[Vision2020] From Runway to Rucksack

[Tom Hansen]

>From today's (June 24, 2006) Early Bird Edition of the Army Times -

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>From runway to rucksack
Boot camp brought out model's inner confidence

By Mabs Eidem

I gritted my teeth as the palms of my hands bled from the gravel jabbing
into them. I wasn't going to let the drill sergeants see me wince from the
pain. 

I had heard Drill Sergeant Vega yell, "Drop!" and regardless of the fact
that I was standing in a gravel pit, I fell to the ground and prayed that
the broad shoulders I had inherited from my father wouldn't let me down as I
cranked out push-ups. 

It was 4 o'clock in the morning. The 3rd Platoon was walking in formation
with flashlights in hand to PT exercises in our gray shorts and T-shirts
with "Army" across the front in case we became so tired we would forget what
we had signed up to do. 

This was a far cry from trying to glide down a runway in a bikini, pushing
myself to appear confident as I heard my mother's voice in my head:
"Remember to turn your feet out so you don't look pigeon-toed." 
 
In between surges up and down, desperately hoping I could keep pace and not
buckle under the pressure of a drill sergeant yelling at me, I glanced at my
rough hands wondering where my $50 set of fake nails had gone. They were a
staple in my weekly routine of getting them filled and painted to coordinate
with the clothes I would be parading down the runway. The only time I paid
attention to my hands now was when I was loading my M16 rifle.

If you'd asked me what I'd be doing at 22, I would have anticipated a
college degree and starting my first job, possibly modeling on the weekends.
I never would have thought my uncle, a recruiter for the Wyoming Army
National Guard, would talk me into joining, even if he could get me into the
public affairs unit, where I would be a journalist. I could not have
foreseen being awakened at midnight to mop floors, waiting in line for two
hours on a Sunday afternoon to use the telephone, or staying up all night as
a guard for my platoon of girls who were just out of high school.

This was far more disciplined than I had ever been while modeling. I rode my
bike occasionally, but that was only to keep me in a size 8 pair of jeans.
If my agency didn't get me a job one week, I was told not to worry. There
should be another one next week. 

But if I didn't graduate from basic the first time, I would feel humiliated
and be required to do it over again until I passed.

When I arrived at boot camp, I was one of hundreds of girls lined up and
leaning over tables while uniforms and supplies were chucked at them. Brown
T-shirts, baggy camouflage pants, brown socks and heavy combat boots were
thrown at me. 

Just weeks before, I wouldn't have been caught dead in brown. It would make
me look sallow. I was a "winter" who should wear vivid reds, purples and
black. My dark eyes, olive skin and high cheekbones always attracted
attention. Now I was one of the cattle being counted and loaded onto a truck
to go to the barracks. The last thing I wanted to do was stand out.

Ever since junior high school, I had been concerned with how I looked. I
permed my hair and wore makeup every day, even to go to the grocery store. 

Now, simply showering was not even close to being a priority. We were 60
bodies waiting in line to use two working showers in 45 minutes each night.
I was lucky to be able to rinse off the soap in the allotted time. 

I used to primp for at least two hours before a modeling show. That routine
usually involved putting cucumbers on my puffy eyes, massaging a mask onto
my face to liven up my skin tone, applying mascara to bring out every lash,
and painting on lipstick - with liner, of course. 

Now, thick, black-rimmed glasses hid my thin, mascara-free lashes, and the
only blush I knew was from my cheeks burning as I ran in formation during
the hot, humid afternoons.

>From 10th grade on, looking into the mirror was as toxic as smoking for me.
It burned my heart each time, but I kept going back for more. Am I thin
enough? Will they notice if I gain a pound or two? Hold that stomach in. 

I weighed myself every day on a digital scale for accuracy. My goal was 130
pounds.

Once I was in the Army, I didn't even think about the food I was eating.
Three times a day, it was strewn onto trays for us. We all had the same
thing. I never objected to the meals, the amount of carbohydrates or fats
they contained, or the number of calories I might be ingesting.

I didn't have a choice. 

After four weeks of carrying around a rucksack, gas mask, helmet and water
bottles, and wearing combat boots, I became stronger than I had ever been
carrying around a makeup bag. I was able to take on challenges I had never
imagined myself doing, such as becoming proficient with an M16. This was a
huge breakthrough for me because I had never touched a gun before. I learned
how to overcome a fear, such as possibly harming myself or someone else with
the loaded weapon, to feeling secure that I could take on yet another
challenge with confidence. I mastered how to take it apart and put it back
together again in the dark, and after many diligent practice sessions, I
earned the title of sharpshooter. I couldn't believe how proud I was.

There was no feeling of competition among the other privates and me as there
had been with the models. Now, the only competition I felt was within myself
to keep improving. When the final two-mile run test came during the hottest
time of the day, the gun went off and I heard the voice in my head saying,
"If you die, you die." 

I gave it my all. I was the oldest 3rd Platoon Mad Dog and I came in second.
I had surpassed my expectations and I was thrilled.

The day before graduation, we were permitted to go to the salon on base to
get our hair cut and styled. It was the first time we had felt special in
months and we wanted to look our best for our families and our day of
recognition. 

I chose to have my hair permed so that Mom would recognize me. My hair was
shorter than I realized and the perm was a bit frizzy, but at least I felt
like I was a lady again.

I caught a glimpse of Mom as she was looking for me in the barracks. I ran
down the corridor to her, so excited that I was the first woman in our
family of officers to have joined the military. She hugged me, looked me up
and down and said, "What did you do to your hair?" I turned to Mom and said,
"Don't worry about it. Now you can say camouflage is my style."

The writer, the former Meredith Brose, joined the Army in May 1990 and
served as a journalist in the 197th Public Affairs Division of the Wyoming
Army National Guard. Now a teacher motivated to tell her Army story to those
she teaches, she lives in the San Francisco Bay area with her husband, Mark,
and can be reached at mabs68 at lycos.com 

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Front-line photos taken on Thursday (June 22, 2006) can be reviewed at:

http://www.militarycity.com/frontline/index.php?count=1&date=2006/06/22

Seeya round town, Moscow.

Tom Hansen
Moscow, Idaho

"Uh, how about a 1-strike law. Death doesn't seem too extreme for a Level-3
sex offender."

- Dale "Comb-Over" Courtney (August 3, 2005)