Stephen Templin's Blog, page 17

Navy SEAL/CEO/Professor

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SEAL Training 17: Cold Steel

One legendary Hell Week event occurs on a steel pier where the Navy docks its small boats. We took off our boots and stuffed our socks and belts in them. My fingers were so numb and shaky that I had a tough time taking off my boots. I started telling myself, the water is warm here. It's like a hot tub.

Still wearing our olive drab green uniforms, we jumped into the bay with no life jackets, shoes, or socks. I immediately did a dead-man's float while I undid the fly on my trousers. The Velcro saved my numb fingers from having to fumble with a tiny zipper. Of course, this wasn't Navy issue Velcro. Before Hell Week, one of our ensigns, some classmates, and I had taken our trousers to a tailor in San Diego where most of the students went for uniform needs. We asked the tailor to replace our zippers with Velcro, and the tailor did an excellent job.

Still doing a dead man's float, I brought my face out of the freezing water and took a quick bite of oxygen then resumed my position face-down in the water. When I started to sink too much, I kicked a couple strokes. Meanwhile, I pulled off my trousers. Then I Velcroed the fly shut.

With my trousers off, I tied each end of the legs together with a square knot. Then, using both hands, I grabbed hold of the waist and kicked until my body straightened up from its float. I lifted my pants high in the air then slammed them forward and down on the water, trapping air in the trouser legs.

As my upper body hung over the valley in the "V" of my homemade trouser flotation device, I felt relief. I had been so concerned about drowning that I had forgotten how frigid the water felt. Now that I wasn't drowning, I started to remember the cold. I tried to imagine steam rising around me in a hot tub.

Some of our guys swam back to the pier. We tried to call them back, but they'd had enough. Ring, ring, ring.

Senior Chief Rogers said, "If one more of you rings the bell, the rest of you can come out of the water too. Inside the ambulance we have warm blankets and a thermos of hot coffee."

Some brave soul began singing a cadence. "Now Superman was the man of steel!” It picked up our spirits.

We joined in the cadence:

Now Superman was a man of steel,

But he ain't no match for a Navy SEAL.

Now Chief and Supe, they got in a fight:

Chief hit him in the head with some kryptonite.

Supe fell to his knees in pain—

Now Chief's dating Lois Lane.

Now Chief and Batman had one too,

Chief hit him in the head with his shoe.

Hit him in the temple with his left heel,

Now Chief's driving the Batmobile.

Senior Chief Rogers said, "If you can sing that with my name instead of Chief, I'll let you out of the water!"

We sang the cadence again with “Senior Chief Rogers” in place of “Chief.” The revised version made Senior Chief happy, but destroyed the song’s rhythm.

Senior Chief looked bored. "Everybody out of the water!"

"HOOYAH!"

We crawled out of the water and onto the floating steel pier.

Senior Chief said, "Now strip down to your undershorts and lay down on the pier. If you don't have shorts, your birthday suit is even better."

I stripped down to my black triathlon shorts and lay down. The triathlon shorts were my choice because they dried faster than a fabric like cotton, didn't chafe the skin, and gave more support and protection than being naked. The instructors had prepared the pier by spraying it down with water. Mother Nature had prepared the pier by blowing cool wind across it. I felt like I was lying down on a block of ice. Then the instructors sprayed us with cold water. Our muscle’s contracted wildly. The spasms were uncontrollable. We flapped around on the steel deck like fish out of water.

Our Leading Petty Officer started singing, and we joined him:

I had a dog whose name was Blue,

He wanted to be a SEAL too!

So I bought him a mask and four tiny little fins

Took him to the ocean and threw him in.

Blue came back to my surprise

With a shark in his teeth and a gleam in his eyes!

Our singing kept us together and kept our minds off the stinging cold. We didn't lose anymore guys at the steel pier that night.

Forging a SEAL

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SEAL Training 16: It Pays to be a Winner

We did Run-Paddle-Run, racing along the beach carrying the IBSs (Inflatable Boat-Small) on our heads. The boats pounded on top of our skulls as we ran, and the ground pounded our feet from below—the two forces seemed to impact at our knees. We short-legged crews ate the dust of the long-legged crews as they sped ahead.

