Mentors

By Mark vonAppen

What does - should - a mentor look like?

If we are truly looking for those who lead, we can find them at various points, in many forms, throughout our lives.  They are parents, friends, teachers, clergy, coaches, men, women, brothers and sisters.  I believe mentoring is a commodity that is like lightning in a bottle.  True mentorship knows no bounds.  It reveals itself at times boldly, at others as a whisper, but it is always there in some form.

You never know when a mentor will show up, who they will be, or how they are to influence you or your life as a whole.  We might not know how someone has molded us until years later as we hear his or her words echoed in our own. 

"A mentor should look like everyone."

I believe mentoring to be something that is often so subtle that we do not even sense that it is occurring.  We need to focus on listening to the messages that we send to each another, what we say, do, and how we treat one another, not the vessel that the message comes in.

We need more mentors and fewer categories.  If the message is worth hearing, bias should not be a factor.  We need simply to listen to each other more closely because in ways little and in ways big, everyone is a mentor. 

What should a mentor look like?  A mentor should look like everyone. 

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Here is a piece about a man who influenced me and had a profound impact on how I view the world.

Read "The Ghost"

Sick Days

By Mark vonAppen

In days overflowing with uncertainty, soaring numbers of line of duty deaths, budget corrections, jump staffing, friends and mentors moving on, it would be easy enough to curl up in a ball, turn it all off, count your sick days or add up the days until retirement.  Many of us work for bosses who mimic characters from The Land of Oz, seeming to have no brain, courage, or heart.  As our fire engines and fire houses fall apart, we follow the golden road seeking answers only to find lies waiting for us from those pulling the strings from behind a curtain in a gleaming castle.  None of it is real and not much happens to make our difficult job any easier.  We struggle to make a broken system work and the ever growing chip on our shoulder gets heavier and heavier.  Most of our fears never materialize, yet a sickness can fester if left untreated.  

"Our type of group leadership is a powerful thing when it is unleashed.  We are doing the right thing and making now count."

We could sit around the table with hang dog expressions and pine for the days of old.  A vicious cycle of belly-aching, toward the organization or each other, can ensue that causes us to turn on one another and threatens the very family that we swear is so dear to all of us.  Passion becomes work and days become a swirling mess of hate speak and back biting.  The health of the family declines and as a result, people take more and more sick days.  Let's get something straight, the old days are gone.  If we wish for the past, worry for a future that might not happen, the present goes by and we don't live the days that are right in front of us.

In our firehouse, we grew tired of the same old story and decided to write our own script.  We remixed what it means to have a sick day.  We make now count.  We define sick as another word for awesome, "Dude, that's sick!"  Our days are filled with group activity, workouts, training, meals, all of which allow us to roll with changes as a group.  With the help of family we have gotten through some of our darkest hours.  Our days are sick by design and some of our best times have come in spite of the adversity that we face on a day to day, sometimes minute to minute, basis.  Our all in, all out, treat each other right, lead from everywhere mentality is firmly rooted and has grown into a foxhole culture where we refuse to let one another down.

Making Our Days Sick:

• We give everyone respect - We don't treat people like members of a herd.  The good of the group and the good of the individual should be the same if we adhere to the performance standard.
• Our leadership involves everyone - We let people do what they do best, we steer clear of weaknesses.
• We allow for independent thinking - Some of our most creative people bring a lot of passion into seeing their ideas come to fruition quickly.  We don't crush enthusiasm.
• We do it together -  We lead each other.  Our first priority is to do our job, our second is to help our brothers and sisters do theirs. 

We have tapped into the teacher that exists in everyone in our firehouse.  We welcome new ideas and encourage everyone to stand up and lead in their way and carry on positive traditions in order for us to accomplish our goal of making each day the best it can be.  Drills happen spontaneously, text messages circulate amongst team members on days off about drills we can conduct upon returning to work, veterans help the new members learn their jobs better, and the young people flood the station with wonder and enthusiasm.  We make work look like play time, in doing so, learning is perpetuated and the knowledge of the veterans is assimilated through all members of the station.  We teach that being part of our house means sharing knowledge.  We strengthen ourselves when we strengthen one another.

