The weather had progressively worsened, and I wasn’t excited about training under the looming, possibly rain-filled clouds that churned in the angry sky. In the warmth of my sleeping quarters I readied myself for a day of flailing and falling. I layered myself in some of the training attire I’d acquired from the one-stop shop on base—the “PX” according to Harper. With the exception of my brown tank top and combat boots, the army-green, long-sleeved shirt, cargo pants, and socks all labeled with FORT KNOX made me look like a walking billboard for the base. My goal: to keep my arms warm, my legs shielded from the scrapes that would come with every scuffle and fall, and to protect my feet from the heel stomping and ankle twisting I would undoubtedly endure. Based on experience, I knew my agility was lacking, but I dressed optimistically. I also knew that the bulkier my clothes were, the more difficultly I’d have bobbing and ducking…and running away. Hoping to minimize the amount of tearing and knotting my long hair would sustain, I weaved it into a thick braid.
