Harnack on duty: camo and cardio
This past weekend, I did something wild. I swapped my reporter’s notebook for combat boots and spent 72 exhilarating, exhausting hours playing soldier with the Idaho Army National Guard.
If you thought journalism was chaotic, let me introduce you to my weekend.
As part of our prep for Advanced Training—coming up next month in southern Idaho—I found myself not analyzing intelligence, as my job title might suggest, but instead learning how to operate military vehicles that are approximately the size of my house.
That’s right, folks. I began licensing in a JLTV, which stands for Joint Light Tactical Vehicle but might as well stand for Just Like a Tank, Very Much.
This thing had an iPad in the dashboard. I’m not joking. The screen was bigger than my laptop. I got in and thought, “Wow, this vehicle could actually edit the newspaper for me.” Honestly, I was nervous it might do a better job.
But let’s back it up to Friday, when the weekend started with a bang—or more accurately—a six-event gauntlet known as the Army Combat Fitness Test. The ACFT is the Army’s idea of a fun time and includes activities such as deadlifting heavy things, throwing medicine balls like an angry dodgeball champ, and sprinting around like someone left the oven on at home.
Oh, and push-ups. But not normal push-ups. These are hand-release push-ups, where you fully let go of the ground between each rep like you’re trying to convince the Earth you don’t need it anymore. Then there's a sled drag, a plank that feels longer than most romantic relationships, and, of course, the two-mile run. Which I did—get this—faster than I usually do. Still not fast enough to impress anyone, but fast enough that I didn’t cry afterward. Progress.
This was my first drill with my new unit, so naturally, I had to make a good impression. That meant a full day of introductions, orientation, and showing off my “vehicle prowess,” as one sergeant called it.
The highlight was when the senior-most enlisted soldier in my section was walking me through a task and I responded with, “I know.” He paused, looked at me like I’d just said I was fluent in Martian, and replied, “You’d be surprised.”
I was raised by a motorsports man who could make MacGruber look underprepared—this is a guy who once changed his own brakes with a wrench he probably found in a cereal box. I know how to check oil, I can read gauges like bedtime stories, and yes, I’ve watched YouTube.
Of course, it wouldn’t be a military weekend without hours of sitting around waiting for something to happen. For those of you familiar with service life: yes, we “hurry up and wait” like it’s an Olympic sport. But the reward at the end of that waiting? Climbing into massive, armor-plated trucks and pretending you’re in a Michael Bay movie while trying not to run over a traffic cone.
I’ll be honest—this weekend made me feel excited about serving again. I haven’t felt this inspired in uniform in a long time. But that inspiration comes at a cost… namely, me being gone from the newspaper for a bit.
From Monday, May 27 to Monday, June 10, I’ll be off at Annual Training in Boise. I’ll also be gone that following weekend for drill. So if the paper reads a little differently, feels a bit quieter, or misses its usual chaotic sparkle—don’t panic.
I have not abandoned you, dear readers. I have not fled the county. I have not been kidnapped by the JLTV and absorbed into its touchscreen cult.
I’ll just be out in the field somewhere in my OCPs (Operational Camouflage Pattern for the civilians), learning how to be a better soldier, hopefully with fewer blisters and more snacks.
Until then, I’m here—reporting, writing, occasionally deadlifting, and always caffeinated.
If you see a camo truck driving past the grain elevator with Apocalypse Now blasting from the inside… that might be me.