Ask yourself; was the past really better?  Or is it just a safe place because we know how the story ends?  Life is a three act play in which Act 1 is our past, Act 2 is the rising action, and Act 3 is the continued development of the present situation.  There is no climax, no denouement, no conclusion, it is all about now.  The present is where the struggle occurs as we chart the future.  The present is where we live.  Make now count.

Our type of group leadership is a powerful thing when it is unleashed.  We are doing the right thing and making now count.  We adhere to our standard of performance, "Do your job like a professional.  Treat people right.  Give all out effort.  Have an all in attitude."  We keep the peace in our house. We make our days what they are, and we do not allow for external, uncontrollable, forces to negatively impact our culture.   These are some of the best times of our lives.  Ours is the best job in the world if we make every day a sick day.  

Don't take sick days, make sick days.

Telling

By: Mark vonAppen

I don't care much for fictional accounts so whenever I sit  through an after action review it is interesting to me to hear what happened according to the stories that are told.  Most don't sound anything like any fire I have ever gone to, yet all of them sound exactly the same.  I get angry at the thought about having my time wasted as people indulge in half-truths, out and out lies, and hyperbole.  These outstanding learning opportunities are often lost to fear and ignorance.  I usually withdraw mentally and emotionally as lie piles on top of lie.  I retreat into my own reality I think, "Being honest makes you the biggest jerk in the room."  

If it is true that history repeats and we are helpless to learn from experience, what is the value of sharing our experiences?  Is our experience, our recollection, really the truth?  Or is it more to the point that we are we incapable of telling the truth?  Are our stories so divergent because our minds can only process a limited amount of information due to strain, or is it easier to explain than that?  Do we lie about our experiences?

"It is very difficult to uncoil the roots of what we are led to believe.  They can grow into tumors knitted into the fabric of who we are."

What is the cost of knowing the truth about our past?  Damaged egos and wounded pride?  A tarnished department image?  We have to speak the truth and share our debacles, close calls, and every lesson we have ever learned with anyone who will listen.  Call me anything you want, but I believe that keeping lessons learned, even painful ones inside is the ultimate act of selfishness and cowardice.  It takes a considerable amount of arrogance to think you can do something a couple of times a year for a few minutes at a time and consider yourself an expert.  Likewise, it takes an equal amount of pride to think you wrote the book on something that has existed in one form or another for thousands of years.

Do we dare to tell the truth?  Do pride and tradition impede progress?  Do we operate in a profession where the anecdotal passes for truth?  If we’re honest we might not like the answer.  We engage in circle jerks that create a false-positive feedback loop in which poor performance and decision making is reinforced by a hearty slap on the back and a firm hand shake.  

Lies have an echo chamber effect in our culture, we are parochial by nature and we have our own belief system that is confirmed by our personal biases and ideology.  The fire service has institutional memory.  We learn by telling and retelling stories.  We learn something new and as a group we change.  We have to tell the truth, otherwise lies become our truth.  Honest dialogue, surrounding topics on which we disagree,  and telling the true accounts of what really happened can help us guard against nightmare feedback loops.  

How many brothers and sisters would be with us this day if we all shared the real stories, every one of them, no matter how painful?  Somewhere in the world right now someone is making the same decision you made last week, last month, last year.  We will continue to die in the same ways over, and over, and over until we learn to set ego aside and tell each other the truth.

Lies are easier for everyone to hear, but they don't stop anyone from knowing that the truth is out there.  The truth of all of this is that it is difficult for us to be honest.  When we are honest, nobody will listen because they don't want to believe the truth—that even the best among us are fallible—and that our number could come up at any time despite taking every precaution.  Damn your ego and damn your pride.  Let go of your fear of knowing the truth.  Maybe history wouldn't repeat as often and we wouldn't be so easily surprised if we were accepting of telling and hearing the truth.  

