My word for 2011
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Concepts, Excellence
…..Excellence…..
Akemashite Omedetou/ Happy New Year
Tags: Excellence
“Hell Week” by Lt. CDR Tom Rancich
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under BUD/S, Gut Check, Motivation
This is a very worthwhile article written by Lt. CDR Tom Rancich USN Ret.
HELL WEEK
THE RESORT TOWN OF CORONADO HAD settled down for the evening. A strand jutting just across the bay from San Diego, Calif., Coronado was the ultimate in exclusivity. All week, yachts competing in the America’s Cup trial races had sailed off Point Loma. Late diners finished their pricey meals at the historic Hotel del Coronado, where the movie “Some Like It Hot,” with Tony Curtis and Marilyn Monroe, had been filmed. It was Sunday, 9 p.m.
KABOOOOOOOM! From the south side of the strand came the deafening noise of artillery fire. Machine guns ratatatated. Sirens blared. Piercing screams. KABOOOOOM! More artillery fire, machine-gun fire, screams. Dessert forks dropped at the Hotel Del. South along the strand, the Naval Special Warfare Center, ringed with barbed-wire-topped fences and NO TRESPASSING signs, had erupted into a mock battle zone. It signaled the start of the most physically demanding - and carefully choreographed - week of training in the US military. Hell Week for the Navy SEALs, Sea-Air-Land commandos.
The SEALs, along with Army Green Berets, Air Force commandos and Delta Force operatives, are part of the US Special Operations command, 46,000 - strong, headquartered in Tampa, Fla. These forces launched clandestine operations and fought behind enemy lines during the Desert Storm war. But they are misunderstood warriors, their unconventional tactics often distrusted by conventional commanders.
Perhaps nothing better demonstrates what separates special operations commandos from regular soldiers than Hell Week, which Navy men must endure to become SEALs. The most ferocious warriors in the American military, SEALs specialize in commando assaults, unconventional warfare, counterinsurgency operations and dangerous reconnaissance or intelligence collection missions that other units turn down. Their roots are in the Navy frogmen of World War II. Their forte is waterborne operations: scuba diving, underwater demolitions, coastal raids, river combat.
Part of the Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL (BUD/S) training course, Hell Week is a sacred rite of passage for becoming a SEAL warrior. SEALs believe that a man driven to the limits of his endurance during Hell Week - no women are allowed in the force - can withstand the rigors and horrors of SEAL combat. These who quit during Hell Week - and often, more than half do - are the ones Navy SEALs believe would quit on their real-world missions. Hell Week teaches a commando to turn off pain and focus on his mission.
The large black asphalt courtyard of the SEALs’ Special Warfare Center, nicknamed the “grinder” because students spend countless hours there each day exercising, had been transformed into what looked like a Hollywood set for a war movie. A string of glowing green chemical sticks lined the yard. At the south end, two barrels ringed with sandbags served as grenade pits into which a hundred artillery simulators were dropped, one after another, detonating with the whistling of an incoming round then an earsplitting explosion that sent plumes of smoke high into the dark blue sky.
From the southern two corners of the grinder, fog machines like the ones used in rock concerts belched out billowing smoke that filled the courtyard with a layer of ground haze that smelled sickeningly sweet, like a tropical fruit punch. John B. Landry Jr., a SEAL instructor whom the students had nicknamed “Wild Country,” raced around the grinder screaming at the top of his lungs, firing blanks into the air from an M-60 machine gun on his hip. Landry seemed almost psychotic during Hell Week. It was all an act, soft spoken and shy off duty, it took the 31-year-old Connecticut native almost an hour of psyching himself up before his shift began to become the maniacal character he wanted to portray.
Atop a podium at the north end of the grinder stood SEAL instructor Joe Valderrama. “On your belly! On your feet! On your backs!” He barked out commands through a megaphone so fast that the students had no hope of keeping up.
The instructors pretended to be enraged. One had a laugh box attached to his bullhorn that blared out a fiendish chuckle. Other trainers carried M-60 machine guns, spewing blanks into the air.
The students were ordered back to their barracks just outside the courtyard. “Strip off your fatigue shirts. Leave your undershirts on. Be back in five seconds. “Move!” Valderrama roared.
Thirty seconds later - Valderrama had timed it on his watch - the students raced back into the grinder out of breath. But one galloped in without his “swim buddy,” and the instructors were all over him. From the beginning of their training, students had been drilled never to leave the partner they’d been assigned as a swim buddy. There was a reason: in 30 years, Navy SEALs have never left a fellow SEAL behind in combat- dead, wounded or alive. A Navy SEAL has never been taken prisoner. Never.
10 P.M., SUNDAY, APRIL 12, 1992
Navy Lt. Tom Rancich lay flat on his stomach in the grinder, his hands laced behind his neck, his feet crossed. Valderrama had just taught the trainees whistle drills. If an instructor blew his whistle once, Rancich and the other BUDS students had to dive to the ground, cover the back of their heads with their hands, keep their mouths open, and cross their legs to simulate the position they would take with an incoming artillery round. After two blows of the whistle, the students would begin crawling to whoever was tooting it. Three blows of the whistle, they would stand.
Rancich was the leader of BUD/S Class 183 now going through Hell Week. Class 183 had started with 104 officers and enlisted men. Now, after five weeks of grueling training before Hell Week, almost half had dropped out or been rolled back for physical ailments. At 29, Rancich was the senior officer in the class. In fact, he was almost too old for BUDS. Yet he wasn’t about to pass it up. Screw the career paths and ticket-punching. Rancich would have been miserable if he hadn’t grabbed at the chance to become a SEAL.
Rancich had actually started BUDS with the previous class, 182, but two days before Hell Week was to begin, he caught pneumonia. He tried to hide it from the doctors, but couldn’t. He pleaded up and down the Warfare Center’s chain of command to be allowed to go into Hell Week pumped with antibiotics. The instructors refused. Rancich was rolled back to repeat the first part of BUD/S training with the next class, 183. He had now spent 10 weeks swimming, running and doing push-ups to get to Hell Week instead of the normal 5.
