>Go awol! St. Paul, where you at? LA, where you at? Bridging the gap, where you at-at? Oh my goodness UCLA is here. Call it uklah the mok or the House the Dragon built, this weekend is going to be the sick like malaria. I feel the spirit of the Little Dragon on this mission with us, guys and dolls. It feels real. Denmark snuck up on me, the Double Shot Rockstar express from Utah to Camp Pendleton kneed me in the nuts and then threw me down like unwanted popsicle, and this weekend has been standing at the finish line giving me the finger since last December . I am as amped for this evolution as I have ever been for anything, yet the vessel is tired. Not limping along like a beaten mule, but the wires and pivot points, hinges and swivel bits are all creaky from a lack of proper lubrication. After the gut was sliced open for surgery to repair a hernia, I avoided most prolonged hip extension and ALL hardcore back bending, arching, or even standing fully erect. 10 days off from work and a whole lot of non-exercise later, I began walking to and fro work again, as well as some light stretching and mobility. My forced relaxation has come back around, but the mobility has not lubed me up proper yet, and just today did I pick up bell, in a sock puppeted hand, and rip off 5 swings LR, 5 Tsnatches LR, 5 C&P LR, and again 5 Tsnatches LR. I felt great doing so, and then after a shift at the observatory [not really an observatory, thought that would be a gnarly place to work] I felt wrecked. My high thoracic musculature is uber tight, and the right latissimus is as jacked up as the left one. But you know what? I cannot say shite about shite because this is the path and I walk hard. So what, right? My back is tight. The solution? No bells tomorrow. There are innocent men in jail, and my back is tight. Kiss the sky and move on.
I am running a team at UCLA, but not teaching any of the core curriculum, something that at first was off putting, but made much sense upon review. Check it: The assistants and I have a group to run, and that is our mission. The early schedule has me administering the Tsnatch test rules and a swing weight-ladders ‘practice session’. Just like Staff Sergeant Sykes, I thank God for every day on the field. Ooh, Rah. I am going to sleep on a nice hotel floor, with two sheets and three pillows, wrapping with Nepodal about whatever, and for sure bumping my gums with a bushel of swell cats and kittens all days and nights. Buffet dinner on the Warrior Diet? Fuckin‘ right. Pumping and mobility-ing with the team all weekend? Yes, Sir. Watching Bruce move his feet with greater precision and eloquence than any upright organism time immemorial? Heck yes. And once again I am on the same field with greats like Brett Jones, Pavel, Marks Cheng and Reifkind, and tapping the strengths of the instructor corps, the DD staff, and the gentle guidance of JDC. Should be a bloody bash of bells and bellies swelled by buffet bravery. I will detail the minutes from my recent two feedings.
Monday evening
Cube and roast 1 massive zucchini squash with EVOO and sea salt.
Steam 1 big bag of baby spinach.
Slice artfully, and saute 2 baby bok choi bulbs in:
[EVOO, water, and soy sauce, sprinkling in minced garlic and sea salt].
Place ½ the spinach in blender with 6 eggs, BLEND! Pour into glassware and cook.
Quiche! Season with black pepper and use ketchup to spice it up [yum].
Cook 1 cup of whole wheat rotini.
When the bok choi is done, I lay it over the small serving of spinach, and eat it like so. I then enjoy ½ the zucchini and a big cup of water. Out comes the quiche. Ketchup and black pepper east coast scrambled eggs style! I mix the roasted zuc cubes in with the pasta, and pour whatever juicy goodness from both sets of vegetables over the mix. I save money by not buying pasta sauce and I keep my meals [and hopefully my life on Earth] cyclical. I had some fage [Greek yogurt, amazing] with maple syrup added for desert on Saturday night, and last night I ate a grapefruit and three bananas for dessert.
Tuesday night, I tried something different. The night crew at Trader Joe’s has been cranking that soulja boy every night breaking down like 60 boxes per person and putting insane products on the shelf between 9 and 11pm. We close at 9 and in order to gas up for the big closedown, I ate at the ‘huddle’ [product tasting, recap of the day] for only the third or fourth time in my 4 months there. When I got home, I obeyed the rules of warrior eating, and had
4 roasted zucchini spears, 2 nice cuts of freshwater salmon, a small serving of pasta, a large bag of pistachios, a dozen medjool dates, and some [5] Hansen’s Diet Soda. Sad to say I caved and have been back on the crack. Which is whack, I know, but I gave them up before. It can be done. Though I am drinking one now.
What I noticed is that I have to eat before I leave the store. I must set aside 5 rubles to grab some baby spinach and cheese for a blast right as we close. When I get home I can obey the rules, start over, and grind on. It would be easy for me to say ‘salad at the store and then pick up with protein and carbs at home’, but damn me! I know who’s in charge. Raw at the huddle and again with raw at the house. here is what I have planned for 5 minutes from now
1 yellow squash, 1 red pepper, baby spinach, sunflower seeds = Salad.
Scrambled eggs with ketchup and black pepper.
Fancy dates, yummy.