What is the cost of not knowing the truth about our past?  That cost is ignorance, and in our business ignorance is the most dangerous foe we will ever face.  We must see things through the same eyes.  If we don’t start telling each other the truth, the next time could be our last time.  If we cannot be honest in revealing the facts surrounding accidents and  line of duty deaths then we might as well not talk about them at all.

I'm not particularly religious, but I hear that lying is a sin.  So is killing.  The more we lie, the more we contribute to future accidents, injuries, and death.  The lies that we pimp as truth today, either in print or through oral history, are the seeds of tomorrow's disaster.  The more we cultivate them by perpetuating falsehoods the deeper the roots go.  It is very difficult to uncoil the roots of what we are led to believe.  They can grow into tumors knitted into the fabric of who we are.  The truth is in the telling and as a culture sometimes we encourage lying.  If you don't believe that you're lying to yourself.

  

  

Finish

By: Mark vonAppen

During my travels in March 2013, first to Chicago for FSW Fundamentals, then to Jacksonville, NC, to deliver FULLY INVOLVED Leadership to some 200 fire service brothers and sisters, I learned a few things about finishing the job. 

When I arrived in Jacksonville, I had little idea of the types of firefighters I would be addressing in my fledgling class on leadership.  I was eager to have an impact on the group by sharing my somewhat unique perspective on the subject, but I had no idea of the fingerprint the group would leave on me.  I left North Carolina humbled once again by my interactions with those quality individuals who never stop teaching, those who work overtime to ensure people get it right. 

I quickly came to understand that Jacksonville is home to Camp Lejeune, an enormous Marine base, the biggest in the world I am told.  Jacksonville Public Safety's Headquarters is on Marine Boulevard, so it makes sense that a few Marines might find their way to the local fire department for employment after they leave active duty.  I have read a lot about the Marines, and military history in general, so the gears in my head began to squeak into motion.

Gulp...I'm going to be addressing a group of former Marines about leadership?

Holy crap...

My first day in the Carolinas was an adventure, figuring out where I was, figuring out what to eat (I discovered sweet tea, hush puppies, and that everything is better when fried), adjusting to the time change, rehearsing the timing of the presentation, and riding with the training chief to a working fire (pictured, top and right).  What struck me most during my trip was that though I had traveled 3,000 miles to croak in front of the group about leadership, I was once again humbled by the small act of an individual who knows about leadership and about finish. 

When Chief Susanna Williams picked me up at my hotel to begin Day 2, she beamed as she handed me a book while I piled my gear in the Suburban.  "I was at station 1 and Captain Whitmore asked me to give this to you.  He said you might like it."  The book was one I consider to be one of THE leadership books to read in order to be successful as a new leader, "Small Unit Leadership."

"Real leaders never stop teaching for they realize that passing life experiences and tools for success down the line is their greatest gift to the future."  

I met Captain Whitmore the day prior, first at the fire (he is pictured at top in the red helmet leading his crew in the firefight) as I switched out his SCBA cylinder, then as he sat dead center in the auditorium, with a tight lipped-skeptical expression etched on his face, his hair high and tight, and his arms folded across his chest.  His face and body language communicated in no uncertain terms he wasn't much interested in hearing what the "tree hugging" captain from California had to tell him about leadership.  

He asked some pointed questions of me and I could tell he was probing for a response.  He leaned forward as he posed question after question.  With each exchange I could see his posture at first stiffen, and then slowly relax.  I asked one of his department mates about him at a break. "What's that captain's deal?  I feel like he thinks I'm a candy-ass."  He chuckled, "No, no.  That's just Gunny." 

Captain Whitmore's nickname is "Gunny," carryover from his days as a Marine where he was a gunnery sergeant.  Gunny's are the link between the boots on the ground and the platoon commander, often a lieutenant with a lot of formal education but little combat experience.  As a new officer, you must have the support of your gunny or you are in for an uphill battle in your assignments.  I knew then that I was the new officer being broken in by the still sharped-edged gunny who's only job was to make sure the new guy didn't get everyone killed, or in my case, fill their heads with complete nonsense.  He was doing his job of running the soft one off before he could do any real harm.