It was getting old fast. His knees ached from running in the sand. His lips were chapped, and his eyelids drooped over brown eyes bleary from too many exhausting days and sleepless nights. His hands were swollen and rough from clawing over obstacle courses. His voice was gravelly from shouting “Hoo- yahs”-the cheer BUDS students yell to show that an exercise hasn’t beaten them down.
Lt. Michael Reilly stood on the berm, the sand embankment overlooking the strand’s Pacific coast. At the shoreline, the 57 students of Class 183 lined up in the push-up position facing the Pacific ocean. Instructors began shooting flares into the clear black sky, lighting up the shoreline and ocean and casting eerie shadows over the students.
Reilly grabbed a bullhorn. “Surf torture,” he announced.
From the push-up position, the students were ordered to begin a “bear crawl” to the edge of the water, where the temperature was 63 degrees. They lumbered forward, bent over on their hands and feet. At the shoreline they were ordered to halt. They stood up. Arm in arm, they marched slowly out to the crashing waves. The first cold wave hit them. It took Rancich’s breath away. He and the other students staggered back briefly, but continued to march.
Reilly ordered them to halt and sit. More waves knocked them back. With their arms linked, their legs flew up in the air, like Rockettes doing high kicks as the flares above spotlighted them.
The instructors set their watches.
Cold water.
A man could quickly freeze to death in truly icy water. At least it would be a quick death: no more than 15 to 20 minutes of painful gasping, he would become giddy and blank out. The longer, more painful torture is to be immersed for extended periods in water that is simply cold. A man wouldn’t necessarily die in cold water- not quickly, at least - yet the misery and discomfort of being not just cold, but cold and wet, could almost drive him insane.
The instructors weren’t being sadistic. When the students who made it through the training finally got to SEAL units, they would find themselves swimming for hours in frigid waters off Korea or in liquid ice off Alaska. Hell Week was supposed to teach them at least to cope with the madness of cold water.
When 15 minutes were up, Ron Cooper, the enlisted shift chief for the evening instructors, ordered the class to stand, turn around and walk out of the surf. The students began to shake from the cold. Their olive-drab uniforms and caps were now dark green and sagged on their bodies from being soaked for so long. Their pants had filled with sand that now trickled down from their legs. Their faces seemed drained of blood. They looked like ghosts, biting their lips, clenching their fists to control the shivering.
Lt. Bruce Thomas, one of four Navy doctors monitoring the class around the clock, walked down the line of students with a flashlight. He stopped before each man and shined the light in his face, searching for signs of hypothermia: short-term memory loss, slurred speech, clumsiness, a far away look.
Their allotted five minutes out of the water were up. It seemed to the students like just five seconds.
Valderrama ordered them back to the surf. They turned around. Arms locked, they marched again into the crashing waves.
“You’re wet and you’re cold now,” Valderrama said through his bullhorn. “You’re going to be wet and cold for one whole week. I want to see some laughing.”
The students started laughing.
“Keep it up!”
The students howled like hyenas.
“The more you laugh, the more heat you expend,” Valderrama said.
The students went silent. The waves came crashing over them. Some students groaned as the cold became unbearable.
“Hang on,” Rancich kept whispering to himself over and over again. It will end. Don’t think too far ahead. I can endure this.
Some students began urinating in their pants, hoping the warm liquid would bring temporary relief from the cold.
“Remember, this isn’t for everybody, gents,” Reilly said politely over his bullhorn. “It’s voluntary. This is exactly what every day on a SEAL team is like.”
It was too much. A student wiggled his arms free from the two men holding them on each side and stood up in the water. Rancich knew immediately what was happening and lunged to grab him. Other students did the same. Too late, he broke free.
The student was sent to Reilly.
“Are you going to wake up tomorrow and regret what you’ve done?” Reilly asked him gently.
“Yes,” the young man said, shaking uncontrollably and nearly in tears. “But I can’t take five days of the cold.”
“Go back to the barracks,” Reilly quietly told him.
A hemorrhage erupted. A second student broke free from the line in the water. This one was an officer. Not a good sign. A third student quit. Then a fourth. A fifth. The instructors became worried. Panic set in along the line of students as they frantically tried to hold back the quitters.
MIDNIGHT, SUNDAY APRIL 12
The students now faced something even more fearsome.
The night shift.
The evening instructors - Valderrama, Cooper, Reilly, Wild Country - were all noise and cold and push-ups, yet, at least so far, it had been short and bearable.
But the long dark night awaited the students. And the night belonged to the nocturnal SEALs who now stood outside the barracks with their arms folded.
The students stood at rigid attention by their rubber rafts - or as rigid as they could with the shivers lingering from the surf torture. The night - shift instructors stalked them silently - like Darth Vaders, growling out commands occasionally, swarming around boat crews that showed the slightest signs of weakness, snarling at them, then dropping them for push-ups, the menacing glares never leaving their faces.
Ken Taylor, one of the instructors on the night shift, was the first to grab a bullhorn. Taylor would be the night shift’s Tokyo Rose, its Baghdad Betty, the instructor who would try to break the students’ morale with soft words and veiled threats and grueling “evolutions.” (The training schedule was divided into evolutions, the term used for each event.)
Before the students could begin their next evolution, they faced another painful exercise: walking out of the Special Warfare Center, across Silver Strand Highway, to the Naval Amphibious Base on the other side. The challenge: they had to carry their 150 - pound rubber rafts on top of their heads with all the ropes and their wooden paddles inside. During BUDS training, the students performed special neck exercises so they could withstand the constant bouncing of the heavy rafts on their heads. But it still felt like a jackhammer was pounding the tops of their skulls. Instructors had seen students with bald spots on their heads from the constant bouncing and scraping of the rafts.
Walking was made more difficult because the pace could never be coordinated among the half dozen men under the raft. They looked like crippled crabs.
