Sgt. Enrique R. Trevino vowed to do 1 million pushups in the year 2012 to raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project. That means Trevino has to do about 2,732 pushups every day. Even with a goal as high as that, Trevino is committed to finishing it, with hopes of topping it in years to come. (Photo courtesy of Sgt. Enrique R. Trevino)

Working out. What does that mean to you? Is it an hour at the gym before work, a jog during your lunch break or swimming laps at the pool after work? For Sgt. Enrique R. Trevino, working out is an all-day affair.

But, with a fitness goal as lofty as Trevino’s, it’ll take all day to get it done.

This past January, Trevino vowed to do a million pushups to raise money for the Wounded Warrior Project and awareness for his injured brothers. Initially, Trevino planed to raise $10,000, but is so close to reaching that sum already, he is considering increasing it.

As if doing regular pushups isn't enough, Trevino sometimes adds a little weight to the deal, completing pushups with two 45-pound weights on his back. Commitment like Trevino's can inspire others to find ways throughout their day to work on their fitness. (Photo courtesy of Sgt. Enrique R. Trevino)

Read more about wounded Marines here.

“It started out as just a resolution,” Trevino said when I spoke to him in a phone interview during his workday at the Marine Corps Embassy Security Group region 4 administrative section. “I realized that if I was going to raise awareness, I might as well benefit service members. I know if I got deployed and got hit, I’d want someone to care for me the same way.”

This realization caused Trevino to go public with his goal and ask for donations to benefit the Wounded Warrior Project. From there was born a daily workout regimen that most couldn’t hack. In order to reach a million pushups by the year’s end, he must complete roughly 2,732 pushups a day!

“I normally knock out about 200 pushups at PT, then I do a set of 30 every 10-15 minutes during work,” Trevino said. “After work, I devote half an hour at the gym to just pushups, knocking out another 600-850. I finish the rest when I’m at home.”

Trevino usually doesn’t finish his pushups until eight or nine at night.

Most people, including me, would agree that they don’t have the physical stamina of Trevino, but his example can certainly inspire you to incorporate strength-appropriate workouts into your daily routine.

“All that matters is setting a challenge worth doing,” Trevino said. “I’ve had people who are 50 years old tell me I’ve inspired them to start exercising.”

Trevino said the biggest thing in accomplishing his goal is the support he’s received from those nearest to him.

“My supporters keep me pushing through, but mainly, it’s my wife,” Trevino said with a laugh. “I can be sitting down, trying to watch TV and my wife says, ‘don’t you have pushups to do?’”

Having a workout buddy, an encouraging (or nagging) spouse, or other supporters can make any workout goal attainable.

No matter what goal you set for yourself, Trevino said the key is to keep pushing yourself to the next level.

“Next year, my goal is to beat the Guinness Book of World Records for pushups in a year,” Trevino said.

That’s 1,500,230 pushups. For a dedicated Marine like Trevino, though, anything is possible.

Click here to donate to the Wounded Warrior Project and support Trevino in his goal.

When veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman's left arm was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, he refused to let that stop him from living out his dreams. He now is happily married to his childhood sweetheart with a beautiful daughter and the ability to still compete in athletic competitions with other wounded, ill and injured service members. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Veteran Sgt. Robert “Bobby” Norman first met his wife, Melissa, when they were just kids while playing baseball with her older brother.

They dated on and off for years while Norman, a Shawnee, Okla., native, served in the Marine Corps as an infantryman from 1997 until 2001.

Norman left the Corps in 2001 to pursue his dream of playing college baseball, with plans to enter Officer Candidate School at Marine Corps Base Quantico, Va., in February 2008.

But all those plans changed when Norman got in a motorcycle accident in 2007 that left him with a broken back, three broken ribs and a paralyzed left arm.

Veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman pushes his wife Melissa and daughter Taelyr on the swing at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. Norman, who served as an infantryman from 1997 until 2001, lost the use of his left arm in a motorcycle accident in 2007. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Chelsea Flowers)

Suddenly, the Marine veteran, baseball player, and fire and rescue volunteer found himself unable to do many of the things he had once loved.

“It’s either roll over and die or get on with life,” Norman said.  “It wasn’t long after that I realized I was awarded a second chance. It may be tougher to do the every day things, but at least I can.”

So, continuing his life as best as he could was just what Norman decided to do.

The first thing Norman did was reunite with the woman he had loved most of his life. When Norman asked Melissa to marry him, he held up his lifeless left arm and said, “This is how it’s going to be.”

But for Melissa, the accident didn’t make a difference.

“It didn’t in any way change how I felt about him,” Melissa said.  “I mean, I’ve been in love with that boy since I was like 14. I met him when I was eight and decided I was going to marry him after our first date when I was 17. He was just minus an arm. It didn’t change who he was as far as his personality and his heart.”