I believe strongly in the message I preach and I have seen it work over 40 years, realizing only as an adult why I believe as I do.  What Gunny grilled me on was my belief system, not something I had merely read and was half-heartedly parroting for my own satisfaction.  I stood my ground, in doing so, I displayed some sliver of resolve and delivered a message that must have resonated with Gunny.

A sign hangs above the radio room at Jacksonville station 1 (Captain Whitmores firehouse), it reads, "Whatever you are, be a good one." As I stood beneath it before teaching the first session I couldn't help but feel the message was a metaphor for the trip and the maiden voyage of Fully Involved.  I gleaned what that bit of foreshadowing meant as I cradled the book that Gunny had given to me in my hands.  It reinforced that we are forever students and that those who genuinely take the time to listen will hear the message.  The message of Fully Involved is to lead from anywhere, and I find that I learn something new from someone every time I venture out.  There are many amazing leaders out there and often we are blind to thier abilities and the positive affect they have on the organization.  We must continually learn, coach, and lead in our way to make things go.  I was reminded that we are aggregate of everything and everyone we have ever known and experienced.  Pieces of our every contact in a lifetime of contacts have molded and shaped us into who we are today.  Today's interactions change who we will be tomorrow.

In exchange for passing my experiences forward, Gunny offered me an opportunity to grow.  Real leaders never stop teaching for they realize that passing life experiences and tools for success down the line is their greatest gift to the future.  I held the book in my hands, thumbing through the dog-eared pages as a wry smile spread across my face.  I noted the underlined sentences, and the notations scribbled in the margins.  I had read the book a few years before and had highlighted some of the same areas.  Something that stuck with me from the book is that a leader must show genuine interest in their people.  I recognized immediately that this was the act of a man who most likely doled out praise sparingly, was tough to win over, and this was his way of showing interest in me and finishing the job.  He was making me better by sharing something that had helped him on his journey as a leader.  Gunny was working overtime investing additional time and interest in me and I'm not even sure he realized he was doing it.  It is simply in his nature to lead.

As the crews filtered from the council chambers, Captain Whitmore approached the podium as I packed up my laptop and collected my things.  He shook my hand firmly, the way Marines do, as he did, he looked me in the eyes and said, "Good class.  I enjoyed it."  Two simple sentences, a hand shake, and a book from a leader like that are among the highest compliments I have ever received.

Thank you Gunny.

Leadership as a Punchline

By: Mark vonAppen

In this time of transition in the American Fire Service due to mass retirements and paradigm shift in how we do business; the unfortunate and sometimes dangerous side-effect is that there are individuals who are thrust into leadership roles out of necessity (somebody needs to get promoted, right?) that do not possess the tools necessary to lead effectively.  As a result, we have seen members of the service catapulted into high level positions that never learned the jobs five or six ranks below them.  It’s hard to make up for 15 – 20 years of rubber-stamping, pencil whipping, and showing up late for class.  Leadership becomes a punchline and we roll our eyes when the leader makes a decision.

Leading people is a privilege, not a right.  Some of us need to be reminded of that.

The role of the Chief is to be technically and tactically proficient, and to give the officers who report to them the tools to do their job well.  The role of the officer is the same; to support the efforts, and cultivate the talents of those beneath them. If they’re not doing that then they’re not doing 
their job, end of story.

Until we stop being the champions of mediocrity as a culture and work towards a true meritocracy we are doomed to hear hubristic and ignorant statements forever.  The safety and operational effectiveness of your people can never be trumped by a need to further someone's career or to appease a political agenda.  We have to take a stand on those issues that matter and be unflinching in our commitment to each other. Leadership cannot become a punchline.  When it does, those who are in the leadership role have lost the privilege of leading and will never be able to recover. 

Some of us have forgotten why the fire service exists.  We exist to answer the bell. Leading people is a privilege, not a right. Some of us need to be reminded of that. 