6 A.M., MONDAY, APRIL 13
Dawn broke. The push-up and whistle drills stopped. The students walked to the mess hall for their first meal in nine hours of Hell Week - the rafts, of course, atop their heads as they walked.
The instructors fed the students four times a day: breakfast, lunch, dinner and a midnight ration called mid-rats. The meals were heavy, loaded with carbohydrates, proteins and fats. The students were urged to eat as much as they wanted. Food meant energy. Food compensated for lack of sleep. Food replaced warmth.
The students were ravenous. They heaped the plates on their trays with scrambled eggs, stacks of pancakes, sausage, bacon, grits, cereal. Every free space of every tray was covered with food, the sides lined with mugs of milk and hot coffee and cocoa.
7:30 A.M., MONDAY, APRIL 13
Back at the barracks, Lt. Jeff Cassidy, the night-shift officer, huddled over his Hell Week log with Lt. Pete Oswald, the officer in charge of the morning shift. The morning shift had the most dreaded combination of instructors in all of Hell Week: Jaco, Mccarthy and Instructor Blah.
Mike Jaco was the morning shift’s enlisted chief. He was 31, a native of Columbia, S.C.., and his biceps and shoulders bulged from 11 years in the SEALs. On long marches over beaches and berms Jaco could run students into the ground without breaking a sweat himself.
Mike Mccarthy, 31, had a gentle face. His hair was prematurely gray. Among his hulky companions he looked bookish and reserved, almost out of place. But he was the terror of Hell Week. The students had nicknamed him “the antichrist.”
Instructor Blah was the nickname for Ivan Trent, a 33-year- old Hawaiian who was a master of megaphone warfare, playing straight man to the tortures Jaco and Mccarthy could dish out.
Soaked and shivering again from the surf, the students ran back to the barracks. Jaco and McCarthy stood motionless with their legs spread, hands on their hips and scowls on their faces. It was time to go to work.
Jaco warmed them up with whistle drills. Up. Down. Crawl. Up. Down. Crawl.
McCarthy began “sugar cookie drills,” a combination of surf torture and whistle drills that left the trainees with sand over every inch of their bodies. It was all preparation - if you could call it that - for the new evolution: the four-mile run up and down the beach.
McCarthy hopped into an ambulance as the students began their run and followed them. He hooked his bullhorn to the side mirror and attached a laugh box to it to harangue them along the way. McCarthy, the shift’s medic, also used the ride to look at each man carefully to spot injuries.
He pulled the ambulance up beside one boat crew running together and reached for his bullhorn.
Lt. (j.g.) Tom Walsh, a 26-year-old Chicagoan and the boat crew’s leader, was limping as he ran.
“One man’s going to slow the whole boat crew down,” McCarthy taunted. “You can’t lead from the rear, Lieutenant Walsh. There’s no such thing as a bad team, just a bad leader.”
McCarthy tried to talk the crew into running ahead and abandoning Walsh. The crew refused, even though it was falling farther behind the pack. Walsh’s face was covered with sand and sweat. His eyes squinted. He gritted his teeth. The pain in his leg was becoming unbearable. His crew mates formed a cocoon around him as they ran to protect him from McCarthy’s taunts.
McCarthy was impressed. Walsh must be popular among his crew members. If they didn’t like him they would have dumped him.
Still, McCarthy had to pull Walsh aside to the ambulance to check his leg. He would be sent to the doctor.
Walsh turned away. In a rage, he slammed his fist against the side of the ambulance. He would not return. The doctors found that his leg had a stress fracture. He would be on crutches.
1:30 P.M., MONDAY, APRIL 15
The afternoon began at the Warfare Center’s obstacle course, one of the toughest in the US military. Allyson Rancich leaned against her car along Silver Strand highway, which paralleled the obstacle course about a hundred yards away. She strained to catch a glimpse of her husband. Tom had left her a handwritten schedule of when he might be marching to the mess hall and the times he thought he might be near the highway.
The instructors strictly forbade any friends or relatives from hanging around the students. But Rancich didn’t know if he could survive Hell Week without these stolen moments. Allyson finally picked Tom out of the crowd of green figures slumped and wrapped up in their orange life vests. She cried. He looked awful. The trainees reminded her of a chain gang.
Rancich saw her. He managed a weak smile. He hoped she had seen it. He sneaked a short wave. He hoped the instructors hadn’t spotted it or they would be all over him. For the first time in Hell Week, a warm feeling came over him. He’d make it, he thought.
6:30 A.M., TUESDAY, APRIL 14
Sitting at the long mess-hall tables, the students struggled to keep their eyes open through the meal. They fumbled with their forks because their hands were too stiff to form a fist. They rolled their aching necks to bring some circulation to them. They stared vacantly. If they waited too long between bites, they nodded off.
Rancich set down his tray. On it he had chipped beef on toast, scrambled eggs, French toast, two bowls of cereal, toast, grits, a chocolate doughnut, cocoa, grape juice and a glass of water. He polished it all off in a half hour.
Everything about Hell Week seemed to be getting worse for Rancich. He was becoming more irritated. The painkillers weren’t helping his knees. The raft was feeling heavier. The mile and a quarter walk to the mess hall was now a death march.
Shortly before 10 a.m., the instructors lined the students around the bottom of a mud pit. Their bodies were immersed in the water and their heads were sprouting out and resting on the muddy bank. Instructor Blah laid four bullhorns down on the upper rim of the pit and tuned them all to different pitches of a loud, high whine. It was like being in the middle of an air raid.
The students’ first sleep period had begun, part of only four hours they would be allowed all week. The instructors wanted to test the students’ ability to steal it under the worst conditions. It was a skill SEALs and other special operators must learn. Hell Week students jumped immediately into what the instructors called “instant REM” sleep with its jerky eyeball movements, body twitches and irregular heart rates and breathing.
5:45 P.M., TUESDAY, APRIL 14
The students were crammed into a stuffy, first-floor classroom off the grinder. Walking in, a visitor was almost knocked over by the odor. The room smelled like the bottom of a swamp. The combination of three days of body sweat, open sores, grimy, mildewed uniforms soaked in sea water 24 hours a day, plus urine from the students to keep warm, was overpowering.