The next few years meant a lot of adjustments for the young couple and even more for Norman.

“It was frustrating at first, but where there’s a will, there’s a way,” Norman said. “I’ve always gotten it done. It may take me ten times longer, but I’ll get it done.”

Veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman chases after his daughter Taelyr at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. Norman is a devoted father and husband who works as a turf manager at Oklahoma Baptist university. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Over time Norman began to adjust to the change in his life. But in September 2009, Norman faced a whole new adjustment when Melissa gave birth to their daughter, Taelyr.

“At first, Bobby was worried because he would never be able to throw her up in the air and wondered how he was going to teach her to play softball,” Melissa said.  “But he’s found a way to do everything. I mean, this little girl doesn’t know anything different. She has no idea he is missing an arm. She just knows that’s her dad. It doesn’t matter to her at all.”

Even with only one functioning arm, being a dad came naturally to Norman. After eight weeks, Melissa returned to work and Norman stayed home for several months to take care of Taelyr. That meant making bottles, doing laundry and changing diapers – all with one arm. If at first Norman couldn’t do it, he’d figure out a way to do it, Melissa said.

Then in August 2011, since limb salvage attempts failed, doctors amputated Norman’s arm and fused his humerus to his scapula.

Initially, this new change was difficult for Norman. There was now no chance of ever getting the use of his arm back and Norman thought there was no hope of continuing to live an active life.

But individuals with the Challenged Athletes Foundation contacted Norman and told him about the possibility of playing adaptive sports. Now, just eight months after the amputation, Norman competed on the All-Marine Warrior Games team in Colorado Springs, Colo., against other injured, wounded and ill service members from all the military branches.

“After the amputation I was really down in the dumps for two or three months, and it wasn’t until after I talked to the sports people that I really began to pull myself out of it,” Norman said. “The spirit of competition and the camaraderie of being back with a bunch of Marines has been phenomenal as far as my rehabilitation goes.”

Melissa, veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman's wife, gives a high-five to their daughter, Taelyr, while at a playground on Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. Melissa did not let Norman's accident affect her love for him and credits his perseverance as her inspiration for life. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Even Melissa has noticed a change in Norman since he’s begun playing sports again.

“He came home with a whole new spark about him,” Melissa said.

At the Marine Corps Trials at Camp Pendleton, Calif., in March and the Warrior Games this past week, Norman competed in both track and swimming competitions with two gold and one bronze medal in swimming.

“Getting back into sports is so therapeutic for me,” Norman said. “The Warrior Games and the Marine Corps Trials have been such a blessing to me. I’ve made a 180-degree turn as far as my physical ability. I’m in so much better shape. I feel better at the end of the day and the stronger my back gets, the less it hurts. I’m not even halfway there yet.”

Now Norman is even more motivated to continue to live his life to the fullest.

“I want to work with kids and maybe one day I’ll be where I can work with disabled kids or wounded warriors,” Norman said.

Until then, when Norman’s not maintaining the sports facilities at Oklahoma Baptist University, he can be found on his farm in Oklahoma riding horses with Taelyr and Melissa and tinkering on cars.

“I’m just so proud of him,” Melissa said. “He drives me every day. He’s the reason I get up and go to work every day and strive to be the best mom I can be because he is the very best dad, the very best husband, the very best son and the very best friend to everybody. He is so selfless.”

Veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman helps his daughter, Taelyr, put on her socks and boots after playing on the playground at Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. Since losing his arm in a motorcycle accident, Norman has adjusted to changing Taelyr's diapers, tinkering on cars, and providing for his family, all with one arm. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman swings around his daughter Taelyr at the playground on Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. Initially, Norman was concerned about being able to care for his daughter after losing his arm in a motorcycle accident, but he has found ways to care for and love his family regardless. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Veteran Sgt. Bobby Norman peers through the glass at his daughter Taelyr at the playground on Fort Carson in Colorado Springs, Colo., May 3. When not working as the turf manager at Oklahoma Baptist University, Norman enjoys riding horses with Taelyr on his farm in Oklahoma. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

This is the fourth installment in an ongoing series featuring members of the Afghan National Security Forces, and Marines and sailors serving with 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, during their 2011-2012 deployment to Afghanistan’s Helmand province. Many are infantrymen, others are combat support, but each is the face of a historic transition in the making. They are the unique ingredients in a melting pot of service members devoted to preparing the ANSF to assume lead security responsibility in Garmsir district. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Reece Lodder)

The meeting was ordinary but the conversation unusual.

Seated on opposite sides of a stuffy room inside an Afghan elder’s dirt-walled compound, a pair of Marines and their interpreter relax among friends, sprawling out on decorative black pillows and conversing with their hosts.