Crossroads

By: Mark vonAppen

An ode to the many mentors I have tried to emulate over the years.  You will be sorely missed.

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The economic tumult  gripping the nation has the American fire service at a crossroads.  Much wisdom, talent, and drive has transitioned into life outside the firehouse.  Thousands of years of firefighting experience will be gone forever.

Suddenly, the future isn't what it used to be.

Those leaders, mentors, and friends will for eternity be a part of the collective consciousness that is the fire service going forward.  They live on as we perform our daily duties in the manner in which they taught us.  These icons will be immortalized in our firehouses in the oral history that is story time at the dinner table.   There are stories of comedy, drama, and heartbreak as we experienced personal and professional triumph or tragedy, always as family.  Personalities and exploits grow larger and more colorful with the passing of time, the fires bigger, the rescues more harrowing.

We stand to lose much in the coming years in many different ways, but  what we are losing out on most of all is time.  We are losing time with our brothers and sisters forced to leave before they were ready.  We are losing fire service life experience and we are losing our human infrastructure.  The kids that we were when we entered the fire service always had mentors, champions of brotherhood and upholders of principle, standing along side us to keep us straight when we were unsure of where to go or what to do.

The old guys aren’t going to be there anymore when we turn to them on scene or in the firehouse.   We can reach out to them by phone or by email, but when there isn’t discretionary time available, what are we to do?  The fire ground won’t wait for us to make a decision.  We must pick up the sabre and lead the charge.  One who wishes to blend into the surroundings cannot lead the assault on the future.  We are the ones that the next age group will look to when they are anxious and unsure.  We are the old guys now.  It’s time to move on to the next chapter.  We must be out front and lead.  It is our duty to develop the next generation leaders.  As new leaders ourselves, we should not take the job lightly.  It is an awesome responsibility that we have on our shoulders, but we will find our way we listen to the voices of our mentors as we bear the weight of the new badge.

"We are the old guys now.  It’s time to move on to the next chapter.  We must be out front and lead."

When you are in doubt, look to those in your life and career who have inspired you to do the right thing.  It’s a tough choice sometimes between what’s right and what’s easy.  We must do right so that the new generation has a clear view of the correct path.  It is our turn to invest in the importance of our profession and plot a course for the future.  This investment will not yield wealth in the monetary sense, but rather it will pay dividends in the form of a rich legacy.

We are the current guardians of the fire service.  We owe it to the citizens of the communities in which we serve, the next generation of firefighters, those who came before us, and to one another to get it right.  Now it is our turn, we are the champions of a proud service that is rich in history and steeped in tradition.  The credit for future success goes to those who came before us and showed us the right way.  We will eternally hold them in the highest esteem and seek to carry on the expectations, traditions, and standards they established for us to maintain and perhaps someday surpass.

We have a lot of hard work and institutional soul searching ahead.

There are only two options when it comes commitment, either you’re in or you’re out.  We have been shown that there is no such thing as a life in between.  To exist stuck between is merely to be.  If we seek to truly live we must commit passionately to that which we hold true.  Anything less is time wasted. 

Big changes aren’t on the horizon, they are here today, and more changes are promised.  As the fire service goes through its book of changes, our resilient spirit will see us through this period of uncertainty.  With the lessons of our mentors in our collective soul, we will find our way as we always have.

We will see it through.  We will do right.

You know who you are.  Alpha Michael Foxtrot.

Blood Shot

By: Mark vonAppen

I ventured outside my comfort zone once again, something I preach a lot for others to do, but like anyone else, I have to force myself to do it occasionally because the bedfellows of growth are frustration, struggle, and pain, among others.  Those three nasty words are enough to get me to stay home any day of the week.  

A snowy 25 degree day greeted me  in Chicago.

