Deployment as a Spin Class

Even before Hubby left, I had this analogy in my head that the deployment would be like a spin class, filled with ups and downs. I must be smart, because I was spot on. Let me explain:

The Beginning - You walk into spin refreshed and ready, if it's your first class you may be a little nervous, something new can be intimidating. The beginning of the deployment is the same, especially if you are a deployment virgin, as was I or a newbie to the Army, as I was.... With the beginning of the deployment comes a lot of uncertainty and nerves.

The Instructor - He/she will explain the details of the class, the different stages and techniques on how to get through it. An instructor is key in a deployment too. A homefront veteran, per se. They can show you the ropes, and explain what they did to get by and how they made time pass.

The Workout Partner - Everyone knows that a workout goes by quicker and less painfully with a workout partner. Someone to cheer you on, give you motivation and help you with your workout. In a deployment, a "battle buddy" is essential. Someone who is going through the same things you are, whose loved one is there too, someone you can share your concerns and emotions with, someone who will keep you motivated.

The People in the Class - The mood of a spin class is positively correlated to the people in the class, we feed off of each other. These are the people you surround yourself with during the deployment, whether they be good friends, family or both, the people you surround yourself with will make all the difference.

The Hill Climb - In the spin world the hill climb is that nasty long uphill battle that goes on for about 10 minutes, eternity in spin, just waiting for that song to be over and you can coast it down. From the homefront, they are those periods of time, days, weeks that you don't hear from your loved one. No emails, no phone calls. It seems like eternity. All you can this is - when will this end? Why hasn't he called? I hope he is ok. No end is in the near future, but when they call, relief: a calm rushes over you.

The Sprint - Those pesky, increments of quick, hard climbing. Not fun, but not as bad as the hill climb. These are those random days when nothing in particular has changed, but is still hard nonetheless.

The Flat "rest" period - This is the period between hill climbs, jumps and sprints. A time of recouperation, just long enough to catch your breath. These are the days, weeks, even months where communication is good. This is usually followed by a positive, refreshing outlook on the deployment in general. This offers a small amount of recouperation before the next hill.

The Jump - The rapid "jumping" up & down out of the bike saddle with high resistance. Comprable to random mood swings. The ups & downs over the course of the day or week. Phone call - up! Not being able to tell him you got an A in class - down.

15 minutes in - My current deployment status. Almost 25% done! With that comes a little expected fatigue, but nothing I can't handle.

Avoiding the Inevitable

December 10, 2007 may have been one of the worst experiences I have ever been through. Nothing can truly prepare you for the day your soldier leaves, especially if it is the first deployment you have experienced. Hubby and I left the house around 5am to get to post so they could start getting everything ready so they could leave by 11. I'm not sure getting to hang out on base with them all morning was the best idea. It was almost delaying the inevitable. The morning was heavy. Heavy with tears, nerves and uncertainty. Sure enough 11 came faster than I thought possible and the rumble of buses echoed in the distance, louder and louder until they turned the corner, resting across the quad. Three big, blue school buses. I knew the day would be hard, but there is nothing that can prepare you for the amount of emotion that fills your gut. Hubby tried to convince me to leave early so he could say goodbye to me, instead of him leaving me there alone. I just couldn't do it. I wanted to see his face for as long as possible.

Then it was time. He had to leave, he had to say goodbye for fifteen months. I remember touching his face one last time, to feel its realness, to remember it's texture. He kissed me one last time and turned to go. My heart sank. I felt alone, empty, heartbroken. I looked around at all the families, wives, girlfriends, children, mothers and fathers. These are the people that are left behind. Everyone clinging to one another, hoping for one last glance, one last wave, something, anything to remember. There I was, arms around a fellow Army wife, tears streaming down our faces. The blue buses started, the breaks hissed, they rolled away honking their horns as they departed. There I was, arms around a fellow Army wife, tears streaming down our faces, we turned to each other, "What now?" she asked. I shrugged. "Yeah, What now?" I thought. And as simple as that, they were gone.

Hello, Goodbye

After three long months of school and work and not much else in South Carolina, I had packed up my apartment and was finally on a plane to Hawaii to be with Hubby for the two remaining months before he deployed to Iraq. Twelve hours later, I found myself in his arms once again, a day that seemed so far away was finally here.

