Jump master calls 30-seconds. I have no butterflies; this is a proficiency jump and my mind is elsewhere. I am close to the end of my enlistment and I am torn between getting out or staying in. GREEN LIGHT GO. I follow the other Rangers out to get this jump over with. A few seconds later I feel a sharp pull as my chute opens. I look up to check my chute and see another guy pull a slip into me. Things are about to get fucked up. The next 20-30 seconds are a blur; my chute is collapsed and I am tangled up in the other guys risers.  I remember trying to get clear of his risers and his chute re-catching air. When his parachute caught air and fully opened again, I was caught up in the top of his risers and we were about to hit the ground, and we were going hit it really fucking hard. He lands and his chute acts like a sling-shot, throwing me into the ground.

Things go dark.

I fight my way through the haze of what just happened and sit up to see my platoon medic sprinting toward me and screaming at me to not move. Apparently, he is just as surprised as I am that I’m alive, let alone sitting up. Then things start to really fucking hurt as my mind is starting to process that my body has something broken, more accurately, somethings. Doc pumps morphine into me and tells me and ambulance is on the way. I sit back and do everything doc tells me to do as the morphine starts to do its job. I don’t remember much about the next 24 hours, due to the fact that I was high on a morphine drip the entire time.  When I finally come to the doctors tell me that my right foot pretty much looks like a softball right now, but amazingly nothing else was broken. Just like that, my military career was over.

9x pin, screws, and metal plates later the doctors tell me that I will need a cane and I will walk with a limp the rest of my life. I play it cool and tell everyone that it doesn’t bother me.  I said that I was going to get out anyways, and that I can’t wait to go to college. All lies. It crushed me. Not just my body, but my soul.

 I am non-weight barring on my foot for 6-months. I smile and pretend to be loving life while I slowly die on the inside.

I began to lose my identity, I lost who I was. Five combat deployments and never once did I feel lost. Combat was never an issue, I was ok with that, but this was a very different type of battle. Everything in my life is now designed for ease and comfort: Lay in a bed, watch TV, rely on other people to help me get around to do basic human tasks. Repeat. I am but an echo of the man I was before. I am no longer a warrior, I have been marginalized. I miss the struggle. The struggle made me feel alive. The struggle gave me purpose.

I am lost and too prideful to tell anyone the things that go through my head, not even my closest friends. I take my rehab seriously with the hopes of being able to walk on both feet again soon. The desire to not have to rely on others gives me purpose, but I accept the limitation that the doctors tell me I will have to live with. Some small flickers of the flame that once was returns. Almost a year later I leave Savannah, Georgia behind to start college in the north. I walk without a cane but it is obvious that I favor my right foot.  The doctors say that my recovery is miraculous for the damage that was done.  I move in with friends from my unit and start school. I drink. I laugh. I play the game of a man that wants everyone to think that nothing is wrong.

During that first semester of college, my closest friend gave me his copy of the Gym Jones Operators course manual that he received during his time in our unit. Maybe he saw through the façade and realized I was lost, or maybe he was just tired of seeing me drink beer. I don’t know.  I have never told him where I was at during that stage of my life, partially because I am ashamed that I thought it was weak to be vulnerable, even with those you trust.

I read the manual over and over again.  I was consumed by the training philosophy. “The Mind Is Primary” something every guy from any special operations unit can relate to.  I had never once seen fitness as anything more than just fitness. My eyes were opened and my mind awakened. Training was no longer about getting muscle or looking good. I wanted more from it, I needed more from it.  I started following the training plans, but more importantly, I started to learn more about myself. I found the struggle again and spiritual wounds began to heal.

Training became therapy for my soul.

The dedication in training carried over into all areas of my life; my friendships became stronger as I started to find myself again. I did better in school because I developed stronger habits of dedication. I learned that vulnerability is a valuable tool that can be used for growth and the minimalization of ego. I now use the gym as a tool to further develop the characteristics of honor, integrity, grit and dedication. I willingly put myself in situations where failure is looking me in the face and I have to make a deliberate decision to choose physical discomfort over spiritual suffocation.