Cooper stood at the front of the class trying to hold his breath because of the smell and gamely gave a safety class on the next evolution, the most dangerous in Hell Week: “rock portage.”
One of the skills a SEAL must learn was to land his raft anywhere, including jagged rocks off a coast. That type of landing, called rock portage, was the most difficult of all. Crashing waves would whipsaw the rafts into the rocks, breaking bones and even crushing backs if the paddlers weren’t careful. At night - the only time the SEALs ever infiltrate onto a coast - the ride in could be terrifying, with the almost deafening noise of the waves slamming against the rocks and with the boat crew being hurled at breakneck speeds as if on a roller coaster.
The rocks the SEALs use for training during BUDS and Hell Week were the black behemoths in front of the Hotel Del. The sharp-edged boulders stood 50 feet high and protruded out some 75 feet from the shore. The joke among the students: it used to be one big rock at the Del, but it was broken up onto boulders by successive BUDS classes slamming against it.
“You people are groggy and you may not be thinking straight,” Cooper warned in a loud voice. “It’s time to pull your head out of your ass now or you won’t be in Hell Week long.” It was no idle threat. The instructors expected injuries from rock portage.
Two hours later, the first boat went speeding to Valderrama’s position. Each paddler kept one leg hung over the lip of the rubber raft as he stroked furiously to control the vessel in the fast current approaching the rocks. A wave tossed the boat high into the air. The paddlers yanked up their legs as the wave sent the boat crashing against the rocks. A second wave beat the boat against a low rock another time. The man at the front clutching a bowline attached to the raft leaped for the rock, clawing at its slippery surface to climb up.
The trick for the man leaping with the bowline was not to get caught between a rock and the l50-pound raft. A wave could come in and crush him. In real SEAL operations the boats would be loaded down with weapons and equipment and would weigh even more.
A crowd of curious spectators from the Hotel Del had gathered at the rocks to watch all the commotion at sea. Hidden in it was Allyson Rancich. As the boats came crashing into the rocks, Allyson found herself explaining the evolution to the tourists around her, remembering what Rancich had told her about it, and telling them proudly that her husband was in one of those rafts.
An elderly couple from the Hotel Del, with whom Allyson had been talking in the crowd before, now came up to her. The husband pressed two $20 bills into the palm of her hand. “We want you to take your husband out to dinner when they finish,” he said.
MIDNIGHT, TUESDAY, APRIL 14
Hell Week was becoming weird for the students. Rancich’s eyes were playing tricks on him. Shiny objects suddenly had intricate designs like crystals.
The cold was driving them all batty. Rancich now began shivering just at the thought of going into the ocean. He drank a glass of cold milk and it caused him to shake.
Shortly before 1 a.m. Wednesday, the students launched their boats from Foxtrot Beach at the Naval Amphibious Base and paddled northwest up San Diego Bay under the tall bridge connecting San Diego to Coronado. The water was peaceful. But full of demons.
Sailors at sea on lonely night watches sometimes see them. Apparitions. Mirages. The sea at night can play tricks with sleepy eyes. Hell Week students, by midweek, would hallucinate even more in the ocean. Some saw Indian totem poles sticking up out of the water. Others saw automobiles on top of rubber boats.
6:15 P.M., THURSDAY, APRIL 16
The students lined up naked in the barracks for their third and final hygiene inspection. It was almost impossible now for the students to function individually. Arms were slung over one another’s shoulders for support. A student’s good leg became a crutch for another’s bad leg. It was as if each boat crew was pooling the parts of each body that still worked.
There was no use hiding injuries at this point; by now their symptoms were too pronounced and the doctors could easily spot them. Blisters had become ulcers. Necks and shoulder blades were rubbed raw from the life vests. Chafing had inflamed testicles. Limbs swelled with cellulitis, which occurred when the skin became severely infected by cuts and gashes. The question the medical team now had to answer for each student: could he make it for another day of Hell Week without doing serious damage to his body?
Both of Brett Chappell’s feet were so swollen that he had taken the insoles out of his boots to relieve some of the pressure. Chappell, a 24-year-old former college baseball player from Colorado, now thought he had hydrophobia. He would start shivering just thinking of water.
Rancich had welts inside his thighs. His feet were swollen. His toes felt like they were falling off. A gash on his left calf festered.
Ensign Travis Schweizer, a 23-year-old Northern Californian, had to drag his swollen right leg with his hands in order to walk. The doctors laid him down on the floor. He could not extend his leg. His knee felt hot. He couldn’t bend his ankle. The pain was excruciating.
The doctors went to the corner of the room to confer with Reilly. Schweizer stared at them intently. He could feel a rush of fear sweep his body. Was it going to end here? This close?
“You’ll … be rolled forward with the class,” Reilly told him quietly. Schweizer let out a sigh.
“No problem,” Reilly explained. “It happens every Hell Week.” Students injured after Thursday are often allowed to cut Hell Week a day short and continue with their class to the next phase of BUDS training, particularly if they were good students and the instructors wanted them as SEALs.
5:20 A.M., FRIDAY, APRIL 17
The students dragged their boats out to the surf for the last paddle.
The surf was rough. The weak students barely made it past the breakers. A swift current ran against them. An hour later they had made little headway up the coast. Jaco signaled them to return to shore. The students would have to travel on land, where the slightest step, every movement, was painful.
His feet now badly swollen from cellulitis, Chappell had to be carried ashore.
Jaco ordered boats on heads. He moved out at a mercifully slow pace.
Chappell now hung on to the boat straps, letting his crew mates drag him along.
“You’re not pulling your load,” McCarthy told him.
“Yes he is,” Rancich said, his raspy voice barely audible. With the boat still bouncing on his head, Rancich wrapped his left arm around Chappell’s waist to help him along. But he knew Chappell was not going to make it much further.
A mile down the beach, Rancich’s boat and crew were ordered to peel off from the line. Oswald ordered them to the surf, then 10 more push-ups.
