The pain you would soon be feeling throughout your sweat soaked body will stay with you forever. From the top of your head to deep inside your rib cage and down to the tips of each of your toes and fingers, pain becomes as common as breathing. No conditioning program could ever prepare you for one of the most grueling events some Marines must endure, a Marine Corps 25-mile full combat load HUMP.

Fully combat loaded you must complete twenty five grueling miles of forced marching/humping in under eight hours. As an added bonus, your entire battalion can only have a certain number of drop outs in order to pass. This will come out to an average of just over three miles per hour. You will place one foot in front of the other while staring into the back of the Marine in front of you for eight continuous pain in the freakin ass, god damn hours.

Cramps are felt as shins begin to tighten. Muscles begin to twitch and tempers begin to flare. Arms and hands will fall asleep as circulation is stopped due to your limbs being in the same position for an extended period of time. Blisters will form and skin will be rubbed raw like a strawberry. You will sweat no matter what the weather or environment around you is like. Neither rain, snow, wind, darkness, alien sightings, heat, nor humidity will put an end to this motivating event. Unusual laughter is common to avoid from going crazy. Laughter is also false because nothing accomplished on this day will be remotely funny. Hallucinations become common as the miles begin to stack up. A sign appears out in the distance, is it a mirage or is it real? As you near it you wish you were blind as it reads, mile six of twenty five. Stay motivated Marines! “FUCK YOU”, I say to the sign as I pass it and now I feel better.

If you trip or fall you will not be aided by anyone unless your death is imminent. To render aid to a fallen buddy who is not truly hurt or actually hurt would cause you to fall back from formation. Or you would cause the column of countless Marines and Sailors to stack up. This type of action is not tolerated due to the fact that it would cause countless  Marines to have to run to catch up to the Marine in front of them. Any unnecessary or excessive movement during this eight hour ordeal is not welcomed. It is sort of like the slinky effect. If one Marine slows down, it creates a ripple effect and everyone behind him gets backed up and so on. By the time it reaches the very back of the columns, those poor sons of bitches are way behind and must really run to catch up. I am not ashamed to admit that I have been the cause of this slinky effect several times. Fuck them if they can’t take a joke.

When one falls back, he then must go back to his original position. This can be a very painful experience. You must sprint with approximately seventy pounds of life’s essentials on your back. Plus your shrapnel vest and harness along with your weapon and extra water also create weight that seems to be ever increasing as time passes. There is no full sprint, only short quick steps while your gear rattles and bounces in the wind as you attempt to catch up. And God forbid something was to fall off of your person. When you finally find your original position, you then realize you will never stop again to render unnecessary aid or anything else for that matter to anyone. You are now winded and you quickly realize you still have over five hours of forced marching to endure. Oh what fun. Why didn’t my damn recruiter tell me about these fun filled days?

Your brain bucket aka helmet, can become one huge pain in the ass. In the early miles of a hump it sits on your melon comfortably. But as the miles add up your bucket will begin to feel as if it is clawing its way into your skull. You will try all the tricks. From removing it to wipe the sweat off your brow, to scratching the bald head on your shoulders. You will even remove it to check for unwanted visitors in which you swear landed on the top of your helmet. This temporary relief is very soothing, but only lasts a few seconds. Toward the later miles you fantasize about all the vicious things you could do to this helmet. From placing a grenade underneath it, to tossing it out at sea. You relish the thought of shooting it with a fifty cal machine gun or accidentally ‘misplacing’ it underneath the tracks of an M1A1 Tank. The evil one wishes on their helmet is amazing and it is all caused by the pain your helmet causes you. But in the end we realize that our brain bucket will save our lives, so we suck it up and let it sit up there.

Our dogs do a lot more than bark, they fuckin howl! From blisters to blisters on top of blisters, the great Satan resides in the feet of humping Jarheads. We will try everything from double socks, to our favorite jungle boots used only for humping. From vaseline on skin, to woman’s nylons to avoid road rash. Or my secret remedy, a dress sock underneath a thick wool sock with baby powder strategically sprinkled on my hooves to avoid the god for saken blisters. At the end of the eight hours, we genius’ of Marines realize one thing. None of these bullshit preventive measures work. But i’ll be damn if we did not try them.

The person of the hour quickly becomes the Corpsman as he tells you to hold still as he patches up your field of blisters. Doc will tell you to change into a pair of socks that do not contain blood, and you will tell him to go to hell because the pain is unbearable and you just want this day to end. He then lets you know that you’re ‘good to go’ as you lay there wishing the ground would open up and swallow you whole. The most painful thing to do now is to put on your foot gear and to continue the trek, as it slows for no man. My god does this hurt! Who would of guessed that a simple blister could cause so much god damn pain. “Why me God, why?”, I begin to think to myself.

During the ten minute break you get per hour you don’t know what to do. Should I end it now with a cyanide pill, or should I have a smoke and eat a banana? Maybe a gallon of warm stale water will cheer me up, maybe not. I want my mommy!! My smokes are soaked in sweat, so now I am in a homicidal kind of mood. As I scour the columns of Marines searching for my brand of cigarettes, I now hear the two words most dreaded on days like this. “SADDLE UP!” Oh shit. I did not utilize my time wisely and now I am royally fucked. I’m still thirstier then a mother fucker and my banana is still inside of its skin. I place my nana in my pistol holster and I decide to drink as we go. After all, I am not driving. This can be tricky because I am not the greatest at multi-tasking. I manage to get enough h2o down my pie hole and my banana taste like crap as I practically swallow it hole. Prevents cramps my ass!!  I am now twitching like a convict in the electric chair. Boy oh boy this is not what I envisioned when I raised my right hand.

As the final five or so miles approach it no longer is a journey. It has become an enigma as to how anyone of us keeps on moving forward. The endless blank stares that reflect from the young and old warriors will scare any human not in this position. Cussing becomes the new language of the day as every wish is the same. “Fuck this” and “fuck that”. We all just want this horrible nightmare to end immediately. Filthy words after filthy words can be heard by many as the mind is no longer in control. You become stunned in amazement as you realize what exactly is transpiring before you. You no longer want to take a break. You just wish this day of tremendous pain would come to an end, so onward we push.

The pain becomes comical as the sweat continues to cause your eyes to sting. Salt begins to form on some, as a breeze dries the sweat on their uniforms. Brain buckets are tilted and discipline becomes a little looser as mile twenty five nears. A quick sarcastic grunt signifies happiness in some, but most can not even muster the energy to let out one of those famous Marine Corps grunts. Not right now, for we have walked the walk and talked the talk. If you do not thank God for this being over you better thank someone because this truly blows the big one. MY FREAKIN FEET ARE ON FIRE!!!

They say that pain is weakness leaving the body. They say that Marine Corps humps build character. If these two myths are true, then I am filled with character and have zero weakness in my body today.

The Marine Corps Infantry is the best when it comes to forced marches, therefore I am the best. I don’t know how I finished the many humps we went on. We started them together, and by golly we finished them together. As we stand in formation after the twenty five mile and eight hour ordeal, I am quickly reminded as to why I joined the Marine Corps. “BE IN THE SHOP IN EXACTLY TWO HOURS,” is our next order. What a bunch of hard asses. No day off today. It’s gonna take me two hours just to drag my gear and my sorry ass back to my room. Oh well, life goes on.

Just another day in the life of the Lava Dogs. MCB Hawaii home of the 1st Battalion 3rd Marines…Come GET SOME!! God bless the Marine Corps and Semper Fi.