I traveled to Chicago, IL, for FSW Fundamentals in March, 2013 and was at best apprehensive at the prospect of spending more than 48 hours sequestered from family, in an unfamiliar city (it was 25 degrees and snowing when I landed in Chicago, 65 degrees and sunny in my home town of San Jose, CA), with people I  knew only as disembodied voices on the phone or through email correspondence.  At worst, I had pangs of fear in the bottom of my belly at what I was to experience.  What I discovered in Chicago is that Fundamentals is a journey not only of strength and endurance (strength and endurance are there too), but above of all, it is a journey through emotion, and about conquering yourself.

---

The week before I left for Chicago was somewhat tumultuous, my father was abruptly admitted to the hospital in Missoula, Montana, and I was torn as to where I should be.  I spoke with him on the phone a few times each day and he assured me that I was not needed in Missoula and that I should travel to Chicago as planned.  I don't particularly like to travel, so the prospect of a shorter sojourn to Montana to be with ailing family, not Illinois, to hang out with relative strangers, appealed to me greatly. 

Friday came around and I boarded a packed flight to O'Hare, and so it began - ad adventurum - whatever will be, will be.  A cramped, but uneventful 4-hour flight ended in Chicago.  As I waited at the baggage carousel, I met one of my roommates and Fundamentals instructor, Chuck Olson.  Chuck - stoic and somewhat menacing at first -  had driven to Chicago from Wisconsin and was my ride from O'Hare to the Beverly district of "The Windy City", where we would spend the next two days almost exclusively in the gym - or box - if I am to use the CrossFit jargon correctly.  This was to be my first experience in the total immersion program - Fundamentals - that is a blend of firefighting, CrossFit, and mindfulness all of which is geared at creating the type of person who will thrive in the high stress environment of the fireground.  

My first night in Chicago was spent in the hotel bar, then dinner and drinks in Beverly, meeting all of the participants in FSW Fundamentals, founder Chris Brennan - cerebral and calculating, and Fundamentals alum Gary Lane - passionate and fastidious.  I had little idea of the journey I was about to undertake as my mind grew foggy from inebriants.

Day 1 of Fundamentals saw us arrive at CrossFit Beverly early - really early given the 2 hour time difference and the many beers I downed the evening prior - the 7am start time was as harsh as the wind that whipped through the streets of Chicago as the sun rose casting long, bluish shadows across the snow that blanketed just about everything.  As we entered, a coffee pot muttered filling the box with a familiar and welcomed incense, signaling that it was time to go to work. 

A somber memorial started our journey.

We filled our cups and were told to put our sweatshirts on because we were going to take a walk.  We walked, the Californian wearing shorts, in 19 degree weather, to where FSW began in a city park (King Lockhart Park) named for 2 fallen Chicago firefighters.  We were told the story of how  2 Chicago firemen came to meet their fate in an auto shop in 1998, and how FSW came to be.  Snow crunched beneath our feet as we moved between one set of bronzed boots with a helmet perched atop, and then another.  I stood in the cold and took it all in, the helmets, the boots, the names, the wilted flowers in vases as Chris, Chuck, and Gary left me with my thoughts.  Anger and sadness swirled in my head as my fingers grew numb.  I was standing at the very spot where these men had taken their last breath before succumbing to a force more powerful and unforgiving than any other environment on Earth.  What were those last moments like for these men?  Could I survive given the same set of circumstances?  After a few minutes I began to shiver so I plodded back to the box.

I found out the meaning of #wedontstop.

I made my way back to the box and the day continued as both days would, with a workout.  More workouts followed, 3 a day in fact, I am not a CrossFitter, I dabble in it, but during every workout the team encouraged me to dig down and find out what was inside of me.  I learned how I learn, and I discovered the meaning of "#wedontstop" while running the second mile of "Murph" (a 1 mile run followed by 100 pull ups, 200 push ups, 300 squats, and then another 1 mile run), as Chris ran with me for the second mile to keep me moving and ensure I didn't stop until I had completed the task.  He explained as I trudged, heavy legged, through the snow, shirtless, in freezing temperatures, that it is more than a catch phrase, it is a mindset.  He told me between breaths, "We don't stop is about learning, training, and stepping outside of your comfort zone.  It is about constantly challenging yourself."  