They took several steps. He stopped them.
“Do you think you can catch up with the rest of the men?” Oswald asked.
“No” was all Rancich could manage to say, pointing to Chappell’s leg.
“Okay,” Oswald said with a smile. “You guys are secure.”
The words took a while to be processed by their brains. “Secure” meant their Hell Week had ended - successfully. Slowly the six men hobbled together and wrapped their arms around one another in a giant hug, like survivors of a shipwreck rejoicing to be found alive.
“Good job, Lieutenant Rancich,” Oswald said.
Thirty-eight students from Class 183 had made it. The next week, five of them would be laid up with post-Hell Week injuries that delayed their graduation. The remaining 33 members of class 183 had really just begun their SEAL training. They had 10 more weeks of physical training and scuba-diving instruction. Then they would head to nearby San Clemente Island for nine weeks of light-infantry tactics and commando training. Afterward, they would be packed off to the Army for parachute training and Ranger school. The instructors said the Navy would be lucky if just 24 students from Class 183 completed all the training the first time around and didn’t have to drop out or be recycled. Rancich was one of those who succeeded. He is now a Navy SEAL stationed in Norfolk, Va.
More info on Tom Rancich here.
Tags: 2011 motivation, BUD/S, Hell Week, Tom Rancich
One of the most Evil Races in the World
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Events, Marathon
-Originally posted on David Goggins Blogspot in 2009, GET MOTIVATED-
THE HURT 100
1. 25,000 ft of elevation gain
2. 25,000 ft of elevation loss
3. Only 2 people in the history of the race to go under 24 hours
4. Brings nothing but pain
Most of you who know me, know that I am a quite person. I keep to myself. I am not big on giving my training schedule, my daily life, or anything else out to people. However, I am about to participate in the HURT 100 again on January 17th. I’m sharing this with all of you because this course has a lot of meaning to me. This race was actually my second ultra and my first ever trail race. Let me just say….. That was not neccessarily the best decision I could have made. I have completed the HURT 100 twice in my running career. Once in 2006 and again in 2007. I want you all to know that it put me in a wheelchair both times I completed it.
This course holds very dear to me for a couple of reasons.
1. The HURT club and the race directors are amazing, and caring people. They gave me a shot at the hardest race in the world when they knew I didn’t have a prayer all because they believed in my cause with the foundation. To them I owe the most gratitude. Because of them I was able to compete in the Badwater my first time.
2. This course holds two of the most amazing performances in Ultrarunninng history in my opinion. The first one being Karl Meltzer in 2006 break 24 hours on an impossible course. But, to me the Most Amazing thing I have ever witnessed was in 2007 when Matt Estes crushed this course with a 20:43! I remember watching him levetate past me when I was on mile 78 and he was on mile 98. It was the most amazing thing I have ever seen in running. He is an amazing athlete.
You can watch the race progress at the link above. I thank you all for your support.
Tags: David Goggins, Hurt 100, Ultra-Running
Big run coming, Thank god Hanami is over
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Marathon, Training
On May 9th I am doing a 50 kilometer run in Hinoshi here in Tokyo and until today, I honestly haven’t done much in the way of serious prep.
Well Hanami is over. Thank God.
Today I went for a long, hot run. After a brutal wine class last night I got home and went to bed. Today I got up, checked my weight, I weigh about the same as some small eastern European CARS, and then I put on plastics to really punish myself and I went running.
Let me try and explain how weak this effort was and how out of damn shape I am after 2 weeks of MASSIVE alcohol and food consumption: 1 hour, 25 minutes and I ran a total of about 8 miles. That my friends is what I like to call VERY SLOW.
It was sunny today and I was burning up, especially with the plastics I had on but, I felt I really needed to sweat big time and those did the trick.
After the run I went to the park (after I popped inside and changed my saturated sweat dripping rags) and there I did an abbreviated version of BODY ARMOR, by Lt. Michael Murphy R.I.P. Warrior and then I almost threw up. Then I shadow boxed for 25 minutes. Hands, then hands and elbows, then with knees and finally adding kicks. I had about 20 kids who were all playing in the park staring at me, daring each other to run by me, even a few of them were shadow boxing with each other.
Just planting seeds…planting seeds. Future Masatos there.
So over the next 4 weeks I have to run and insane amount in order to get ready for this race. I have to pull my weight down. I have to get in the gym just in case a fight pops up for me and I have to help some friends that are fighting at the end of April.
I’m pumped!
OK so…a decent video of the “PITBULL” ARLOVSKI training, I found it motivating.
STAY HARD, NOTHING IS IMPOSSIBLE
Tags: Arlovski video, Hinoshi Ultramarathon, Shadow Boxing, Training with plastics
KettleBell: those damned Russians
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under MMA strength training, Strength Training, high rep training, weight training
Ahhh Kettlebell. Fun fun fun.
I finally got around to ordering one of these, the local sports store only had them up to 10 Kilograms, not impressive Japan, I know. the one I got is 24 Kilos. Its pretty decent too. I am getting beat up by this thing 2 times a week now, usually in the mornings, before I train at the gym in the evening.
For the unintiated the KEttle bell is something the Russkies came up with.
The kettlebell or girya (Russian: гиря) is a cast iron weight looking somewhat like a cannonball with a handle. Many companies produce their own brands of kettlebells and kettlebell exercise programs. Some modern kettlebells feature adjustable weights.
While today, there are sizes that range from 5lbs to 70lbs, the traditional Russian kettlebell is usually one which weighs 1 Pood (roughly 16kg / 35lbs).
Unlike traditional dumbbells, the kettlebell’s center of mass is extended beyond the hand, similar to a Clubbell’s. This allows for swing movements not possible with traditional dumbbells. Because more muscle groups are utilized in the swinging and movement of a kettlebell than during the lifting of dumbbells, a kettlebell workout is said to be more effective, and yields better results in less time.
This translates into alot of pain and efficiency.
My current workout is as follows.
