Physical Agility
Its seven thirty am, I haven't been up this early in months. The armory looks like something out of a bad movie, still covered in snow and ice, little slits for soldiers to fire their weapons from. A huge stone edifice now empty because the 115th Artilery Company is blowing the hell out of Iraqis as I walk up the front steps.
We all meet in the confrence room, surrounded by pictures of former army commanders. Three old guys in red polo shirts with "Fire PAT" stenciled on the left breast are standing around along with a paramedic from Boston EMS.
There are guys from all over Mass who want to be firefighters. Some of them have been EMTs and Paramedics with private ambulances companies for several years. One or two of them were rescue divers with the coast guard and at least one guy used to be a marine.
My stomach is burning, the Friday before hand I had come back from dinner with my girlfriend and found a puddle of blood in the toilet after I took a dump. After I take the pre test run through today, I have to go home to begin the prep work for a colonoscopy. At twenty years old, I have to get a camera shoved up my ass because of stress.
And I want to be a professional firefighter.
I watch as a potential firefighters from all over Mass are running through a battery of tests designed to simulate the most common activities performed by firemen. When I'm up, I have a stomach full of boiling ice, kind of like when you drink to much beer--cold and hot at the same time.
The first event has me raising and lowering a sixty pound weight to simulate extending a forty foot ladder. I blow through it with five and a half seconds to spare. Its not hard, I've always spent hours at the gym beating the shit out of my upper body. The next event is the killer, I have to pull a length of rubber tube through a U shaped maze to simulate dragging a fully charged hoseline. We get twenty seconds to do it. Beforehand, my father; who had taken the fire tests in Rhode Island; told me to wrap the hose around my shoulders and chest so I have to pull less of it. I get down low and pull it around myself twice like some kind of sash. Even with that little edge I finish one second over the propper time. Good thing its only a practice. Next I drag a 150 pound bag of sand through a maze, once again its no problem because of my time at the gym. I power through an event that has me beat the shit out of a rubber pad with a sledgehammer. Finally I raise and lower eighty pound weights as though I'm tearing down a ceiling.
When I get back to Rhode Island in the afternoon I have to go to the doctor for my prep work. I sit there getting the "Oh he must have cancer--he's so young" looks from all of the old people in the place. Trying not to notice, I bury my nose in a Clive Cussler novel.
That night I go to bed wondering if they'll find some malignant lump in my ass. The next day is no better so I try to blow off stress by working out like crazy. Deadlifts, leg lifts, curls, I move on to arms and blast myself with ab routines. In the afternoon I have to suck down laxitive cocktails to cleanse myself for the coming exam.
At six the next morning, my father took me to get probed. We parked near the helicopter landing pad behind the hospital and I thought of how I watched a Coast Gaurd chopper land there on TV a few years back. It was cold, really cold, pre dawn Rhode Island in the middle of winter.
In the office, I tried unsucessfuly to engross myself in some novel but found I couldn't concentrate, nervous and tired from a night of total intestinal evacuation. A few old people were there and, again, I got the "Oh thats too bad" stares. I tried to relive the excitement of the fire test the day before but found I was too nervous--the possibility of rectal cancer does that to you.
I don't really remember the exam, just feeling really drunk from whatever drugs they pumped into me. Apparently at one point I demanded pictures of the inside my ass because while I was in recovery, a nurse came out and handed me a set of six snapshots that allowed for a new type of introspection.
After finding out I was cancer free, but still suffered from an ulcer, hemroids and allergy to wheat, my first action was to purchas the largest plate of pancakes I've ever seen. Six huge flapjacks heaping with butter and syrup. My favorite meal from then on has been pancakes, its the go to food.
Cancer free, I returned to take the actual fire physical agility test one month later. More than a little nervous from lack of energy from the recent events, I had spent the every day of the last month in the gym. Often I would go twice a day with swim and track training thrown in for good measure. For two weeks I ran with a 75 pound dumbell on my shoulder while the football players laughed at me and pretended to work out.
Of course, I was scheduled last out of a group of 35 prospective firefighters. Three of whom failed on the dreaded hose pull. Four more crapped out on the darkened maze. When I finally got up I was a bundle of nerves. As before I blew through the ladder raise event. I squeaked through the hose pull with a second to spare and drove through the seldge hammer event so fast the machine nearly broke. The 150 pound sand bag slid from my grasp and nearly pulled off a finger nail but I managed to pass with three seconds to spare. The darkened maze proved more difficult. Having been a volunteer firefighter in Rhode Island I had worked in blacked out environments but always in bunker gear. During the test all I had on was a helmet and a vest to simulate full gear. Two by fours were thrown through out the maze at odd angles and with out the padding of bunker pants I slammed a knee into a board so hard that the test proctors asked if I needed the paramedic. But I still passed. When I limped out of the maze, my knee was already blowing up, again they asked if I needed the medic but it would be an instant dequalification, so I hopped to the last event and raised an 80 pound weight and then pulled down on a 65 pound weight five times. I had to perform twenty eight repitions of this procedure over the course of four minutes to pass. As my knee took on the size of a watermelon I pushed and pulled for all I was worth, beating the hell out of that machine and getting covered in metal shavings durring the process.
After receiving a form that said I had passed I drove right to the Holden Fire/Rescue headquarters still covered in sweat and grime. The secretary laughed and asked me to wait in the hall because I apparently smelled pretty rank and processed my papers.
One of the proudest moments of my life was when I called my father on the way back from the station. He had wanted to be a firefighter in Rhode Island and had passed all of the tests but had not been hired because he lacked EMT training. He had always wanted me to go for the fire department and now I was well on my way to becoming a professional firefighter.