Of course, my crew paid for losing: holding our boat over our heads and pushing it up and down—IBS pushups—until we reached exhaustion. Then we dropped the boat and did pushups with our legs propped up on the sides—putting extra gravity on our arms while the instructors shoveled sand on us until we became sugar cookies. Faces in the sand, having spent almost all the strength in our arms, we wiggled until we got our heads off the beach and could prop ourselves up on our arm bones. Then our bones collapsed at the joints, dumping our faces in the sand, again. Wiggle, prop, collapse—wiggle, prop, collapse—those were our pushups.

We were last in the land races but first in the water. I don't know if it was because we had more upper body strength, better technique, or smaller bodies to transport—but my crew cruised. After we crossed the finish line first, we caught a breather while the losers did the IBS pushups and sand eating drills. It pays to be a winner.

Edge of Tomorrow

Looking for a movie to watch this weekend? Edge of Tomorrow has slipped under the radar of many moviegoers, but I think it’s well worth the watch for 5 reasons:

1.      Drama. Tom Cruise plays a cowardly soldier, and Emily Blunt is the kick-ass heroine, and when these two connect, the fate of the world is at stake and the feelings strong. Someone’s got to give.

2.      Action. Action without drama falls flat for me, and this movie has both. It’s rare for a movie to capture my attention 100%--there’s usually a moment when I’m checking out the other moviegoers, studying the theater décor, thinking about what I have to do after the movie, and so on. But I was in this movie from beginning to end. Cruise and Blunt don’t disappoint.

3.      Dark humor. A couple moments in Edge of Tomorrow made me laugh out loud, particularly Emily Blunt’s “reset”—I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t seen it yet.

4.      Strong female lead. Many people want movies with strong women, but Hollywood just isn’t making enough. Emily Blunt ain’t no wallflower here.

5.      Japanese. All You Need is Kill (by Hiroshi Sakurazaka), is the title of the manga this movie originates from. I believe looking at the themes of patriotism and rebirth from outside our own culture gives added meaning to these values.

If you haven’t seen Edge of Tomorrow, you know what to do.

Navy SEAL Prep 1

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SEAL Training 15: Monday Midrats

At midnight, we posted two men to guard the boats as the rest of us left the cold darkness outside to enter the bright warmth of the Naval Amphibious Base cafeteria.

With the flick of a mental switch, I turned off Hell Week. Forget about what happened and forget about what will happen. Enjoy the cafeteria, now—these moments are too few and far between to waste.

SEAL instructors had told us that most guys lose weight during Hell Week, so I focused on being special. I got in the chow line and loaded my plate. Navy food is excellent: chicken adobo from the Philippines, yakisoba from Japan, steak, lobster… During Hell Week we got four meals a day. We called the midnight meal, "midrats," short for midnight rations. Rather than prepare a separate meal, the cooks heated up leftovers from the evening meal. But even the Navy's leftovers are better than a lot of meals I've eaten. From behind the counter, a Filipina with almond-shaped eyes and a warm smile served my plate of hot food—seeing her made me feel alive, again.

Some guys drank coffee, but I was never a coffee drinker. Steam rose from my water and meal. The warm mug thawed my numb hands. A sandy puddle of seawater formed around my feet. Piss and sweat—we smelled like swamp monsters. (The Hell Week pace is so busy that most of us only had time to piss ourselves—which also served as a moment of warm relief from the cold.)

During the meal, some guys talked, and some stayed quiet. I couldn't understand how the talkers had the energy to jack their jaws, but it was probably better to expend the energy talking to others than feeling sorry for oneself in solitude. I was one of the quiet ones, focused on enjoying the moment: peace, light, warmth... Some guys ate like wolves and others nibbled like rabbits. I was one of the wolves. The rabbits would suffer later when their fuel tanks hit empty.

A group of SEAL instructors ate at a separate table. They wouldn't harass us unless one of us fell asleep.

After about a thirty-minute meal, we got ready to head back out into the dark cruel world. With the flick of a mental switch, I turned off the cafeteria. Hell Week on. Suddenly, the bell rang, and we lost another guy. I was too zoned into Hell Week to think about him or his reasons why. Although now I wish I could remember his face or his name, I can’t.

