Реферат: Your Mother Rocks In Bed Bitch Essay

Your Mother Rocks In Bed Bitch!!! Essay, Research Paper

Law School Essay One

I began hallucinating early Thursday morning. My team and I were halfway finished with what our

instructors dubbed ?The Long Paddle,? and I could feel my sanity slowly slipping away. A

combination of severe sleep deprivation and extreme physical exercise can do that to you. I had not

had more than three hours of sleep since ?Hellweek? had begun on Sunday afternoon. As I looked

around me, I contemplated the extent of my delirium. I was reasonably certain that the Statue of

Liberty does not belong in San Diego, and I doubted that the tigers I could see racing along the river

shore were real. My ears picked up the sound of our boat?s leader having a heated argument with

Jenkins, but Jenkins had quit the team two weeks ago.

Looking around me, I felt reassured seeing the confused expressions on my teammates? faces. Even

though I was stuck in a tiny inflatable boat with six potential lunatics, I at least knew that I was not the

only one being affected by the exercise. Hellweek. I had been through some incarnation of it during

each year of my life, ever since peewee football. But no previous ?hell? could compare to the

punishment that the United States Navy dishes out during Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL

Training (BUD/S). Hellweek marks the sixth week of BUD/S, and is a six-day celebration of misery

designed to eliminate weak candidates. Only the strong can survive it.

This year?s week of torment was heightened by an untimely cold spell; more than two thirds of our

original class had already quit. Running on soft sand beaches while wearing combat boots, getting a

facemask full of salt water while lugging twin steel scuba tanks on your back, being soaking wet and

covered with sand? these are enough to make most people question their desire to finish the program.

But it was the cold that claimed the most victims. We shivered through the nights and well into the

mornings, the chill of the air seeping into our very bones. Visions of hot meals and warm beds

haunted us; we knew that ending the suffering and the cold was as easy as quitting the program. And

quitting was so very east. Simply stand in front of your classmates and ring a silver ship?s bell three

times? the temptation was nearly irresistible. But I had set a goal for myself and I knew, even in the

midst of that Thursday morning delirium, that giving up was not an option.

The BUD/S program had already made a marked difference in my life. When I first decided to become

a frogman, I was not a gifted swimmer or an accomplished distance runner, and I had a slight fear of

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