Meteora

“Pounding pavement.” - That’s what it’s called here. It’s what they call it everywhere I go: hitting the blacktop, pounding pavement. It’s all the same. To me, it's one thing: Freedom.

My feet hit the ground hard, sending small, sharp jolts of pain up and down my legs that reverberate up my body and into my teeth as I run. My pace is in steady rhythm with my breathing and both have synced up with the words that ring in my head. The words drown out the sounds of the world around me. It’s a completely different world than the one you know. The comfort and safety of society have vanished, but this does not change my current situation; I am running down a nearly deserted road in this barren land, completely exhausted, and I cannot stop.

When this began
I had nothing to say
And I get lost in the nothingness inside of me

There are men and women all around me; some in front, some behind. They are running, too - we are all running to get away, all of us are fleeing from and (chasing after) the same thing:

Time.

If we are caught, it is weakness, defeat. To catch, to outrun time is strength. It is to live, to survive with the hope and possibility of never being caught. Groaning, I try to speed up, but soon slow back down to my original pace - my legs are like lead from the strain and my body is weak from dehydration in the pounding heat.

I will never know myself until I do this on my own
And I will never feel anything else until my wounds are healed
I will never be anything till I break away from me
I will break away, I'll find myself today

The sun sets directly off to my left and a small breeze slowly builds up and blows across my body as the cold front begins to move in, teasing me ever so slightly with its refreshing touch. The horizon is a beautiful painting of red, orange, and blue hues, but it goes unnoticed by us all. In the desert’s sweltering evening heat, there is only the realization that soon night will come, and the dangers will only get worse for those who don’t survive. There is no shelter out here; for miles and miles, not even the dunes show their faces. It is a barren land of unforgiving loneliness, flat as the day is long, and even more unforgiving. No one wants to be left out after dark to face unseen enemies and unknown fears.

Something has been taken from deep inside of me
The secret I've kept locked away no one can ever see
Wounds so deep they never show they never go away
Like moving pictures in my head for years and years they've played

The road turns sharply right up ahead. A large abandoned home sits isolated, tucked in the curve of the winding road, blocking the view ahead; but I know what it hides. We have all been told what lies at the end of the road, though none of us have seen it. Until now, none of us have even been outside the walls that contained us for all these months.

They told us the walls were there to protect us from harm and keep danger out, but we never felt that way. We all knew that we were stronger than any danger we could face here. We were trained to be the best, more skillful, knowledgeable, and powerful than anything or anyone on the planet. Every day, walking by those walls, it does not feel like the walls are there to keep us sheltered from what is on the outside. There isn’t a single one among us who doesn’t want out, to experience the world beyond our walls. Some even believe the walls are there not to defend us as we are told, but to shield the outside world from us and the destruction and chaos they know we are capable of, for which we are trained.

If I could change I would take back the pain I would
Retrace every wrong move that I made I would
If I could stand up and take the blame I would
I would take all my shame to the grave

I begin my way around the corner, still running as fast as I can. My stride has become smaller now, and my breathing becomes heavier – I am exhausted, but I mustn’t stop. There are many behind me, but there are still plenty of those ahead of me, and I must catch them. I must survive. Survival is strength. I will not be left behind - I was trained better than that.
I round the corner, and it is exactly as I was told it would be. Exotic palm trees line the road on both sides. Fifty, sixty feet tall, they are nothing like I have ever seen before. I stare up at their dizzying heights as I run by and I almost trip and fall, but in mortal fear of being left behind just to be caught, I catch myself and continue on. As my attention focuses back on the road ahead of me, I see that the end is almost near. My heart quickens with excitement and anticipation. I pick up my pace, despite my fatigue - this time it sticks. How long have I been running? Twenty, twenty-five minutes maybe? It feels like an eternity. I cannot wait for it to be over, so I can be free. I need the validation of assurance that I have survived.

I am a little bit of loneliness a little bit of disregard
Handful of complaints but I can’t help the fact that everyone can see these scars

I become intently focused and I become aware I am speeding up even more. My breathing is almost erratic now, and I can see my breath in the ever cooling evening air. It pushes the dust I kick up around me in wispy puffs. Darkness settles in as the sun enters the race. Will it achieve victory before me? Will he set and settle in for the night before I am able to end myself of the pain and torment in this race for strength and survival?

I've become so numb I can't feel you there
I've become so tired, so much more aware
I'm becoming this all I want to do
Is be more like me and be less like you

Numb. I am numb. For a split second I consider stopping. I think of ending it all and putting up with the consequences just so I can be rid of this horrible pain and agony. Wouldn’t it be worth it? Wouldn’t it be worth surrendering it all now?

Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow
Every step that I take is another mistake to you
Caught in the undertow just caught in the undertow
And every second I waste is more than I can take

NO! In my moment of weakness, I have slowed. A quick glance behind me reveals those who are behind me have closed the gap significantly. They become more determined in my brief lack of motivation. I’ve got to survive. For every one I outrun is that much more freedom, that much more victory, and the exact units of that measurement cannot be calculated until it’s all over, until the struggle and pain have ended. Even then, there is no award, no parade for the champion. It is a victory that rests solely in the mind, evident only by the fact that you still remain. I’ve got to survive.

And I know
I may end up failing too
But I know
You were just like me with someone disappointed in you

Perseverance becomes paramount as time ticks away. The sun is setting, and every one of them are still behind me. Those who have been at my back for so long remain so, in addition to a few individuals who have seemed to have given up, quit in the mental fight of perseverance, but for how long will it remain that way? And what of the rest? Can I catch them all? Will I be stronger than them? Will they survive, and not I? How much do I have left in me before I too give in.

As I run further, I see a man standing in the distance wearing military fatigues. He urges me on in shouts as he stares intently at the back of his hand. He holds the key. It is him I have been running towards. He signifies the end of my journey, signifies survival. As I focus in on him, drowning out all other sights from my vision, he looks up. Taking a wide stance, He windmills his arm in the air, much akin to a third base coach in baseball cheering a base runner to home plate. My tunnel vision deepens as I close the distance between us and for a second, I could swear he is shouting directly at me as he looks dead in the eye.

I cannot hear the words he is saying, but I know his voice is booming and menacing nonetheless. The voice that rings in my head is so loud now that it even drown out my own labored breaths.

I am getting closer to him, closer to the end. The end of all the pain, all the anguish, and what has seemed like a lifetime of torture.

I don't know what's worth fighting for
Or why I have to scream
I don't know why I instigate
And say what I don't mean
I don't know how I got this way
I know it's not alright
So I'm breaking the habit
I'm breaking the habit
Tonight

This tall and muscular man, garbed in the tan clothes of a modern warrior, blends in with the night like an ebony ghost, visible only by the tan shades of his uniform which show as mixes of various grays in my night vision as I run straight past him, slowing only as I hear him call out my number. Even right beside him, his voice is faint over those that ring a piercing tone in my head, but I can hear what he said all the same.

20:37 - My number.

I'll paint it on the walls
'Cause I'm the one at fault
I'll never fight again
And this is how it ends…

The headphones come off my head and I carefully drop my CD player to the ground and take a bottle of water from a nearby cooler. I see a friend of mine standing beside it, fresh from the finish line as well. Both of us are covered is the salt stains of our sweat.

“Quite a rush, running in the desert, eh Bevins?”

“What’s that?” I almost shout at him. “Sorry man, my ears are still ringing from the music.”

“No kidding,” he replies with a smile. “I’m surprised Gunny let you run with those things on out here.

“Wouldn’t have it any other way.” I say with a sly smile. Turning around, I see Gunny standing there, directly behind me.

“Damn, Devil Dog! That’s your best time yet!” Looking up from his stopwatch and clipboard of stats, he swings his empty hand wide and slaps my shoulder in congratulations. This action, well meaning as it is, sends a shocking reminder throughout my body of how sore my muscles will be from exertion. I don’t wince, but just rub my arm up and down.

“Thanks Guns.” I mumble shyly.

“Keep up the good work,” he responds almost absent mindedly as he slaps my arm one more time before turning his attention back to the rest of the Marines about to cross the finish line. This time, I do wince. More tired than I think I’ve ever been in my life, I pick up my CD player, sit down on the closet large rock I can find, crack open the cap on my water bottle and begin to drink with vigor. It has already started to turn warm, despite the late hour. Such is the nature of life in the desert, especially during the autumn months.

Every six months we run a three-mile PFT. It’s physical conditioning for war. Drill Instructors told us in boot camp that everything in training has a purpose, a correlation to practical application and everyday operations for life in war. The Physical Fitness Test is no exception. If a Marine can’t run three miles in regular running gear, how does he expect himself to be able to run a mile, or even a few hundred yards through the jungle to catch the enemy, or hike dozens of miles in full gear through the mountains and deserts of the Middle East?

Well, we are already at war, but that doesn’t mean we stop training. Every minute is vital to the readiness of a Marine. I hope by treating a routine three-mile run like a life and death situation will help my instincts when my life, or the life of a fellow Marine to my left or right, is on the line.

Lance Corporal Sean James Bevins
United States Marine Corps
Camp Junction City, Ar Ramadi, Iraq
September, 2004