Warm daylight flows through hazy glass windows covered by flowing, burnt orange curtains, revealing a cloud of cigarette smoke swirling above the elders. Steaming cups of chai tea and plates of raisins, dried corn kernels and toffee lay between them on an ornately patterned crimson rug.

Slowly and deliberately, 1st Lt. Luke Forelle addresses the elders in Pashto, their native tongue. They listen intently as he speaks about Afghan history and the progression of local security, aided only occasionally by his interpreter.

The short, stocky Marine receives their feedback and offers a response in Pashto. The elders acknowledge his point, but warm chuckles reveal they found his pronunciation creative. Though Forelle isn’t fluent in Pashto, the elders understand their friend. He’s engaged and intrigued them.

After several years of shuffling between odd jobs and university studies, the 28-year-old New York City native set his sights on military service as he neared graduation from Columbia University in 2009. A year later, as combat operations in Iraq were winding down, Forelle earned his commission as a Marine officer. But with Iraq deployments nearing an end, it became more likely he’d deploy to Afghanistan.

Forelle cultivated his interest in the country while training to become an infantry platoon commander. He followed current events in Afghanistan closely and began learning Pashto from a Pakistani friend living in New York. He read books about Afghanistan’s history following the mid-1970s Soviet invasion, and others outlining counterinsurgency operations on its soil.

“I thought it’d be necessary to have a basic understanding of Pashto and Afghanistan’s cultural nuances, especially in my role as a platoon commander,” Forelle said. “I wanted to be the duty expert on my area of operations … to be able to impart this knowledge to my Marines and set the tone for our mission in Safar.”

As Forelle delved deeper into Afghanistan’s history and language, his interest was piqued. Studies he previously saw as professional necessity morphed into personal fascination.

After being stationed in Hawaii and completing seven months of pre-deployment training, Forelle finally received the opportunity to employ what he’d learned.

In October 2011, he deployed to Helmand province’s Garmsir district in command of 40 infantry Marines from 3rd Platoon, India Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment. They replaced Charlie Company, 1st Bn., 3rd Marines, in Garmsir’s Safar region.

The region is a key area in a stable district nearing transition from coalition to Afghan National Security Forces. Though plagued by insurgent activity only two years ago, Safar has become Garmsir’s busiest, fastest-growing commercial hub.

First Lt. Luke Forelle (second from left), the 3rd Platoon commander for India Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Marine Regiment, and a 28-year-old native of New York City, speaks with local children in Pashto to gather intelligence during a security patrol here, April 28, 2012. Forelle is among the faces of a historic transition in the making in Helmand province's Garmsir district. On deployment in the key region of Safar, he's a crucial ingredient in the melting pot of service members preparing the Afghan National Security Forces to assume lead security responsibility of Garmsir. In addition, Forelle has used his ability to speak Pashto to contribute to the ongoing development of security and governance in Safar. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Reece Lodder)

Based out of Combat Outpost Rankel, Forelle and his men immediately began contributing to the growth of Safar’s security, governance and Afghan forces.

Forelle started forging relationships with local elders, who quickly embraced him as “Commander Luke,” the new Marine leader who spoke their language and was knowledgeable about their culture. They came to remember him as the Marine who once arrived at a shura on COP Rankel wearing traditional Afghan clothing.

“We’re between the build and transition phases in Afghanistan, and part of rebuilding the country is being able to connect with its people,” said Capt. Bobby Lee, the India Company commanding officer and a native of Corpus Christi, Texas. “Speaking Pashto is just one way — Lt. Forelle’s approach — to engage them.”

Sergeant Brandon Bardos, a squad leader under Forelle’s command, said his platoon commander’s passionate effort to reach out to the Safar elders quickly eased the challenge of integrating new Marine leadership into the region.

“Lieutenant Forelle immediately built rapport with the elders because they could relate,” said Bardos, a 26-year-old native of Haiku, Hawaii. “He had the drive to understand Safar, but more importantly, the personality of its people. He was sensitive to their religion and culture, and went out of his way to identify with them. The elders felt a sense of security and greeted him with open arms.”

As their relationship deepened, so did the trust of the Safar elders in Forelle and his men. Bardos said the elders passed Forelle information on three separate occasions that led to either the location of improvised explosive devices, drugs and IED-making materials, or the detainment of enemy fighters.

Likewise, Forelle’s cultural awareness and language skills had an “immense impact” on relationship building with ANSF during a critical time in their development, Bardos said.

While the previous unit’s mission had been to partner with ANSF, India Company’s mission was to help the Afghan forces secure Safar on their own. The transition from partnered to autonomous operations was challenging for Afghan forces used to the full support of their Marine partners.

“When we arrived in Safar, the ANSF were willing and able to operate without our assistance,” Forelle said. “They just had to be weaned off our support and shown that security in Safar would increase as its Afghan forces improved.”

In January, Marines based in Garmsir shifted into a position of overwatch as the transition of lead security responsibility from coalition forces to ANSF approached.

