I spent this Wednesday with a group of 12 or 13 other SEAL officer candidates (or candidate candidates??) at the Amphibious Warfare Facility in Coronado. After close to a year of physical training, seeking references, hacking through stacks of paperwork, and answering thousands of bubble sheet questions in three separate psychiatric appointments, I had one morning of physical testing and an interview to prove to a committee of battle-hardened SEAL officers that I would be a good fit for their community.
The Navy kindly paid our way, putting us all up at the Coronado Inn for the nights before and after the screening. I drove in from LA after work, chatted with a couple of the guys I met at the check-in desk, and tucked in around 10pm. I couldn't shut down, even when I steered my thoughts away from the morning ahead, and slept for maybe 2 or 3 hours the whole night. It was as if the warm, dark silence of the hotel room was a protective barrier between me and the test that was waiting at 6am. I knew how badly I needed the rest, but on a subconscious level I was reluctant to give myself to the night because then the morning would come that much quicker. I'd done dozens of physical tests since I returned from England, but this one was going to be different: the guys would be tougher and stronger, and the officer panel would be waiting for me on the other side.
At 0530 I flipped the light on, rolled out of bed, and ate a Clif Bar before getting my gear together and heading to the lobby for the 6am muster. A few fellas were already milling around in the parking lot, and we introduced ourselves as the remainder showed up. New York, Pennsylvania, Texas, Virginia, California--we were from all over. All of us in our mid-20's, all of us in awkward career limbo, and all of us hungry to earn our spot and get going.
As we were chatting, a big white school bus pulled up to the curb and a guy with blue/black cammies got out and looked at us. He didn't need to say anything. As we shuffled on board, the driver, an enlisted SEAL who would help proctor our PST, smiled at us "Mornin' ladies!" My nerves started to settle down: this was looking like what I expected it to. When I transition from anticipation to participation it's easier to stuff the anxiety. On the ride over the driver asked us who had eaten breakfast. Only a few guys raised their hands. "And you're supposed to be leading us?!" he said. I asked him if a Clif Bar counted as breakfast. It didn't.
We drove to the pool where the SEAL candidates workout and got a bit of a surprise: in spite of the fact that we all train for 25 yard lengths, this pool is 50m long. That means half as many pushes off the wall and half as many deep breathes in the turn around. We got changed into our swim gear and hit the deck. I looked around at the other guys and struggled to fight off a sense of intimidation: a lot of these guys had played football or other contact sports at the D1 level in college, and were absolutely stacked with lean muscle. I was easily the most slightly-built dude, and knew I would have my work cutout for the rest of the test.
The proctor, another enlisted SEAL with blue, red, and green tattoos swirling up his forearms and onto his wrists spoke up: "When you get your score, make sure you watch my guy write it down. If I hear you complain later on that you didn't get the right score I will make it my personal mission to shit-can you. If you can't keep track of one single number I don't want you leading my friends. Now get in."
The swim was hard. It was the first time I'd done a PST in a long pool. Same for most of the other guys. I still managed to improve over my past performance of 9:35 in a 25 yard pool with a time of 9:33 in the 50m. An improvement, but still 8 seconds behind the second-to-last place guy. I wasn't off to a great start. I pulled myself out of the pool and headed to locker room to change into my running gear. "Just stay locked in. Four more events to go."
We headed to the field, paired up, and got going on the strength. Things started getting better. I hit 101 pushups, 107 situps, and 24 pullups. The first two scores were right in the middle of what the other guys were posting. 24 pullups was one of the better scores. I felt like I'd got some momentum back--all that remained was the run.
The run has always been weird for me. I feel kind of sick and weak after the strength portion of the PST, and it's hard to do drills or warm-up sprints during the 10 minute rest. But once I get in it my body settles down and finds the strength it needs to push out a mile and a half. As we walked up to the line all the fear was gone. We had 4 1/2 laps around the concrete track to make 1.5 miles. The group leaped off the line when the proctor said the word, and I quickly took a spot at the front of the top group, but about 10 meters behind the leader. The pace felt comfortable and no one was making any moves that I needed to follow, so I just held that position for a couple laps. Around lap 2.5 the gap started to widen a bit between me and the leader, and some of the guys in the top group pulled up next to me. A question inside: "you good with a respectable finish, or are you here to compete?" I stepped it up and closed the gap. The guys who were on my shoulder fell back. We hit lap 3.5. One more to go. I'm starting to hurt, but keep notching the pace up. With about 400 meters to go I'm 15 meters behind first place. I hold it there for a little longer. 300 meters to go. It's decision time, and I ask myself the question again "you good with a respectable finish, or are you here to compete?" It was like a throwback to high school track and field. I flipped that switch inside where the mind totally dominates the body, and starting sprinting. I blew by first place. 200 meters to go and the race is mine to lose. I don't do a shoulder check. All that matters is keeping my foot on the gas pedal. 150, 100, 50, 25, 10, 5, done: race is mine with a time of 8:48. Not an amazing time by any stretch, but the best on that field on that day. It was a good thing I made my move when I did because the ROTC guy from Ole Miss had the same idea, finishing right behind me with a time of 8:49. Totally didn't see him coming. It was nice to have some redemption from the swim and to be at peace with a strong finish. I felt like I'd not only proven my fitness, but justified a year of training for this single event.
