Once I was in the artillery.

It was a while ago. I honorably discharged after 4 years.

Of the many forms of training was a grueling event in midsummer that required us to stay awake for 72 straight hours.

They didn’t even tell us this prior to the event. We thought we were going on a three day exercise that included sleep.

So, on day one, we set up our tents,  stripped naked (it was insanely hot and humid at this base along the shores of a great lake), and climbed into our sleeping bags… blissfully ignorant of the future.

Then, at about 2 a.m., we were shocked awake by the sound of artillery simulators exploding next to our tents.

ASIDE: An artillery simulator sounds like an artillery gun and can reach more than 170 decibels.  For reference, sounds above 150 dB can be life-threatening – 170-200 dB can cause lung damage, pulmonary embolisms, or even burst lungs. 

Much of what we endured is no longer legal. In hindsight, it was still fun, and no one died.

So, shocked awake, by artillery simulators and screaming corporals and sergeants and warrant officers, we rapidly got dressed, packed up camp, and stood in formation.

Dress consisted of combat fatigues, heavy combat boots, helmet, thick socks, belt, large backpack filled with extra combats,  camp supplies, weapon (approximately 4.5 kg or 10 pounds), several magazines of ammo (0.68 kg or 1.5 pounds) etc.

Overall, the average kit weighed between 36 to 45 kg or 80 to 100 pounds.

Orders were received. We were the good Canadian artillery (in infantry roles this week). Our officers and senior ranks comprised the enemy (somewhere out there).

Our role was to patrol the area and set up trenches on high ground surrounding a new camp before day’s end. Then, we would vigilantly guard the camp through the days ahead.

The days reached well over 30 degrees. Our senior ranks intentionally made us belly crawl through poison ivy. I left the experience infested with it.  No showers. Warm water in our canteens.

Most of us were exhausted before day one even came to an end.

Before sunset, we were digging trenches in the heat, with crappy combat shovels through five feet of shale.

The evening consisted of night attacks by “the enemy” filled with flares, artillery simulators, rifle and machinegun fire, and shouts of orders over the noise.

Rinse and repeat for three days without sleep. Clearly, I survived, and while I hated almost every moment of it, time has turned it into a good memory now.

The point of this story. Throughout the whole experience, I wanted nothing more than to strip to my shorts, throw away my helmet, and proceed with as little as possible.

In a real combat experience, this would have gotten me killed. This can be the same in life.

Often, the greatest weights we carry, the burdens we want to shed, are there for good reason. People, responsibilities, and experiences – they keep us alive, they keep us going, even when we may want to shed them the most, often, especially then.

When we are depressed, for example, we want to shed things that feel like burdens. We don’t want to get out of bed. We don’t want to shower or brush our teeth. We don’t want to get dressed. We don’t want to see other people. But these are often the very things that stave off depression or lift us from it.

There were so many moments I wanted to throw my rifle away. So many times, I wanted to toss my helmet in the woods. But I couldn’t… they were there to keep me safe even when I hated the burden.

No different than a firefighter’s heavy clothing, helmet, mask, and oxygen tank. Brutal burdens, but imagine if they were discarded in a moment of frustration… injury and death would soon follow.

What are you carrying with you that you want to toss? Before doing so, consider the reason the burden is there… it may just be keeping you alive.