KEVIN B. Klaus/Arizona Daily Wildcat Members of the UA ROTC take a morning swim at the Student Recreation Center Jan. 30. ROTC members do early-morning physical training on a regular basis.

The Student Recreation Center pool looked heated enough. Curls of steam peeled off of the turquoise surface and lay against the pre-dawn sky before fading and dispersing ghostlike. It was 10 past six on a Friday morning, and I was late for a swim date with the Reserve Officer Training Corps.

"If you were a cadet," Maj. John Crump said, "you would be doing push-ups right now."

"That's why I took a job at the Wildcat instead," I said. The cadets laughed.

Crump conducts morning physical activities designed to keep the cadets (and any other students who want to join them) in top physical condition.

Friday was a special exception to the physical activities regimen, which usually take place on terra firma. However, since there are several aquatic tests involved in becoming a commissioned officer (the goal for most cadets in the ROTC program), Crump decided it was time to haul some of them down to the Rec Center pool to see who could sink and who could swim.

I was a bit apprehensive, initially. Swimming isn't really my thing. I'm more of a sofa jockey. It's more civilized. I decided to tough it out anyway, to try and get a feel for what it would be like to be in the ROTC for a day. No problem, I thought. Just one day.

Mark Sussman

I plunged into the pool feetfirst. Confidence, Mark. Confidence. And, yes, the pool was heated, but no matter how warm the water was, the air directly above the water was still hovering around 50 degrees.

"All right, freestyle!" Crump shouted. "Group one! Go!"

I decided I would swim with group one. You know, really take some initiative. I pushed off from the wall and got a good, gliding start. Halfway across, I found I was even keeping up with the bulk of the group. I touched the opposite wall. A little heavy breathing, but really no problem. This was going to be easier than I thought.

"Group one! Go!"

I pushed off again, and again I was able to stay pretty much toward the middle of the pack. Not bad for someone who smokes, drinks and never exercises. I am awesome.

I reached the other end of the pool still huffing and puffing, but actually feeling pretty good. Then Crump announced we would use the butterfly stroke for the next few laps. In retrospect, this was the point where I got a bit cocky. I should have gone home right then.

About two-thirds of the way through, I realized I would never be in the Army. My head throbbed, my muscles burned and my lungs were doing things I didn't think lungs could do. I had been beaten, but I couldn't just stay there on the far wall. I had to maintain some modicum of dignity. I had to swim back.

"Group one! Go!"

My final lap was a blur. At least the pain-induced hallucinations were cool. Halfway across, I flipped on my back and kind of

drifted vaguely to the side of the pool. I made a desperate, flailing grab for the edge, flopped onto the cement and, between gasps, informed Crump I would see him in class at 1200 hours.

After returning home and falling into what I'm pretty sure was a three-hour coma, I walked back to campus to attend the class "Small Unit Leadership Two," which is designed to teach leadership in small combat units. The cadets in this class are advanced; not just anybody can sign up.

I showed up a couple minutes early and began to organize my notes. A couple of people recognized me from my morning near-drowning.

"Hey, reporter," one cadet yelled from across the room, "the motto is 'Thank God it's Friday.'" I kind of nodded and looked puzzled. Yes, I thought, I agree.

Then Crump entered the room. The entire class snapped to its feet and, in unison, shouted, "Thank God it's Friday!" in that singular, halting, military cadence. I sat in a state of utter confusion for about five seconds before I realized what happened. Way to go, reporter.

As Crump began to lecture, I was struck by how normal the class seemed. It was like being in any other small

academic classroom. There was joking, paper shuffling, blank faces and awkward silence after questions. The questions just happened to be things like, "What do you do when being ambushed?" The answer is "to assault into the fire" meaning turn toward the people who have taken you by surprise and advance on them while firing. It's a far cry from "Nutrition, Food and You."

In this class, the cadets were being prepared for an STX, or situational training exercise. It is essentially a glorified game of paintball, one involving plenty of theory and diagrams. I got a chill when Crump reminded the cadets to wipe paint off their visors. It won't always be paint.

The classroom environment adds up to something, then. As the cadets sit and take notes, laugh and joke, they know they are being edged toward something more real than paintball and swimming laps. They know they are coming up on something, that their careers as students are more than halfway over, and that, though they are not machines, they are being trained for a reason.

What, after all, does one do with a degree in military science?