It is 0134 and I am on.

>”I come from an Island,
a motivated Island,
Parris Island, the land that God forgot”
Old USMC running cadence

Within my chest is the soul of a man, just like other men. I am an American, a patriot, a troubled poet and a short wick’d candle. No longer marching under blind allegiance, nonetheless a Marine that would lay down suppressing fire for you. Since the false flag operations of 9/11 and the resultant loss of life, my faith in the government has been shaken yet my belief that this country needs a Marine Corps has not and will not waiver. Our flag is unfurled to every breeze, from dawn, ’till setting sun. We need the ‘Corps because we need men and women to come out on the other side. We need the transformation the USMC is known for to turn young vessels into armor clad war dogs. We must, because when those kids grow up, and the veil of illusion is removed, they become great helpers of men, and mankind.

When I walked into the office of the Marine Corps recruiters on 1 April 1997, they told me I had infantry written all over me. They said that if I thought about any other profession it would be an insult to myself, my family, my country, and the ‘Corps. I signed that dotted line, I shaved my head, and started working out to lose weight and get prepped. I shipped to boot camp on 26 April 1998, and graduated USMC recruit training 10 years ago today. 10 years. My goodness. I am sure there are thousands of Marines out there that remember the day just as clearly as I do.
This day, 24 July, is more important to me than any birthday, or any holiday. This day trumps any near-perfect drunken concert experience [Tool, 2006], and can only be rivaled by days where pure exercise induced ‘nirvana’ and mental quietude have led to further personal revelation. For this day, 10 years gone, was the last time my mother and her sister ever stood aside one another [both alive, but estranged]. For on this day, 10 years ago, the 42 Marines of platoon 3056, 3rd Battalion Company L were dismissed by our Senior Drill Instructor, Staff Sergeant Acevedo-Colon as a team. 3056 started with 81 bodies, and only 42 graduated. a 50% attrition rate. When they called for the dismissal of our platoon, and we all shouted “Aye SIR!”, and about faced to let loose one, huge, collective “OOH RAH!”, we, the 42 remaining, along with the 200 other Marines in Company L, knew that our lives would never be the same. We arrived on the Island on differing dates, coming from places as polarizing as Philly and Bangor, Maine, but we all left together. Some went home, some had no home. Some called the Island home. Some will forever call the ‘Corps home, and for them, I live this life.

My father, Eric Sr., my mother Debbie, and my younger brother by 5 years Joseph Raymond Williams all made the 12 hour drive from Philly to South Carolina to watch 3056 graduate. When the morning was done, we left the Island and made the requisite stop at Burger King. Double whopper cheese, B&W milkshake, and some onion rings were dispatched to my gut module. I felt sick the whole ride home! When we got back to PA, it was close to midnight. I made a trip to the Wawa, and got home fast asleep. Already ‘homesick’ for the Island. ON 25 July, the very next day, I went to the AMC Marple-Ten theater and watched THE X-FILES: FIGHT THE FUTURE. That was 25 July 1998, and I was a fan of only 2 years. AT midnight, when my mighty mighty day becomes the 25Th, I will be sitting in a movie theater watching THE X-FILES: I WANT TO BELIEVE. You read correctly. 10 years after the first X-Files movie, and 10 years after I left my island, I am there again in spirit, intent, and celebrating with the same media. Unreal, right? No, this is as real as it gets. This what happens when the kid who was told he could do it all finally smashed through the first of many walls and got back on the level with you all. This is the life, and the time, of a man no longer ashamed of his weaknesses,no longer veiling his troubles, and once again aware that with my understanding of this world comes the need to BE the change I set out to help you all with. 10 years removed from the most glorious day on memory, it is more clear than ever, that you are the world. I am the world. This is our life and the mind of no mind will always lay in wait for us. The clockwork-like clarity that I wield now will bring me closer to my truth, and bring you closer to yours. Men and women, Jarheads and long-haired warriors, I salute you.

W2 out.