First Lt. Luke Forelle poses with local elders, their children and an interpreter after sharing chai inside an elder's compound during a security patrol here, April 28, 2012. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Cpl. Reece Lodder)

Afghan forces in the region strengthened their foothold and security continued to increase. The local economy flourished, evidenced in Safar Bazaar’s growth from approximately 200 to 400 shops over a six-month period. Governance expanded and Safar saw greater representation in April’s district community council elections, as the number of designated seats for the area jumped from one in 2011 to four in 2012.

Progress was being made. Forelle said the local people saw the Afghan government “was going to be the real answer” for their problems. Instead of taking their problems to Marines, they began taking them to local leaders. While their system wasn’t perfect, Forelle said, the people of Safar were “lobbying through the right channels.”

“Over the course of the deployment, we witnessed a huge change in attitude on the local people’s part as to who they saw as an authority,” Forelle said. “They’ve done a complete 180-degree turn since we arrived.”

Despite his unique contribution, the Pashto-speaking platoon commander is simply one of many catalysts that have contributed to security and growth in the former insurgent hotbed.

Forelle is among thousands who have sweat, bled or made the ultimate sacrifice to bring freedom and security here. His efforts are a notation in a history book filled with sacrifice and progress, but they will remain as memories among the people he worked to affect long after he’s left Safar.

“The Afghan culture is one where people pass on history by word of mouth,” Lee said. “In 20 or 30 years, the people of Safar will still remember “Commander Luke.” They’ll recount stories of him over and over again, like his ability to speak Pashto or the time he wore Afghan clothes to a shura. He’s helped carry on a history of good memories surrounding the time Marines spent here.”

Among the death and the fighting and the chaos on Iwo Jima, one Marine made music. Pfc. Frank J. Matthews was among the Marines who made "uncommon valor a common virtue," and he made the time to make music on Iwo Jima. (U.S. Marine Corps historical photo)

Pfc. Frank J. Matthews sat resting on the ground with his returning patrol. His wrist was aching more than usual today, and he rubbed the dirty bandage that encircled it and held together his tattered flesh.

From somewhere among the numbers of resting Marines, he heard a voice calling, “Matthews … Frank Matthews … Has anyone seen Matthews?”

“He’s over here,” an anonymous voice directed.

Matthews looked up to see a familiar face approaching. It was the 4^th Marine Division chaplain.

I’ve been looking all over for you Matthews,” the chaplain’s friendly voice boomed. “I want to have some services for the men tomorrow, and I need you to play the organ.”

In disbelief, Frank stammered, “You have an organ with you – here?”

“Well, yes,” the chaplain chuckled, “my little reed organ.”

Frank was familiar with the instrument. The small organ would be similar to the ones he played for his father’s revivals back home. A Presbyterian minister, Matthews’ father would hold revivals in small churches across the rural south, always dragging his young son with him to provide the music. His father would preach, and Matthews would do his best to get a decent volume of sound from whatever small packable organ or piano was available.

The chaplain grinned, telling him, “I only brought it with me because I knew you would be here to play it.”

“Well,” said Matthews, shaking his head in astonishment, “you were more optimistic than I was that I’d still be here.”

The chaplain told him, “I figured if anyone would make it, it would be you.”

Matthews’ mind flashed back over the last month.

His minister father would have called it nothing short of a miracle that he was standing here talking with the chaplain and not lying lifeless under the fields of white crosses nearby.

It was March 17, 1945, and 18-year-old Matthews had been in combat on Iwo Jima for almost a month now. He recalled the hectic days of the past month.

As a Marine of the 24^th Marine Regiment, 4^th Marine Division, he had joined his platoon in a beach landing Feb. 19, 1945, D-Day, onto the tiny, volcanic island on which the Japanese were an entrenched enemy determined to fight to the last man.

Before the battle of Iwo Jima ended on March 26, 1945, the Marines suffered almost 26,000 casualties and 95 percent of the Japanese 21,000 defenders were killed. 22 Marines and five sailors received the Medal of Honor for their actions on Iwo Jima. (U.S. Marine Corps historical photo)

Matthews had charged up the shifting black sand beaches and steep cliffs into the face of the enemy. Beneath the surface of the island, the Japanese had carved miles of catacombs and subterranean rooms from which they would emerge, attack and then disappear underground into safety.

Matthews and his platoon fought their way into the heart of the island and struggled to hold the lines across eight square miles of rocky plateaus.

One day while on patrol, an enemy sniper picked off a flamethrower operator near Matthews. Almost before the cumbersome weapon hit the ground, the gunnery sergeant yelled for Matthews to put the flamethrower on. Being more scared of the gunny then he was of the Japanese, Matthews hurriedly strapped on the three tanks of fuel and compressed gas.

