The month broke down into quarters. The first two weeks were spent in assessment and orientation. The last two in intensive conditioning.
The latter portion was to take place entirely in the wild. There would be no communication and definitely no more trips back into town.
I gave up alcohol. We all did. The only one that retained a vice was Graham whose continued smoking bewildered us. It didn’t slow him at all. In fact, despite his lankiness, he seemed entirely at ease.
My physical condition had deteriorated at the lodge. Of course, we’d all kept up with a basic standard of fitness. I’d always been naturally strong a feature that wasn’t too dampened by drinking. Or so I imagined until I had to have a real test again.
Explosive strength I had in goodly measure but stamina lagged far behind that hare. In fact, that’s what I had become a hare. Quick bursts of prowess and then deep fatigue. I even had a slight gut.
Needless to say, I was miserable. We were all profoundly miserable save Graham of course.
As I sat at a bar on our last night in Cuiaba drinking mango juice I felt simultaneously grateful and apprehensive about the two weeks of hell ahead.
I recalled my now nearly decade old patrols in Bolivia and how I was grateful that I was a sailor. One can move with ease in a difficult environment, the same ease as if in a living room, with adequate preparation.
So mango juice it was.
Part I – Kentucky Door
1.1 (Intro) The Sketch of Sam Monroe
1.2 The Cajun Prayer
Part II – The Wizard’s Nod
Help a Hipster