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.