Day after day, he had to march up and down the island carrying the eighty pounds of tanks on his back. The deadly nozzle of the thrower spewed choking gas and flames. He had worked quickly from tunnel to tunnel chasing the enemy into the darkness, burning out their hideaways and then using the gruesome power of his weapon to suck out all the life-giving oxygen from their cave system.

He would clear a tunnel one day only to find it filled with the enemy again the very next day. Day after day, he cleared the labyrinths of underground tunnels.

At night, he sought solace in the foxhole he had dug out of the acrid volcanic ash and soil. He had found a few bloody and discarded gurneys that provided a makeshift roof from the frequent rains.

As he tramped up and down the island, he pushed out all thoughts of anything but his task. To dwell on the fact that a Marine with a flamethrower was an easy target for enemy snipers would have been pointless and distracting. Distraction could have meant death.

Each night, he was amazed that his slight, 150-pound frame made it back to that hole in the ground. He was wounded three times during those days.

Once, a large shard of metal had shot into his skull just above his left eye and just below where his helmet provided protection. Not wanting to be sent to the hospital ship, he talked a medic into pulling it out with a pair of pliers.

A photo of Frank J. Matthews from May 1945. He landed on Iwo Jima Feb. 19, 1945, and was there until March 19, 1945. He continued to compose and play music while serving in the Marines. After the war, he attended the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill and in 1949 he earned a degree in music. In 1950, he was back in the Marine Corps and served during the Korean conflict as an officer. At the age of nearly 86, he continues to give private music lessons two days a week and serve as a docent four days a week at the National Museum of the Marine Corps. (Photo courtesy of the Matthews family)

A few days later, an explosion knocked him to the ground, wrenching his back and bruising his spine. The men next to him weren’t so lucky.

Then, he had taken a Japanese grenade to the wrist. The ceramic shrapnel tore through his flesh and lodged deep into and around his tendons and veins.

By now, he was the last surviving member of his 40-man platoon.

Matthews’ mind snapped back to the chaplain standing before him and the chaplain’s unexpected request for an organist. All Matthews could think to ask was, “What do you want me to play?”

The chaplain told him, “Just pick two hymns; we’ll alternate Protestant and Catholic services so pick something they will all know, but nothing they have to sing.”

The chaplain’s face changed and his normally broad smile tightened down as he added, “They’ll be too tired to sing.” He took a breath and his face eased into its characteristic grin.

“And, of course, you’ll need to play the ‘National Anthem’,” the chaplain continued.

As he walked away, he turned and added in a cautionary tone, “But Matthews, play a version that has some life to it, so they can stand proud.

Matthews nodded in understand, “No problem, sir.”

That night, he got busy arranging in his mind a spirited version of the “National Anthem,” and he thought hard about what two hymns should be plated.

He decided on “Jesus, Joy of  Man’s Desire” as it would be easily recognized by Catholics and Protestants and didn’t require singing by the tired men. For the second hymn, he selected “My Faith Looks Up to Thee.” The song’s fourth stanza seemed to speak to what he knew was on the minds of his fellow Marines – what was on his mind – all those who were no longer with them, all those white crosses.

When ends life’s transient dream,

When death’s cold, sullen stream shall o’er me roll;

Blest Savior, then in live, fear and distrust remove;

O bear me safe above, a ransomed, soul! 

Early that Sunday morning, Matthews unfolded the suitcase-sized organ as the first group of men gathered round. The fatigued men sat on crates, on boxes, on the ground. They listened to the chaplain, and they bowed their heads in prayer.

Matthews peddled hard on the organ and got as much volume as he could from the diminutive instrument.

A few of the men quietly sand along, but most sat silent and stone-faced, exhausted, simply drinking in every bit of comfort that the music could provide.

When Matthews played his arrangement of the “National Anthem,” everyone stood a bit taller, even as tears filled some of their eyes.

Groups of men kept coming all day long, 20 or 30 at a time, seeking a few moments of reflection and solace.

Matthews’ bandaged wrist throbbed as he pounded the keys of the organ. But, men kept coming to share in the reassurance of the service. Matthews counted 10 services, then 20, then he lost count. For as long as men kept coming, Matthews kept playing.

When the services were done for the day, he walked to the makeshift cemetery and wandered alone among the rows of white crosses. The remains of Matthews’ platoon lay under his feet and his arrangement of the “National Anthem” rang in his ears.

He left the war-ravaged island the next day.

Marines with 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment begin the tail-end of their cold-weather training at the Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, Calif. The Marines still had a few more obstacles to overcome as they learned how to survive all situations as a cohesive unit. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

On the last leg of our training, we had to leave Grouse Meadows and head up to Summit, almost 1,000 feet higher in elevation. We filled in the trenches and holes where our tents used to sit, packed up our gear and headed out.

The hike to Summit was nothing like the initial hike at the beginning of Basic Mobility. The entire movement was in the snow and the higher we went, the deeper the snow became. We had our snow shoes on the entire time.

A few times, during the steeper mountains we scaled, I almost tilted over, hurling back down the mountain, my main pack firmly still attached to my back.

Pfc. Jonathan R. Shaw, maching gunner, Golf Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, carries an M-240B medium machine gun during a conditioning hike at the Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, Calif., April 3. The M-240B and its sighting optic weigh approximately 30 pounds. The hike took Marines from the 7,000 ft. elevation base camp to Summit Meadows, 9,300 ft. above sea level. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

But we finally reached our destination.

I wasn’t with Fox Company the last time they dug in, so I was curious to see how they built such well-structured trenches and living areas. I soon found out their secret – simple hard work.

Digging-in was much harder than filling the trenches with already broken pieces of ice and snow. By the end of the day, my back hurt, and I couldn’t wait to lie down. But I couldn’t. I had to make some “snow soup” to quench my thirst and reserve for the next day’s activities.

Next game – They took away our tents, and we now only had our tent flys, a white cover that we put over the main body of the tents. There was no lining between me and the ground, so I expected to be freezing. Strangely, it was one of the warmest nights I had experienced so far.

The days were much the same: melting snow for water in the evenings, training in the daytime. But, the schedule was switched up on our second to last day.

After two nights, we filled in our trenches before another move. This time it was only a few clicks, across another open field. It wasn’t a hard move, comparatively speaking.

That morning, we staged our gear near the future encampment and went cross-country skiing. What awaited us at the end of the trip was something much more interesting than slushing across the ice in a single file line, staring intently at either the snow or the guy in front of your head.

The red hat instructors taught us other methods to transport Marines involving a long piece of rope and a foreign-made, tracked all-terrain vehicle called a Bandvagn 206, or BV for short. The BV pulled Marines on skis, who tied their ski poles to the rope hanging behind the two-compartment craft.

Headquarters and Service, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment Marines hike down after reaching an elevation of approximately 7,600 ft above sea level at the Mountain Warfare Training Center March, 30. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

Only a few Marines were actually able to try it. The rest watched, waiting for someone to face-plant in the snow. Only one did, who will not be named only for concern for my personal safety.

We paid for our merriment though, and the rest of our evening was spent digging. Still without our tents, we constructed “snow coffins.”

I was paired up with an infantryman who was shorter than me, so we built our hole to my height, which is two isomats wide, scientifically speaking. We made it as shallow as possible. “The smaller the hole, the warmer you are,” I remembered one of the instructors saying.

We placed a water-resistant poncho beneath and on top the hole. Each Marine pair built theirs differently. We were told our imaginations were our only limitations. In that case, I imagine we should have snuck inside the BV and saved our time for making snow soup.

By the end of our efforts, though, I was proud of the “coffin” we had built. I worked hard on it, thinking it might actually be my final resting place. It seemed near impossible to sleep in actual snow overnight and not be a person-shaped, life-size popsicle in the morning.

Once again, I was wrong. I thought our tent flys contraption was warm. I was wrong. This really was the warmest I’d been since sleeping in the temperature-controlled squadbays in mainside. I don’t understand the science of it, even though it was explained. All I know is that it works.

Our final night out, Fox Company held a bonfire. Not for fun of course, but mostly to dry us off after digging our sleeping holes. Marines gathered around the warm, crackling flames like flies to one of those electric bug zappers.

One guy sang “The Circle of Life” from The Lion King movie, and others told hilarious stories I cannot repeat in a polite, public forum. Before heading to bed, and I now use the term in the loosest sense of the word, an officer began to recite a few passages from the book, “The Last Stand of Fox Company.”

And tucked in here, high in the mountains, hidden by snow and lines of tall, darkened evergreen pines, was something special. Here was brotherhood and here was family. Even for a POG like me, amongst the grunts.

Cpl. Trawick Thompson, data network specialist, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, posts security as his company is attacked by Weapons Company Marines during 2/7's final exercise at the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, Calif., April 14. The battalion participated in the month-long Mountain Exercise cold weather package, part of the Center's formal schools training. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

Editors note: This is the second in a three-part series written from the perspective of a combat correspondent new to cold weather and high altitude training.

Our first few days were spent acclimating to the elevation. I had a really bad headache the entire first day. I talked to a hospital corpsman, also known as “doc,” about it. Apparently my brain was expanding because of the decrease in air pressure.

The third day here, it snowed. Everything was covered in a thick blanket of white powder.

The snow melted by the next day. It showed us how quickly the weather can change up here.

Lance Cpl. Bryan Avitia, admin clerk, Headquarters and Service Co., 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment looks out over the mountains he will soon be spending the night on at the Mountain Warfare Training Center March 29. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

I thought I would be hearing Marines complaining about it left and right, but instead most were laughing about it or making jokes. Talk about Marine Corps spirit.