We wasted no time in settling into a married routine. He worked during the week, I'd workout in the morning, do some schoolwork, go to the beach and cook dinner so it was ready when he got home or just after. Saturdays were strictly college football days or "Christmas" as he dubbed every Saturday, and nothing else was to be done. A college football "sabbath" of sorts. Football on at least five stations, football on the internet, football magazines, football t-shirts, college football coffee mugs, an actual football. Football. Football. Football. Football, for fifteen hours every Saturday, excuse me, Christmas. He would wake up at 5am to watch GameDay and I would saunter out of bed around 8 or 9 to cook breakfast, pancakes, eggs sometimes bacon. I loved it. Our first tradition. Sundays were laid-back as well. We'd get up whenever our eyes opened. Well, more like I'd wake up, get bored of sitting there and then wake him up. Brush our teeth, I'd wash my face and put in my contacts, lather on the sunscreen and head down the street to the beach, so we could come and go before the tourists got there. I'd trail Hubby across the sand, making a bigger deal of how hot the sand was and how it burned my feet than I probably should have. We'd spread out a blanket for me and he'd set up his chair and we'd relax and read and enjoy the sun, when the rays were too hot, we'd jump and play in the water. I kept up with Hubby in the water until a monster wave stripped me, quite literally, of my dignity (a story for another place and time). After that incident, I played spectator from the comfort of my blanket as Hubby body surfed. We had our first Thanksgiving together with ten of our friends on the island. I cooked my first turkey (which was fabulous). We tailgated for the Hawaii-Boise State football game and blew the locals away with our SEC style tailgating. We had date nights. We worked out together. We had cookouts. We snorkled. In just two months, we did everything we wanted and then some. The problem? It was just too quick. In the blink of an eye it was December 9, the day before the deployed. We were getting ready to say goodbye once again.

Wedded Bliss

July 1, 2007 was a hot and humid day in Charleston, SC, but still cool for the time of year nonetheless. As long as the rain held off it was fine for me. It was, single-handedly the most important day of my life: my wedding. I had none of those pre-wedding jitters everyone speaks of and I slept like a baby the night before, out of pure exhaustion or those glasses of wine at the rehearsal dinner I'm not sure.

The day started off abnormally routinely. My alarm woke me with a start at 7:15 the following morning. I sat up, took a deep breath, knowing it would be the only relaxation of the day, put on my glasses and bounced to the bathroom. I brushed my teeth, washed my face and put in my contacts, the routine I start every day with and the routine with which I started my wedding day. I threw on a pair of shorts and a zip-up sweatshirt I ripped off of a friend, and headed down the hall of the hotel to find my sister and bridesmaids, sunglasses in hand. I gathered my sister, two of the girls who had already had their hair done, and my aunt in-law to be, jumped in the car and headed to the salon. About two hours later we were back in the car driving to the hotel to finish getting ready, I was still waiting for those jitters. Sometime on the ride back to the hotel, road hypnosis kicked in and my mind started to wander. I remember thinking, "This is my wedding day." I was calm and everything seemed so normal, so everyday. "I can't let it just pass me by."

Two or so hours after we arrived at the hotel, I was ready to go. Still no jitters. I was in my wedding dress and I had no jitters. "Is something wrong with me?" I thought to myself. My posse of bridesmaids all piled into the elevator and headed to the lobby to wait for the limo. I peered out of the door, heat and humid air hugged me and threatened my hair. There, pulling into the lot, was the limo, the white, stretch Hummer (we ended up with after some confusion). There they were. The jitters had arrived.

Thirteen of us crammed into the door of that Hummer. In with me, came the butterflies, the nerves in the pit of my stomach and those nervous chills. Ten minutes later, we arrived at the church. We gathered our pink and white bouquets of gerber daisies, I pinned orchids on my mom and future mother-in-law and waited. After the bridesmaids' processional was over, it was me, all eyes on me. Those pesky jitters were worse than ever. After that intimidatingly long walk down the aisle, all those nerves were gone. At the end of that walk was my beeming fiance, after I saw him, everything was ok. The ceremony was over with the blink of a eye and off we were to take pictures and receive congratulatory smiles from our friends and family.

The day progressed perfectly, nothing went wrong, it was our dream wedding. No nerves and not even a tear was wept from my eyes the entire day.

We spend two weeks together after the wedding in Charleston and Columbia, SC. On July 14, we drove to Charlotte, NC and salty tears poured down my face as I dropped him at the airport. "No newlywed should feel this way, " I thought. Going from sheer joy to pure melancholy over the course of two weeks was just not right. And off he was, headed back to his duty station a world away and then heading to the oppressive California desert for three months of training. Here I was, married for just two weeks and in South Carolina for three months without my new Hubby. In just five months he was heading to Iraq. We were wasting time.