” Chesty Puller was a good Marine and a good Marine was He
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and he called for his privates 3
Beer Beer Beer said the privates… merry ole men are we
The Army is fair but it can’t compare to the Marine Corps Infantry

Chesty Puller was a good Marine and a good Marine was he
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and he called for his Corporals 3
Left Right Left said the Corporals
Beer Beer Beer said the privates
Merry ole men are we
The Army is fair but it can’t compare to the Marine Corps infantry

Chesty Puller was a good Marine and a good Marine was he
He called for his pipe and he called for his bowl and he called for his Sergeants 3
We do all the work said the Sergeants
Left Right Left said the Corporals
Beer Beer Beer said the privates
Merry ole men are we
The Army is fair but it can’t compare to the Marine Corps Infantry”

>Arise and walk. Up and at ’em. Drop your cock and grab your socks, reveille reveille reveille!!! From a slice in the gut to the raw left hand, this vessel carried on just fine during a three day kettlebell jaunt to Salt Lake City, and Marine Corps Base Camp Pendleton, CA. This Jarhead was stoked to have been invited to teach on base for the closed RKC workshop/cert run by Pavel and a tight team of 6. The trip began long ago, in third story apartment in Ardmore, PA. Minutes walk from the train station, the bars, the gym, and my high school. James Sjostrom RKC, my comrade from Utah, worked in a gym on the main line, and we both rallied around Dragon Door and the bells. he moved back to Utah in 2005, and he and his lovely wife and seven week old son Atticus had me as their guest for Friday and Saturday. James in an excellent instructor who was dialed into the Sports Mall in Murray, Utah. We were south of Salt Lake City, and had a crew of 10 to experiment on. There were moms, dads, weight-loss success stories, and Crossfit trainers in attendance. Crossfit 801’s Tyson Oldroyd, USMC, had a great day out training and rewiring his get-ups to RKC spec. James and I, also prior service USMC, enjoyed the six hour session and compiled a handsome manual for our students to take away. Tyson and I were stationed with the same regiment on Pendleton from 98-01. Funny how these things work eh?
Saturday drew to a close, with the students participating in a grad workout, and James and I headed up the mountain. We needed a place for our heads, and climbing a small fraction of an 11,000 foot ‘hill’ in Utah proved to be that place. Paranoid looking over our back, we saw the face within gaining on us. We trucked up past the mirror lake, and followed the stream up for 88 minutes until we met the face of a rocky crevasse that also served as a granite waterfall, where the melting snow from the white caps fell over the sharply angled rock, and created a line of cold, clear, slake worthy water that filled the lake we would descend upon. The way down was slick, sick, and sparked a conversation between my quads and calves before long. James and I spent more than a minute at the top, and the trip down proved a good 45 minutes. The lake was around 55 degrees and we dove in without dipping so much as a toe in the glassy pocket of purifying h20. We chilled ourselves out, and feasted on Salmon, spinach salad, sliced fruit and nuts for dessert, and I mowed down some chocolate truffles and milk while splayed on the couch, AC firing at the cyclic rate, Dewey Cox’s life story on the tele. Holly drove me to the airport Sunday AM, and the triple espresso had me humming my way through another glorious day of internal and external sunshine. Boarded a plane with ease, sat behind an adorable 2 year old girl who stole the sports page out of my hand and said ‘Hi’ whenever she could liberate her pacifier. When the 50 passenger jet descended at Lindbergh Field, RKC Team Leader, US Marine, and friend Mark Toomey greeted me and we rogered up for a rental car and sped off to the hotel. The rental car is a story you can ask Pavel about if you ever have the man’s ear. He will paint a ‘pretty’ picture for you.
Pavel joined us at the hotel, as did Trusty RKC the following morning. Through the amplified arches of Starbucks quad espresso and onto my old duty station of Camp Pendleton, the four of us met Steve Belanger RKC, Paul Daniels RKC TL, and Robert ‘Bam’ Budd and formed the alliance. The Snake of Seven Lengths pulled it’s quietly advertised but expertly prepared belly up to the lighter side of Marine Corps life, and gave that class a cold bath of Hard Style proportions. Expecting a workshop that introduced them to bells, the crew was met with a paramilitary force toting presses and snatches rather than M16s. We were the armor clad war dogs of Base HQ, and on the grand parade field we lay waste to bad habits and rewired the fleshy humans into a group of wide awake kettlebell candidates. I am not at liberty to discuss any further specifics nor am I allowed to post photos taken on Camp Pendleton until the public affairs office clears me, but know ye that the group is ready for more, and the instructors who speaketh of the bell were dialed into a level few will know. We moved with ease, precision, and treated the kids fairly. The 5 members who were certified will be known throughout the RKC community soon. Both of the Ladies who passed were from another planet. You will know them when you see them. And all I can say about Charlie Bergeron RKC is that Johnston and Providence have an incredible chance to train with one of this countries most pure patriots. Defending both Country and State, USMC vet and RI State Trooper Bergeron is here to stay.

Godspeed ya boys and girls!
W2