We spent our acclimation period doing hikes and taking environmental training classes up in the mountains. All this led up to our first day in the field.

I hiked up to Summit Meadows with Golf Company, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, the hardest hike I have ever been on. We carried a full combat load, plus snow gear and weapons.

At first, everyone was excited to get to the snowy hilltops. The beginning was all dirt and actually hot.

We were climbing 9,300 feet above sea level. We didn’t hit snow until 8,000 ft.

By that point I was exhausted. All that went through my head was “right foot, left foot, right foot…”  This was worse than the Reaper at recruit training. West Coast Marines always brag about the Reaper. Well now 2/7 Marines can brag about Bridgeport. And so can I.

After the 8,000-ft. mark, the surrounding area was snowy and the trail a combination of mud and ice. Each step held the potential of a fall.

Thankfully we stopped to put our snow shoes on. With the teeth at the bottom of the shoe gripping the slick surface beneath us, the only thing we had to worry about was making it to the top.

Headquarters and Service, 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment Marines cross a river during a hike at the Mountain Warfare Training Center March, 30. The hike helped Marines acclimate to the high elevations of the training center. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

Eventually, we made it to Summit Meadows.

I spent the night with Golf Company before I was transferred to Fox Company at Grouse Meadows.

The Marines of Fox Company had developed an intricate system of trenches in between their tent areas for faster movement through the deep snow.

Their defensive positions were set behind a treeline. When I first arrived, I didn’t see it right away. It took me a minute before I spotted a tent hiding behind the towering trees.

My first day with Co. F, I went out to see a medical evacuation. In the middle of the untouched snow stood a helicopter with Army written on the side. Surrounding it was a crowd of Marines, some from Fox Company, the majority from Weapons Company.

The soldiers gave a quick run-through of the procedures before letting some of the Marines do it themselves.

The helo blasted particles of ice from the ground into my face. It was hard to keep watching, but we all did. How often do you get a chance to see a helo lift off with a hurricane of snow beneath it?

Most days in the field consisted of skiing and melting snow for water, with classes on anchoring or avalanche training in between. But everything was taught in the snow.

Melting snow made me appreciate the ready supply of water at Twentynine Palms. It took a long time to melt a small amount. And even when you did, there were small particles in there that gave the water a piney taste.

An MV-22 Osprey conducts a resuply for 2nd Battalion, 7th Marine Regiment, as they complete their final training exercise at the Marine Corps Mountain Warfare Training Center in Bridgeport, Calif. The battalion took part in the center's Mountain Exercise unit training program, completing the cold weather package after a month of training. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Ali Azimi)

I tried to get used to the taste. That didn’t work. I looked around and saw Marines using t-shirts to filter out the particles as they poured the boiled water into their Nalgene bottles. The particles were gone, but the taste was still there.

The skiing sounded like fun. I went out thinking it would be an easy day. I didn’t know how hard it was to ski. I ate snow on a daily basis. I guess that’s faster than trying to melt it.

The weather was always cold. In the mornings, I didn’t want to leave my tent. At night I couldn’t wait to get in my happy suit.

There were a couple of hours of warmth in the afternoon, but as it passed, the chill set in.

Four days after arriving at Grouse Meadows, we packed back up and headed back up to Summit Meadows.

Word from the lance corporal underground said that we would have our tents taken away and forced to make ice shelters.

I am convinced I will freeze to death.

Heart of a Warrior

For the past three years, wounded, injured and ill service members from the U.S. Army, Navy, Coast Guard, Air Force, Special Operations and Marine Corps have gathered to compete in adaptive sports at Colorado Springs, Colo. Through perseverance and natural ability, these athletes prove that nothing in life can hold them back. This year, 50 wounded Marines- 35 Marines and 17 veteran Marines- who proved themselves at the 2012 Marine Corps Trials in February at Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, Calif., will participate in a total of seven athletic competitions against the other services. For 18 of the athletes, this is their second or third Warrior Games.

The Warrior Games also determines an Ultimate Champion. Ultimate Champion contenders must compete in cycling, shot put, shooting, swimming and track. The Ultimate Champion is the competitor who earns the most points in their disability category for each of these events. Capt. Jonathan Disbro, below-knee amputee, is last year’s reigning Ultimate Champion who will be fighting to maintain his title this year. Each athlete has a unique story, but all have one thing in common — heart. Join us as we follow these incredible warriors while they strive to repeat history and earn the Chairman’s Cup for a third straight year.

Good luck, Marines!

Click on the photos to get an inside look at the Marines competing in each sport.

