I think if you’re going to be active, you have your favorite kind of exercise, or, at the very least, your least disliked exercise. When I was in the Army, I most enjoyed ruck marching.
One time on Okinawa, our training NCO, myself and two other people went out to a training area to do a practice march, testing a route to see how it would go for the entire company. It was a 10-mile march and we were carrying about 75 pounds (mostly in sandbags).
The first few miles went fine. We were all pretty chipper. We were out of the office for the day, taking, essentially, a hike out in northern Okinawa. Well, all of us except the training NCO. He went out the night before and drank way too much. The first few miles was OK, but he was sweating pretty quickly after we got going.
Halfway in, we stopped for a little break for snacks and hydration. After 20 minutes or so, we get start getting our gear back on. The training NCO tells me and another soldier to go on ahead and he and the other soldier will catch up. We shrug and move out.
After five minutes or so, he and the other soldier catch back up with us. We finish the march, but by the end we are dead. Just beat the fuck down. Our first sergeant met us at the end of the march with a big van and I’d never been happier to see one of those bland, white whales before in my life. We dumped all our gear, drank tons of water and Gatorade and then loaded our stuff into the van.
Well, a couple of us did anyway. Me and one other soldier loaded our rucks sacks in the back. I threw mine up and then grabbed the training NCO’s bag. I got a good grip on it and yanked it up expecting it to be as heavy as mine. I almost threw it over the van.
Seems the training NCO dumped his sandbags when the other soldier and I went off ahead. Bastard.
A couple of surprises here: