 30 seconds remaining before time ran out and immediately hands reached out to help carry the load that I had shouldered for the last 90 minutes. Of the 265 Soldiers that started the GAFPB, 138 completed it and I was somehow one of them. That’s when it hit me.
Pushing yourself is part of what we do as soldiers. We strive to be stronger, faster, more knowledgeable or more resilient. We compete with ourselves and sometimes with one another, and though some may say it’s a pride thing, the reality is that competition is part of what determines our collective fate. Even though I had technically run the race alone, I was never really alone. During the entire route we had encouraged one another as we passed, even if was only shouting “hooah” to each other. When one is weak, the other can help lift them up so that we can complete the mission, so I will continue to strive. I’ll continue to compete. I will continue to push.
Oh, and one final note. Gabriel, your mom’s still got it.

• Date Taken: 07.13.2018
• Date Posted: 07.17.2018 06:10
• Story ID: 284537
• Location: KW
• Hometown: ATLANTA, GA, US
• Hometown: FAYETTEVILLE, GA, US