The Week

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SEAL Training 14: "The Little Match Girl"

Monday, cold and shivering, we assembled on Turner Field at the NAB (Naval Amphibious Base), and like the poor “Little Match Girl” in the snow watching the flame from her match burn down the stick, we watched the sun fall from the sky. The little match girl knew that if she didn’t sell the matches, when she went home, her father would beat her. In contrast, we were going to get punished no matter what we did. Having been without sleep for nearly twenty-four hours, our real world began to blend into dreams. The girl saw a falling star and remembered her deceased grandmother tell her that the shooting star symbolized someone dying and going to Heaven. She lit her next match and saw a vision of her grandmother, the only person who loved her. The girl lit one match after another, trying to keep the vision of her grandmother alive—until she reached her last match.

The sun descended lower and darkness snuffed out the sky. The Evil Trio replaced the other SEAL instructors and stood in front of the headlights of a parked truck. Instructor Blah led the replacement crew, representing their reputation for pain. “GOODBYE SUN,” he spoke monotone into a megaphone. “GOODBYE SUN. GOODBYE SUN.”

The sun disappeared, taking its warmth and our hopes with it. Priest, the surf-punk who seemed at home in the cold ocean, said he wanted to quit. We reasoned with him. “Come on, man. Don’t quit now.”

“I can’t take this anymore,” Priest said.

“Just stay a little longer.”

Priest walked toward the Evil Trio. Someone grabbed ahold of him before he could break away from us. “Come on, let me go,” he said.

“Don’t go.”

There was a struggle, and someone else helped hold him back. A classmate said that we shouldn’t physically restrain him. Someone argued, Priest wrestled, and he broke free and ran to the instructors. Ensign Mark and another followed him partway and tried to persuade him to stay, but he ran to the instructors. Even so, there was no bell for him to ring out with.

The instructors spoke with him, but they were too far away for us to hear their words. “OKAY, GUYS. PRIEST WANTS TO QUIT. IT’S TIME TO BRING BACK THE BELL.”

Murmuring broke out among us, but we didn’t give in.

“COME ON GUYS, GIVE US THE BELL,” Instructor Blah said.

No dice.

“MR. MARK, CAN WE HAVE A WORD WITH YOU?”

Ensign Mark walked away from us and joined the instructors. The Evil Trio, Mark, and Priest talked. Then Mark returned to us. “Priest wants to quit,” Mark said. “We have to give back the bell, so he can.”

We agreed, and the instructors drove one of our guys back to the barracks. Before Hell Week, we discussed the plan for stealing the bell, who would do it and who would be least likely to quit Hell Week. The least likely quitter hid the bell, but we told him to keep the location a secret from us. But now we’d agree to let him take the instructors to it.

We waited at Turner Field for about half an hour until the instructors returned with our guy and the bell. Priest rang it more than the requisite three times. It sounded like a fire alarm, and a number of our guys ran for the nearest exit. We tried to encourage them to stay, but they weren’t going down with the building and us in flames. The bell kept ringing as more guys Dropped on Request (DOR).

When the bell stopped ringing, we reported our status to the boat crew leaders who held a pow-wow with Mark. Next, we reorganized our boat crews and loaded a black rubber boat onto the back of the instructors’ truck. We’d lost seven men, enough for a boat crew.

It sucked to lose Priest. It sucked to lose the bell. And it sucked to lose so many more of our guys. And the suck was just beginning.

Instructor Blah gathered us around him and explained our next evolution: Lyon’s Lope. Named after Vietnam veteran SEAL Ted Lyon, Lyon’s Lope was a torturous boat Olympics. Then we raced on land without boats and ran with the boats on our heads. We rowed our boats out into the San Diego Bay, flipped them over in the frigid water and raced back to shore. Finally, each crew formed a human centipede in the water by each man wrapping his legs around the man in front of him, and we raced using our arms for paddles. My crew was one of the losing teams, and we spent the most time in the water. We shivered violently, and the cold numbed our brains so much that we barely knew who we were or what we were doing. The longer we stayed in the water, the dumber we became, and the dumber we became, the longer stayed in the water. Finally, we finished the race and crawled onto land.

We had second degree hypothermia, and Doc inspected some of us to make sure we weren’t in third degree hypothermia. “What’s your name?”

“Templin,” I said.