In sitting volleyball, every participant is equal, regardless of injury. Those with lower extremity amputations and injuries are just as capable of dealing a deadly spike, making a block or scoring an ace over the lowered 1.15-meter high net and smaller proportioned court. All participants also must scoot across the court on their butts, with no use of their legs. Even with these limitations, it’s amazing how easily these Marines maneuver around the court as they show relentless determination to come out on top in this year’s 2012 Warrior Games.

The competing teams are Army, Navy/Coast Guard, Air Force, Special Operations and Marine Corps. Each team has a maximum of 12 players and will play four matches before the bronze and gold medal competitions. Teams will play to 25 points and the best out of three games. The third game will only be to 15 points. All five teams will fight to be named the gold medal champions.

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Photo Gallery

Chief Warrant Officer 3 Shawn Dunn strikes the ball during volleyball practice for the 2012 Warrior Games at Colorado Springs, Colo., April 23. Dunn, native of Carlsbad, Calif., is participating in sitting volleyball, wheelchair basketball and swimming. Dunn also attended last year's games. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Marine veteran Cpl. Travis Greene, native of Boise, Idaho, takes a break to laugh with teammates during sitting volleyball practice for the 2012 Warrior Games at Colorado Springs, Colo., April 23, 2012. Green lost both of his legs in a secondary improvised explosive device blast in Dec. 2005. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Chelsea Flowers)

Wounded Marines practice seated volleyball during practice for the 2012 Warrior Games at Colorado Springs, Colo., April 24. The Warrior Games is a competition between wounded warriors from all military branches and includes swimming, track and field, cycling, shooting, archery, sitting volleyball, and wheelchair basketball. The 2012 Warrior Games will run from May 1-5. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Aaron Hostutler)

The ability to put a projectile down range and hit black requires concentration, accuracy and aim. For the Marines on the Marine Corps Archery Team at the 2012 Warrior Games, hitting black is an even more admirable feat. Watching their arrows group neatly around the bulls-eye, though, you would never imagine that many of the competitors have overcome significant injuries, brain damage and traumatic stress to get to where they are today.

Competitors in the archery portion of the 2012 Warrior Games will choose to shoot either the compound bow or the recurve bow. The target size is 40 centimeters at a distance of 18 meters. Participants will compete on an individual basis except for team competitions for both the compound and recurve bow.

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Sgt. Than Naing, native of New York, takes aim with a recurve bow during archery practice for the 2012 Warrior Games in Colorado Springs, Colo., April 25, 2012. The Warrior Games is a competition between wounded warriors from all military branches and includes swimming, track and field, cycling, shooting, archery, sitting volleyball and wheelchair basketball. The 2012 Warrior Games will run May 1-5. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Chelsea Flowers)

The Marine Corps' Warrior Games archery coach inspects the targets after a round of shooting during practice for the 2012 Warrior Games at Colorado Springs, Colo., April 25, 2012. There are eight Marines competing in the archery portion of the Games this year. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Daniel Wetzel)

Sgt. Than Naing, native of New York, releases the string of his recurve bow during archery practice for the 2012 Warrior Games in Colorado Springs, Colo., April 25, 2012. Naing received a gunshot wound in combat in 2010. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Lance Cpl. Chelsea Flowers)

Every Marine is a rifleman. And the wounded Marines participating in this year’s Warrior Games are no exception. Regardless of injury or illness, these Marines show that nothing can keep them from hitting black.

Participants in the shooting portion of the 2012 Warrior Games use the 10M Air Pistol and the 10M Air Rifle in an indoor firing facility. They fire metal pellets at targets from standing, sitting and prone positions. There are three categories of participants: open category for those with non-permanent physical disabilities such as Post-traumatic stress disorder, traumatic brain injuries and orthopedic injuries; SH2 category for those with upper body injuries and amputations; SH1 category for those with permanent physical disabilities such as spinal cord injuries, leg amputations and strokes.

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Photo Gallery

Staff Sgt. Matthew Benack, native of Arnold, Miss., laughs with a shooting coach during air rifle practice for the 2012 Warrior Games in Colorado Springs, Colo., April 23. Benack, who suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder and a traumatic brain injury, won gold at last year's competition and is a third-year competitor at the Warrior Games. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Aaron Hostutler)

Staff Sgt. Matthew Benack, a Marine with the Wounded Warrior Regiment (left), and Roger Withrow, a shooting coach with the 2012 Wounded Warrior Games, pound fists after Withrow gave Benack some advice and encouragement. Benack said Withrow, a retired Marine, inspires him by his tireless leadership and mentoring. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Aaron Hostutler)

Cpl. Justin Jones, native of Ellijay, Ga., sights in while his shooting coach looks on during shooting practice for the 2012 Warrior Games in Colorado Springs, Colo., April 23. Jones was injured in an improvised explosive device blast in 2011 while carrying a wounded comrade to safety. (U.S. Marine Corps photo by Sgt. Aaron Hostutler)