My First Pull-Up
What exercise helped me learn about myself.
Staff Sergeant Sylvester, USMC, Senior Drill Instructor in Charge of Platoon 10B, 1981
The first time I tried to do a pull-up was in bootcamp in 1981. I enlisted after high school and quickly found myself on a bus to Parris Island, South Carolina for US Marine Corps recruit training. We sat two by two on cracked vinyl benches, sweating in the Southern night like runaways; young women of all colors, shapes, sizes. Nobody said much. I stared out the bus window feeling guarded excitement, my face reflecting back at me off the dark glass. I didn’t know what I was after, I wanted something to believe in, something I could trust.
Early one morning during our second week of training our Senior Drill Instructor, Staff Sergeant Sylvester, demonstrated proper pull-up technique using the pull-up pit aside the Confidence Course. She gripped the bar, dropping her torso down and then easily lifting her chin above the bar, narrating the Marine Corps requirements all the while.
“Listen up, Recruits,” she growled in her Texas twang as she banged out one pull-up after another. I lost count. “The goal of this event is for Marines to execute as many correct and complete pull-ups before dropping off the bar.”
We sat cross-legged on the grass, looking up at her.
“The exercise starts with correct body position, motionless at the bottom, like this, feet clear of the ground, arms fully extended—this is called a ‘Dead Hang’”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” we shouted in unison.
“You WILL come to a COMPLETE Dead Hang.”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am.” We were mesmerized.
“No body-swinging or leg-kicking allowed. You will NOT rest your chin on my bar. Hear me, Recruits.”
“Ma’am, yes ma’am.”
“And no kipping,” SSGT Sylvester barked, demonstrating a partial dead-hang followed by a full-body swing to get her chin over the bar.
She jumped down, landing hard on the ground, hands on hips like Wonder Woman. A total bad ass. “You WILL do one chin up before you leave my Island. None of MY recruits fail the PFT—And I mean EVER!”
The DI pointed in my direction, “Fraher, get up here, Recruit. You’re first,” she said gesturing towards the bar.
A hushed gasp emanated from my peers.
“Ma’am, yes ma’am,” I yelled jumping to my feet. I thought I was going to vomit.
“Mount the bar, Fraher” she instructed, but I struggled to get a firm grip.
“Shockey, get up here and give her a leg up. Assistance is authorized. Hurry up, Recruit.” Shockey hunched over and dangled her interlaced fingers. I stepped into her cradled hands, and she hoisted me skyward. I grabbed the bar overhand, just like SSGT Sylvester did.
“Ready. Begin. Dead-hang, that’s right. Now engage your shoulders, pull them back and down, squeeze your core, Fraher. Get up there, Recruit. UP!”
The nausea was gone now, replaced by a new feeling of confidence. It felt terrifying, yet oddly exciting to be someone the Senior Drill Instructor found worthy of yelling at.
I didn’t do a pull-up that day, or the next day, or the day after that. But I did learn something important about myself that day. I discovered what I was after, what I could believe in. I wanted to be bad ass like SSGT Sylvester. I could believe in myself.
(Writer’s Note: This story is based on 45-year-old memories and therefore likely an unintentionally, partially-fictionalized account of my actual military experiences.)