We all meet in the confrence room, surrounded by pictures of former army commanders. Three old guys in red polo shirts with "Fire PAT" stenciled on the left breast are standing around along with a paramedic from Boston EMS.
There are guys from all over Mass who want to be firefighters. Some of them have been EMTs and Paramedics with private ambulances companies for several years. One or two of them were rescue divers with the coast guard and at least one guy used to be a marine.
My stomach is burning, the Friday before hand I had come back from dinner with my girlfriend and found a puddle of blood in the toilet after I took a dump. After I take the pre test run through today, I have to go home to begin the prep work for a colonoscopy. At twenty years old, I have to get a camera shoved up my ass because of stress.
And I want to be a professional firefighter.
I watch as a potential firefighters from all over Mass are running through a battery of tests designed to simulate the most common activities performed by firemen. When I'm up, I have a stomach full of boiling ice, kind of like when you drink to much beer--cold and hot at the same time.
The first event has me raising and lowering a sixty pound weight to simulate extending a forty foot ladder. I blow through it with five and a half seconds to spare. Its not hard, I've always spent hours at the gym beating the shit out of my upper body. The next event is the killer, I have to pull a length of rubber tube through a U shaped maze to simulate dragging a fully charged hoseline. We get twenty seconds to do it. Beforehand, my father; who had taken the fire tests in Rhode Island; told me to wrap the hose around my shoulders and chest so I have to pull less of it. I get down low and pull it around myself twice like some kind of sash. Even with that little edge I finish one second over the propper time. Good thing its only a practice. Next I drag a 150 pound bag of sand through a maze, once again its no problem because of my time at the gym. I power through an event that has me beat the shit out of a rubber pad with a sledgehammer. Finally I raise and lower eighty pound weights as though I'm tearing down a ceiling.
When I get back to Rhode Island in the afternoon I have to go to the doctor for my prep work. I sit there getting the "Oh he must have cancer--he's so young" looks from all of the old people in the place. Trying not to notice, I bury my nose in a Clive Cussler novel.
That night I go to bed wondering if they'll find some malignant lump in my ass. The next day is no better so I try to blow off stress by working out like crazy. Deadlifts, leg lifts, curls, I move on to arms and blast myself with ab routines. In the afternoon I have to suck down laxitive cocktails to cleanse myself for the coming exam.
At six the next morning, my father took me to get probed. We parked near the helicopter landing pad behind the hospital and I thought of how I watched a Coast Gaurd chopper land there on TV a few years back. It was cold, really cold, pre dawn Rhode Island in the middle of winter.
In the office, I tried unsucessfuly to engross myself in some novel but found I couldn't concentrate, nervous and tired from a night of total intestinal evacuation. A few old people were there and, again, I got the "Oh thats too bad" stares. I tried to relive the excitement of the fire test the day before but found I was too nervous--the possibility of rectal cancer does that to you.
I don't really remember the exam, just feeling really drunk from whatever drugs they pumped into me. Apparently at one point I demanded pictures of the inside my ass because while I was in recovery, a nurse came out and handed me a set of six snapshots that allowed for a new type of introspection.
After finding out I was cancer free, but still suffered from an ulcer, hemroids and allergy to wheat, my first action was to purchas the largest plate of pancakes I've ever seen. Six huge flapjacks heaping with butter and syrup. My favorite meal from then on has been pancakes, its the go to food.
Cancer free, I returned to take the actual fire physical agility test one month later. More than a little nervous from lack of energy from the recent events, I had spent the every day of the last month in the gym. Often I would go twice a day with swim and track training thrown in for good measure. For two weeks I ran with a 75 pound dumbell on my shoulder while the football players laughed at me and pretended to work out.
Of course, I was scheduled last out of a group of 35 prospective firefighters. Three of whom failed on the dreaded hose pull. Four more crapped out on the darkened maze. When I finally got up I was a bundle of nerves. As before I blew through the ladder raise event. I squeaked through the hose pull with a second to spare and drove through the seldge hammer event so fast the machine nearly broke. The 150 pound sand bag slid from my grasp and nearly pulled off a finger nail but I managed to pass with three seconds to spare. The darkened maze proved more difficult. Having been a volunteer firefighter in Rhode Island I had worked in blacked out environments but always in bunker gear. During the test all I had on was a helmet and a vest to simulate full gear. Two by fours were thrown through out the maze at odd angles and with out the padding of bunker pants I slammed a knee into a board so hard that the test proctors asked if I needed the paramedic. But I still passed. When I limped out of the maze, my knee was already blowing up, again they asked if I needed the medic but it would be an instant dequalification, so I hopped to the last event and raised an 80 pound weight and then pulled down on a 65 pound weight five times. I had to perform twenty eight repitions of this procedure over the course of four minutes to pass. As my knee took on the size of a watermelon I pushed and pulled for all I was worth, beating the hell out of that machine and getting covered in metal shavings durring the process.
After receiving a form that said I had passed I drove right to the Holden Fire/Rescue headquarters still covered in sweat and grime. The secretary laughed and asked me to wait in the hall because I apparently smelled pretty rank and processed my papers.
One of the proudest moments of my life was when I called my father on the way back from the station. He had wanted to be a firefighter in Rhode Island and had passed all of the tests but had not been hired because he lacked EMT training. He had always wanted me to go for the fire department and now I was well on my way to becoming a professional firefighter.
posted by Nick Stabile at 12:05 AM
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