Day 1 ended with me gulping down my dinner at close to 8:00 pm, feeling exhausted but more alive than I had felt in years.  I fell asleep early that night with a deep sense of accomplishment.  I was told rather cryptically, that as difficult as day 1 was physically, it was nothing compared to what day 2 would be mentally.

I was welcomed into the group and made to feel a part of the team.  I was encouraged to work through frustration, struggle, and pain.

As dawn broke to start day 2 of the journey, Chuck, Gary, and I shuffled from the hotel into another bitingly cold morning.   The sun shone for the first time in 2 days and it held the promise of more adventure.  Day 1 had been all about success.  Day 2, I would find out, was all about learning to succeed through failure.  At times during the second day, the sun seemed to fade as my frustration mounted.

  

Our second day began as before, coffee, a workout, and breakfast.  I learned about servicing tools, forcible entry, ladders, SCBA and most of all, about failure.  I failed, succeeded, failed, failed, failed, succeeded, and failed once more.  I worked through frustration, anger, and claustrophobia (yes, we all get there eventually because the drive to breath is an emotion, if you say you never get claustrophobic you're a liar).  All the while it was made known that failure was a part of the learning process and that no one would leave until I had reached a level of learning that we as a group had decided on.  I had traveled almost 2,000 miles, was surrounded by some of the best that the fire service has to offer, I fell flat on my face in training time and again, and it was okay.  I had my internal struggles with the process, pride and ego circled me like demons and at times I wanted desperately to quit, if nothing else than to simply stop the bleeding.  I grew quiet as I searched within for the resolve to continue though tired and frustrated.  I couldn't quit, my teammates wouldn't allow it.  A foxhole mentality had developed in just 2 days, I couldn't let them down either.

A foxhole mentality quickly developed.

I was taken to the place in my mind where when flooded by a sea of emotions, we all feel we can find a way to swim - or at least tread water - where the majority of us will sink to the bottom and drown.  I became clumsy, inattentive, and downright stupid at times.  I was pulled - not pushed - along by my brothers who I had only just met.  I went through a range of emotions, anger, fear, sadness, elation, and with the help of my new found brothers I was able to conquer them all.  I drew energy and inspiration that I needed to keep going from them.  All of this constituted a big risk on my part.  In taking a risk I learned a little more about myself and a lot about teamwork.  I learned once again, that bonds are almost instantly created when we struggle together to achieve a common goal.
   
I am not an elite warrior for having been annealed in the crucible of Fundamentals.  I am however, better for having been taken on a journey of emotions, learning how to better control that which we do not fully understand.  I am more functionally intelligent for having gone through the process.  I learned that no matter how much we try to fight it, we are emotional beings - every one of us - who will do seemingly irrational things when subjected to extreme stress, because we lose our ability to think.  If you think you won't you're wrong - dead wrong. 

Class 3: Lane, Olson, Brennan, vonAppen, Manning, Krasuski

I'll ride the wave of my career wherever it takes me.  I am myself, I know who I am and I know that I only grow from stepping up and stepping out.  I will continue to take risks in the form of challenging myself in training in order to reduce my risk in combat.  I wanted to prove myself once again and sharpen the edge that becomes dull in all of us if we are not regularly challenged.  I wanted to do something that not many others could say they had done or would even consider because it sounded too tough.  I wanted to get comfortable being uncomfortable.  

I was skeptical of what I would find when I arrived in Chicago.  I expected to find an atmospere of competitive scorn that I associate with a group of uber-aggressive firefighter/CrossFit types.  I was wrong.  What I found was a community of humble firemen who are genuinely interested in leading and paying knowledge forward.  I was welcomed into the group and made to feel a part of the team.  The experience was a blood shot of challenge, community, and brotherhood that I desperately needed.  

I will continue to push, in doing so I will struggle and I will grow.  You can live if you take a risk, or you can languish in doubt.  The choice is yours.  

I'll choose adventure and risk.