4 sets, each comprised of 5 exercises done for 1 one minute each. I do each in rapid succession, then I take a minute break, then I go into the next set. The entire workout then, only takes 24 minutes plus a brief body weight warm up.
1- Upper cut, double handed swings, coming fromlow right to upper left, then low left to upper right.
2- Over hand swings, double handed, upper right to lower left, then upper left to lower right.
3- Clean and press, alternating arms, I never set the weight down, just take it to waist level.
4- Two handed swing, alot like a dynamic deadlift, the kettlebell is swung between the legs,and up to eye level.
5- Squat, Kettlebell held at chest level and you squat all the way into the hole and up.
Like I said, I do 4 sets (for now, more soon) and I get only a one minute break. I assure you, try it and your heart will be pounding, your muscles aching and your stomach in a knot.
Pointers- I, as you can see, have wrapped the handle of my kettle bell in medical tape. It helps once your juices are flowing to kee ahold of it.
Next, do not set the weight down during your set, even if you are exhausted and cant get another rep, hold onto it and support its weight somehow. This is going to drastically increase your grip strength. I usually cool down after this by shdow boxing for 20 minutes.
You can feel this workout in your joints, all those connective fibers, and in your glutes and hammies. Great for increasing strength, speed and endurance. It also, as I have noticed in just 4 weeks, really does alot for your metabolism.
Tags: Kettlebell, MMA strength training
The Moment: A few pictures from Magnum 22
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Event Report, Kickboxing
I wrote about Mutsuki Ebata and Sacrifices, here are some images from that night.
This was a night that will not soon be forgotten. Congrajulations Mutsuki, you earned every moment.
Tags: Eric Barnes, Fly weight champion, Korakuen Hall, Mutsuki Ebata, Rionne McAvoy, Shin Nihon Kickboxing
Making Sacrifices
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Kickboxing, Motivation, News
Making Sacrifices
One of my New Years resolutions was to post more frequently on this blog. I was excited about this idea but also a little weary because, in order to post on this blog, it is necessary that I do something special. That might sound like an oxymoron to some, but a fear of failure can be intense. I often feel that what I am doing simply does not warrant blog attention. I am fortunate though in my life to be surrounded by people that are doing the type of things that deserve attention. Mutsuki Ebata is one of these people. Last night I was lucky enough to be seated 5 meters south of ringside at Korakuen hall and I got to watch this kid humiliate and essentially own the now FORMER fly weight champ, Hiroki Koshikawa. From the bell of round 1 untill the end of round 5, Mutsuki was faster, more technical and more aggressive. By the end of round 2, Koshikawa was simply trying to survive. Mutsukis straight right hand, that gracefully flowed from his cheek and slipped subtly passed the outside of Hoshikawas guard, continually clipped the former champ, badly bruising him. The repeated body kicks, horrible hard kicks like someone hitting you in the torso with a baseball bat, landed time and again. Mutsukis use of boxing style body shots, a rarity in many kickboxing bouts were sublime. Finally his elbows, these were upright, in line, clean and precise, no desperation or lack of intent, they repeatedly found their mark on Hoshikawas forehead. At the end of the 5th round everyone knew who had won, it was undeniable, even in a country famous for screwing people out of decisions, this would have been nearly impossible. Mutsuki Ebata was now the new Champ.
Mutsuki Ebata
Mutsuki Ebata is one of the 19 year old twin brothers I nick named “The Double Dragons” when I first saw them sparring together back in 2005. He was 14 then. Now, 19 years old, last night at the MAGNUM 22 event, he became the Shin Nihon Kickboxing Fly weight champion.
I know many people reading this, and more still who saw the event muttered the words “My god, to be 19 year’s old and champion, lucky kid.” I even thought this to myself but then, I reflected on what I know of Mutsuki and what I know about what he has been through and the sacrifices he has made over the year’s because there have been many. Luck? Luck has nothing to do with any of what happened last night. Mutsuki Ebata lives and breathes kickboxing and he has as long as I have known him when he was a tiny little amateur tornado destroying all comers side by side with his brother. When he was still in Junior High school, he spent his vacations sleeping on apartment floors of more senior gym members just to be closer to the Home Gym, Ihara Dojo for a week or two. While other kids were sleeping in or even going to Jyuku or studying to prepare for High School entrance exams, Mutsuki Ebata was studying the human body and how it can be made to do amazing things. When the time came for him to decide between going to High school or training more, he choose to forego high school, for a time, and focus on his dream. That is a Sacrifice. He wakes up every morning, cold, rain, hot, humid, beat up and bruised or just mentally exhausted, he wakes up every morning and runs, then after the run, in an alley behind a building or in a quiet park lit by the sunrise you can find him shadow boxing for 40 minutes. He doesn’t go through the motions, every punch, every slip, check, right hand, elbow, knee and graceful head high round kick is thrown as if he is in the fight at that moment. He looks at himself, assesses his weakness and consciously tries to fix them. On some days, if his part time job at the local fitness center (a 10 minute walk from the Gym, not by accident I assure you) allows him the time, he is at the boxing gym across town, a dirty, gritty hole in the wall called Kimura Gym, to sparr with professional boxers and get punching advice to refine his game that much more. He goes to THEIR house and sparrs with them under THEIR ideal rules and conditions because it is harder. Then, after that, he makes his way to Ihara Dojo for more training, sparring, neck wrestling etc. Not to mention the “tough love” from the boss and head coach Mr. Ihara. Mitts with him can often hurt you more than an actual punch in a fight. At least then the other guy is wearing a glove.
Mutsuki Ebata wakes up everyday and he Sacrifices, he does THE RIGHT THING, EVERYDAY. How many people can honestly say that? Can you?
Tags: Ihara Gym, Kickboxing, Korakuen Hall, Magnum 22, Making Sacrifices, Mutsuki Ebata, Shin Nihon Fly Weight Champion, The double Dragons
My weight training
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Boxing, Kickboxing, MMA strength training, high rep training, power kicking, power punching, weight training
I train at a gym, a kickboxing gym, that it is fair to say, is pretty old school.