“Where are you?” Doc asked.

“Turner Field.”

“How many fingers am I holding up?”

“Three,” I said.

“Nope,” try again.

“Three.”

“Nope.”

I stared at him hopelessly. I could only say what I saw.

“I’m just screwing with you,” Doc said.

My class stood on shore. We stared blankly at each other like a platoon of zombies.

“WELL, LYON’S LOPE WAS FUN,” Instructor Blah said in his megaphone. “IT WAS SO MUCH FUN, WE’RE GOING TO DO IT AGAIN.”

I didn’t know how I could possibly do it again, but quitting wasn’t an option. For others, it was an option, and they rang out. The Evil Trio had lived up to their name by taking the first chunks out of our ranks, in a big way, but they didn’t make us do Lyon’s Lope again.

SEAL Training 10: First Phase

[Kris asked me what happened to SEAL Training 10--oops--here it is!]

One day, during the three weeks of Indoc, we earned our facemasks by swimming, performing calisthenics and singing “America the Beautiful” while wearing a facemask full of water—it was a garbled aberration. That evening while eating dinner in the cafeteria, my eyes were so saturated with chlorine that the whole world looked foggy.

On another day, we swam in the pool with fins, and my swim ranking improved from second-to-last in the class to the top half of my class. We had to swim 1,000 yards with fins in 20 minutes or less. Those who failed were dropped. Each activity was doable, but the requirements kept coming and coming and standards rose and rose in what seemed like an eternal marathon. I just have to keep believing I can make it.

Indoc ended and First Phase began with a new cadre of hardcore SEAL instructors. While we sat in a classroom, the instructors introduced themselves and yelled at some of us for being sleepy. The instructors made all of us do pushups until our arms became soggy. We could see the shit storm on the horizon. The only easy day was yesterday. All we had to do to quit was walk outside to a pole where a ship’s bell was attached, place our helmet liner on the concrete and ring the bell three times. As soon as the First Phase instructors finished giving their self-introductions, a number of my classmates left the room quietly, and the bell rang repeatedly.

One chilly day, we earned our wetsuits with a swim in San Diego Bay. The wind chopped the water and threw mine and my swim buddy’s rhythm off. We swam fast to stay warm. Some guys slowed down and seemed to feel sorry for themselves—but their lack of movement only made them colder and kept them in the water longer. Hands popped up across the bay for early extractions—they wanted to ring the bell. I couldn’t understand why—it was cold, but I didn’t think it was cold enough to quit.

Each week, the standards were raised. We had to run four miles on the beach in 32 minutes or less, swim two miles in the open ocean in 95 minutes or less, and complete the obstacle course in at least 17.

The third week of Phase One neared an end. Lieutenant Morris, the Phase One officer, called many of my classmates and me into his office. The instructors were thinking about firing some students before the fourth week—Hell Week. Wearing my inspection uniform and shined boots, I waited outside the door. I felt isolated. Suddenly I lost control of my own destiny. This could be the end. Most of the blood flushed from my face, and I felt weak.

Instructor Januzzi led me into the conference room. With my helmet under my arm, I stood at attention in front of a large table where Lieutenant Morris, Doc, and some other instructors sat.

“Stephen Templin, reporting as ordered, sir.”

 “Do you know why you’re in this room right now?” Lieutenant Morris said.

“No, sir, I don’t,” I said.

He said nothing.

It was time to defend myself. “I keep up with the PT. My run times are good. I passed the underwater swim the first try. My swim times with fins have been at the top half of my class. I hold the record in the obstacle course. I thought I was doing well in First Phase, sir.”

“This is one of the best classes I have taught. I think that after my instructors and I fire a no-load or two, this class has a chance to complete Hell Week with no one quitting.”

I couldn’t catch my breath, and my mouth went dry.

His eyes burned into mine. “Are you going to quit during Hell Week?”

“No, sir.”

“Don’t disappoint me.”

I still don’t know why I was called into that office. Because I was only 19-years-old? Because I stood out on the O-Course? Maybe they knew who they wanted to fire and didn’t want to make it look like they were harassing one student. Whatever the reason, they didn’t fire me, but they did fire one of my classmates. After that, the instructors and our class felt that no one in Class 144 would quit Hell Week.