What a difference a good night of sleep makes! I feel much better today than I did yesterday. I had a good time at the gym (Chest and Triceps). Because my shoulder is better I went ahead and did weight-assisted dips but at a pretty high weight to take it easy.

So far, so good.

Jon wants in on the diet thing, too. I guess both of us want to not look like fat tubs of goo when swimsuit weather comes around. He doesn't look bad at all, in my opinion. He has a bit of a belly but that's it. If he sticks with it it will actually make my job easier because I hate planning two separate meals.

When I was in college, I joined the Army Reserves. I had been fighting with my dad about my major; I joined so I could pay my own way. My Bachelor's is in Anthropology; nowadays I think my dad was right.

When you first try to join, you take the ASVAB, the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery, a multiple choice test which tells you and your recruiter which MOS (Military Occupational Specialty) you are suited for. I kicked ass in every category. I was denied any of the fun combat-oriented specialties because I'm a girl so I went for 91A, Medic. Actually, they are, or were, mini-medics. I don't think this MOS exists any more. 91A's could serve in the field as EMTs as well as serve in hospitals as nursing assistants.

I was right - I did some online research and 91A's and B's (B's were super EMTs) no longer exists. It most closely resembles a 91W. Another aside: the number is a general area, the letter the specialty. For instance a combat person is an 11; 11B is an infantryman, 11C is artillery.

Once you figure out what you're going to do, the recruiter signs you up for a medical at a Military Entrance Processing Station, or MEPS. Mine was at Fort Jackson, South Carolina. All I remember is a really busy day filled with all kinds of tests. Oh, yes; I came to understand what 'hurry up and wait' meant; a term I would become intimately familiar with in my military career.

I signed my contract while there and took my oath to defend the constitution (not the PRESIDENT, not DEMOCRACY, the Constitution) of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic. I remember doing this on October 31st, 1996. I shipped out for Basic in February 1997. I went through my training during the Reagan years, which was a great time to be a soldier (good budget).

Once it was time to go in I went back to MEPS for more tests, paper signing, and waiting around. Then I remember staying about a week in these kind of holding barracks. I don't remember much; we waited around for the company to fill up and learned a few things like rudimentary marching, standing at attention, parade rest, and a few other things. I was yet to become familiar with the front-leaning rest position, but that was to come. I think I had to take a Physical Training (PT) test - I had to do one good push-up. Female requirements were a joke. Some women couldn't do one proper pushup though. I shouldn't be scornful; Zeus knows I had problems running.

People who failed the test were grouped off for a couple of weeks to work on PT. Having your basic training extended by a two weeks must have really blown chunks.

I was in a platoon with all females in Basic. I mean women. Jeez, I start talking about the army and I slip right back into Armyspeak. Nowadays Basic training is mixed sex but way back when I would have been dropped for pushups had I even looked at a man. Not that I didn't. Matter of fact, isn't it far more amusing to do something banal when it's considered naughty? I don't smoke so I didn't try to sneak cigarettes so I leered at men.

Through my army-issue glasses, which are known as birth control or rape prevention glasses. They all look like Drew Carrey's specs. I was horridly ugly but I didn't really care. I was in a Company of Women, fer pete's sake. The only men who would talk to me were drill sargeants, and I don't recall ever being attracted to any of them. Too busy hating them, I guess.

When in basic training you are assigned a 'buddy'. This person is your partner through everything. I think we even washed each other's backs on occasion (you men out there quit snickering!). Mine was a woman from New Mexico named Mitchell. I can't recall her first name, which is a shame. I think it was Lucy. I lucked out. She was smart, and not too loud. We became friends.

Basic was 8 weeks, which consisted of three phases. I can't recall exactly what they were called; all I remember is one was Drill and Ceremony, Rifle Training, then Field Training.

Drill and Ceremony was learning how to march. All of it's a blur to me: get up, do PT (Mondays Wednesdays and Fridays were calisthenics, and Tuesdays and Thursdays was running), go eat, do something, go eat, do something, go eat, do something, go sleep. Any free time, clean. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Our barracks were old World War II barrracks at the bottom of Tank Hill. I bet they have been replaced by now. For our run, we would run up the hill, then down. Up the hill, then down. Ahhhhh. Good times! I joke but I have some insanely strong memories and impressions from those 8 weeks. I'm trying to catch some of them before they fade completely.

Do something was sometimes marching, sometimes class work during the first three weeks. I do recall some field exercises, which involved marching to some course and running around with dummy rifles with bayonets attached. I recall some obstacle courses. I don't have a linear memory, so Athena knows which happened when.

Somewhere during this time we learned about Mission Oriented Protective Posture, or MOPP, or how to protect ourselves in a Nuclear, Biological, or Chemical attack( NBC, of course). This involved not only donning a gas mask, but these charcoal-impregnated overclothes as well as cumbersome rubber gloves and boots. It was a no-brainer for me; my buddy Mitchell had claustrophobia so I remember spending some time talking her away from panic attacks. This didn't annoy me; matter of fact I recall feeling protective towards her.

NBC training of course led to one of the most infamous sections of basic training - the GAS CHAMBER! Feh. The gas chamber was supposed to give you confidence in your gear - let you know that yes, indeedy, your gas mask worked. One at a time, we were taken into a CS-filled room, told to hold our breath, break the seal on our gas masks, and then clear it. I recall thinking that my eyes were a little sting-y, but it wasn't bad. Then they told us to take the mask completely off.

I had decided before I went in that I wasn't going to do anything stupid, like try to hold my breath. I immediately took my mask off and breathed in. That little stinging sensation went from a tickle to feeling like my face and throat had been scrubbed with nettles. I couldn't breathe at all. I recall thinking it was kind of like a really bad athsma attack.

So I stood there, not breathing, eyes, nose and mouth leaking, looking at my drill sargeant and patiently waiting for my next instructions. He told me and I walked out of there, gas mask in one hand and helmet in the other. I found Mitchell and we joked about shit while trying to get our breath back. It's funny how fond I am of those memories.

Tomorrow I'll write about my first helicopter ride and the Chipyong-Ni Breakdance.