Weights…sure we have weights. There are a couple dumbbells, some rusty kettle bells and a few dirty medicine balls. There are two simple cast iron pull up bars bolted into the walls and there are about 4 sit up benches.
Weight lifting is just not something that is big in my gym.
One thing I have noticed however is that, the strongest, most consistent fighters I have met, in my gym and out, all of them use some kind of regular strength training routine that incorporates moving around heavy objects.
I am not big on weight lifting.
Years ago, in the military I was doing it regularly and although I was strong, I was always paying for it. Shoulder pain, knee pain, lower back pain especially was chronic.
Since I got involved seriously in prize fighting however, all this has been going away. I have traded that chronic weight training pain for sour hands, painful wrists and the occasional broken nose.
I do however notice the difference in power when I life and when I dont. so I did some research. I read some books. I tried some things. I decided not to beleive that bench press and squats are the best way to develop dynamic, explosive power.
So what do I do? High reps.
Thats right…I do high reps. I come from a strength training background in which if you got caught doing high reps, you got bitch slapped. So this transition was not so smooth.
I has been however very beneficial. I have alot of power in my punches and I can feel a tightness in my torso movements when I slip, roll or even when I get hit, kicked or kneed that I like.
The routine Im using is simple, straight forward and it works.
Get a couple dumbells, Im doing this with 4o lbs deals.
I do this whole routine in quick succession, about 1 minute between sets and I do it twice, usually before my training in the afternoons Monday and Wednesday.
DBell press flat. X 5o reps.
DBell rows standing X 5o reps
Lateral raise X 2o reps -4os are pushing it for lat raises.
Lunges X 5o reps -this is fun-
Hammer curls X 4o-5o reps first unilaterally then going to bilateral for burn out
Over head Tri ext X 5o reps
Shrugs X 1oo reps
Thats it. Two sets only takes about ten minutes but I feel it something good.
Keep in mind I do lots of pushups and pullups and abs and sprints and cycling and all sorts of other crap in addition to kickboxing wrestling. I have found this workout gets the job done without exposing you to the kind of joint pain that often precedes a training injury.
Good luck with it.
Tags: Combat sports conditioning, high rep training, HITT, kicking power, puching power, weight training
October Updates: Scott Schaffer and Martin Schatz and MAGNUM 21
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Event Report, Kickboxing, News
October is a Busy month!
Summer in Tokyo anyway, is long gone and Everyone is looking forward to the Autumn action.
I am training with people at Ihara Dojo to help them get ready for “Magnum 21″ on October 25th.
Ikeda is back in the Ring to defend his title and has enlisted the help of Former Champion Fukatsu to get that razors edge in his training and sparring.
I am also getting ready for fight I hope will be in November…training hard. Regular work with a new boxing coach the former Champ and now actor (dirty Yakuza films only) Takeshi Yamato my hands and stamina are looking better and better.
Scotty Schaffer Is on the move again in Asia. He is with Bob Sapp as he and Bob hit Hong Kong and Tokyo for two seperate bouts that Bob has committed too. Scotty has recently been working with coach Ivan Sallavarry to keep his game sharp untill he can get back over to Japan in December or early next year.
I am wishing Scotty all the luck in the world on whatever fight comes his way next, getting back to Japan and running around as a member of the Sapp circus.
Finally….my boy Martin Schatz just kicked another ass in his latest amateur bout in California. He scored a standing 8 count and two other stoppages but the fight went on to him winning the decision and right fully so.
Congrats Martin, looking for more wins from you in the near future!
Stay hard and remember pain is just weakness leaving the body.
Tags: Bob Sapp, Boxing, Eric Barnes, Kickboxing, Magnum 21, Martin Schatz, Scott Schaffer, Takeshi Yamato
July 5th 7 hour team Enduro at Fuji Speedway Circuit- by Keith Powell
Posted by EBarnes | Filed under Cycling, Event Report, News
Keith Powell a member of the Team Ataque Masivo tells the tale of how he and his Team came from nowhere to kick ass and take names!
Our race started way back in May. Cycle racing in Japan is not a spur of the moment decision! Applications usually have to be made at least six weeks before the race and often fill up within two days. As the race required registration and number allocation on the day before we also had to find somewhere to stay. The wonderful Green Plaza Fuji fit the bill perfectly!
Fuji Green Plaza Hotel
We set off from Setagaya on Saturday afternoon after picking up some supplies for the evening. I have a rack on the back of the car that can hold 3 bikes. Mine goes inside with the one rear seat down. Two others go on the back. My “superb” navigation skills took us to Gotemba where we got hopelessly lost until seeing a van with bikes on top. “Follow that van! It must be going to the track!” And sure enough it was!
Registration was easy, sign in, pick up your race numbers and free sports drink and a list of instructions. Our team number was 007 so we had a license to KILL! We then had to find the hotel. Mikes iPhone navi was doing its usual trick of losing its signal every 3 minutes so we asked one of the other racers if he could check on his car navi which way we had to go. The guy was a star and told us to follow him there! He drove 20 minutes out of his way just to help us! Only in Japan. We all agreed to not kick his back wheel if he was in front of us in the race!
That evening we loaded up on the carbs. I had made a tuna and pasta salad to compliment our French bread and cheese selection. This was washed down with a rather nice bottle of South African Pinot Noir and a couple of beers.
Race day morning we were up early and straight down for a breakfast of eggs, bacon and as much toast as we could eat. A quick stop at the 7-11 to buy race supplies, ice for the 4 liter water cooler, snacks, bananas, and pocari sweat. Then to the track to get a good place in the pit area. Dooh! Turned out that everyone had beaten us to it! But we managed to snag some space in the shade just outside pit no. 16.
The race was being held at Fuji Speedway Circuit, which is the full F1 track owned by Toyota.
This graph show the up down nature of the course. Total lenght is just over 4.5 km. The start is fairly flat, going downhill for about a kilometer, then up down to the finish line.