After some parting words of advice about the interviews we would sit for that day, the proctor told us to go get "dolled up" before the bus would take us to the SEAL compound. As we got off the bus to enter the room where we would hang out and take written exams while awaiting our interview slot I learned that I was first up. One of the enlisted guys helping to run things led me across the infamous courtyard known at the "PT Grinder" and up to the balcony of the adjacent office facility where the interviews would be held. I took a seat and waited. After a little bit a guy who took the PST with us sat down in the seat next to me. He was wearing Navy Whites. "What's your story, man?" I asked him. "You ROTC, too?" "Active duty SEAL. 15 years. Looking to make a change to officer." Damn. I apologized but he didn't seem annoyed. We struck up some small chat. I tried to feel the gravity of the moment and prepare myself mentally, but I couldn't put myself in that zone. I didn't feel that I could prepare myself any better than I already had. Better to just go in unrehearsed and be as transparent as possible, I thought.
A junior officer stepped out of the conference room and motioned me in. It was time. I walked into a room that was smaller than I had expected, with a group of around seven officers surrounding a small table with one empty seat. I stood there for just long enough to signal that I was waiting to be told to sit, before the chief of the board motioned me to the chair: "Take a seat, Mr Polhamus."
It was good that I'd spent time around these kind of men before. They were all like Captain Curtis or Commander Pugh--different personalities, but with a common demeanor that absolutely crackled with intensity and confidence. "What was the path that led you to become interested in our organization?" the chief asked. I gave as short of an answer as I could, ending my sentence with something along the lines of "and I'd be glad to speak more about why I am specifically interested in special forces if you would like me to do so, sir." "Please," he replied. I articulated my belief in the mission of special forces operatives--to serve as innovative warriors on the country's cutting edge of defense, capable of thinking flexibly and taking charge in chaotic situations, and contrasted this with what I perceived to be the cultural rigidity of the Marine Corps. An officer to the Chair's left, who was wearing a "thoroughly unimpressed"-looking scowl edgily interjected: "You think we're less regimented than the Marines?" "Not less disciplined, sir. But yes, less bound by doctrine in situations where it doesn't serve the mission." "Where did you do you research?," he asked. I explained that I had started a packet with the Marine's prior to pursuing the SEALs and interacted personally with men in both organizations through the recruitment pipeline.
Right around this time my phone went off. Shit. I knew for a fact that I silenced it before hand, but had forgotten that on my cheap 50 cent phone you have to click the OK button to confirm the altered sound settings. It would be difficult to think of more unfortunate timing. They seemed to laugh it off--"just chuck it out the door, happens to the best of us"--but my heart sank. This was not the impression I wanted to make.
I won't describe the rest of the interview in detail. My overall impression was that they believed in my level of motivation and intelligence, but that a few of the men on the panel were skeptical about my motives and what they perceived to be an imbalance between my amount of book learning and my investment in sports and physical training. They asked me what I would do if I wasn't accepted. I told them I would either enlist or pursue a tech or consulting path in the private sector. One gentleman, who I actually felt was one of my advocates, said "just speaking personally, I recommend that you take the hint and go for McKinsey if you're not picked up this time. If we don't see you doing great things in the military, we want to see you doing great things outside of it." On the one hand I was humbled by his affirmation of my ability. On the other hand, I'd rather that none of those guys be thinking in terms of me not being selected. They asked me if I had any questions. Nothing came to mind, though in hindsight I can think of a few questions that would have been good. They thanked me and stood up. One officer said "keep yourself in shape." As I shook the Chair's hand he said "oh, by the way, your impression of us versus the Marines: spot on." I thanked them for their time, and walked out.
There were some written tests to take--an IQ test, a personality score, and a training habits questionnaire--but I'd made it through the main events. I spent a few hours filling out the tests and chatting with the other guys who were waiting for their interviews before a group of us left the base. Couldn't sleep so I went for a walk along the beach in front of the Hotel Del, wondering if I'd have the chance to do the four mile timed runs there in BUD/S next year. Made a couple calls, ate some food, watched some TV. Felt at peace, but somewhat unsettled at the same time: I have no idea what to expect when decisions come out in September.
Spent that evening at dinner and drinks with the other candidates. Awesome dudes. It will surely be an honor to train and serve with some of them should I get selected. I'll know in a month. Until then, for the first time in a year, the process is finally out of my hands.