We were entered in the 7 hour team endurance race. The rules for which are, teams can have from 3 to 6 riders, each team has a transponder band that goes around the ankle of the rider. Rider changes are made in the pit lane. One rider comes in, the ankle band is changed over and the next rider goes out. Teams can use any number of bikes and can change rider at any time. The 7 hour event had 82 teams. There were several other races all starting at the same time.
(1) 100km individual race (22 laps)
(2) 200km challenge 7 hours to finish 200 kms
(3) 4 hour team race where all riders ride at the same time.
All team members distances are added to find the winner.
(4) Team 5 hour endurance race
There were going to be more than 2000 riders on the starting line!!
This meant that the start was going to crowded and chaotic at best! Or dangerous and full of crashes at worst!
(Last minute preparation in the pits. 30 mins before the start Micheal finds a split in his tire! )
Our team plan was to have Michael as our starting rider. Get on the grid early to secure a position near the front. At the gun go out fast and stay at the back of the pack of fast riders and out of trouble. Our first rider change would be after 4 laps.
After a long count down they were off….. Sadly a lot of riders were really off! sliding along the tarmac!! Lycra doesn`t offer much protection. The first two laps were chaos! We never saw Micheal and started to wonder if he was one of the fallers. Then on lap 3 we saw him in perfect position getting a nice pull at the back of the front runners. I was next out so it was time to put down the coffee and get my helmet on! I got us a 2 lap penalty at the Arakawa enduro for forgetting to put my helmet on. The other members will NOT let this happen again!
Our first and all other change overs were pretty slick. Jess took the band from Mike`s leg , put it around mine and I`m off in seconds. The fast group are still on the track but have made about 200 meters on me during the change over. I managed to catch them just before the uphill section and settled into my rhythm, 80-90 rpm and heart rate around 85%. Riding in a group is much easier than solo riding. The front rider of a pack is using 10-20% more energy than the riders in his wake. Thats why you always see cyclists in a long drawn out line. This is perfectly legal and fair, and is part of the sport. If you are in a group like this, you are expected to take your turn pulling at the front.
I was feeling fine at the end of the 4th lap so stayed with the fast group for one more lap before pitting in for Jess to start his efforts. Our 4 lap plan also had a plan B in that we would come in after 3 laps if we were feeling tired and our average time was dropping. The next rider would always be ready to go out. In between rides we kept our blood sugar level high by eating cakes, chocolate cookies and other assorted snacks all kept cool in the team cooler box. I have to admit that our pit area was one of the most professional! Cooler box, camp chairs, tool box, work stands only thing missing was the bikini girl with the umbrella!
We changed riders a few more times, the fast group had either been lost or disintegrate in the change overs, so we were now riding solo for most of the race. At one point I overtook a small group of riders who then jumped on my tail for the pull. After a few kilometers I moved left for the following rider to take the lead but he just sat on my tail…. At the start of the climb I put in a quick burst to breakaway, at the top of the climb I was alone again.
After pitting in I went for a wander around the pit area. Most endurance races have an hourly update showing the leaders. I noticed a group of people looking at monitors suspended from the ceiling in the pit. These were showing real time video of the track from various angles and current leader boards. The screen flipped over and there we were … Ataque Masivo in 2nd place after 3 hours! The leader was 20 seconds ahead. The next time the screen changed ,we were in the lead by 45 seconds. “Just don`t let any riders with green numbers pass!”
We were now changing rider after 3 laps and maintaining a good pace. Our lead continued to grow over the passing hours. There were now fewer riders on the track as the 100km and 4 and 5 hour races had ended. It was almost all solo riding from here in, with no drafting opportunities. The hill before the straight was starting to take a toll, legs were getting tired!
With about 45 minutes to go I checked the leader board one last time before going out for my last laps. Our lead was now more than a lap. Only a puncture or crash could keep us off the podium. Time to play safe, leave plenty of room overtaking and stay away from any groups of riders on the corners. As Micheal came into the pit lane he was followed by one of the safety motorcycles. This one had a banner on the back…. leader! This motorcycle would stay about 10-15m in front of me and sound his horn for slower riders to move off the racing line as we passed them. I remembered getting lapped by a group of pros during my first 100km race at Motegi circuit in January and seeing a similar motorcycle. Much better circumstances this time! I don`t know whether it was the presence of the “leader” motorcycle or the knowledge that these were my last laps so I could give it everything I had left, but my second to last lap was my fastest of the day. I managed to sprint the last half kilometer! Luckily Micheal was able to stop me falling off the bike in my exhausted state. Jess would now do 2 laps then pit in for Micheal to finish 2 laps and take the checkered flag! I could now take off my helmet and cycle shoes, relax and watch the finish with the one beer that was left in the cooler!
The finish line had a big digital clock hanging above it. When this reached 7 hours a loud horn blasted and the race was over. Micheal crossed the line with his hands in the air ( been watching too much Tour de France) and a big grin on his face. The loudspeaker then announced the race results totally murdering our team name! We had 20 minutes before the award ceremony so decided to load our kit into the car ready for the home journey.
On the Podium!
They had a pretty female announcer to read out the positions and call riders to the podium. I joked with Micheal that she would have trouble with his name ( Polukosko). She did! And Jess and my names too! We all climbed onto the podium and were awarded an engraved glass plaque, a cerificate, some bike goods, a crate of sports drinks and a huge bottle of shampoo! This was just a dummy bottle, we later received a years supply through the post. The prizes were presented by a cycle journalist. I later recognized him on TV as one of the studio experts during this years Tour de France.
The final result!
After the awards ceremony and photo taking, we took a show in the excellent facilities at Fuji Speedway. We didn’t want to be stinking up the car on the way home. First track played through the car speakers on my iPod……..
Queen….. We are the Champions!
Team ATAQUE MASIVO
Team Ataque Masivo`s next Endurance race is a re-run of this race, 7 hours at the same track on October 24th. Hopefully our team jerseys will be ready by then.
Tags: Ataque Masivo, Cycling, Fuji Speedway circuit, Japan Cycling, Keith Powell, Race report
