“You don’t know what you’ve got till it’s gone,” the old song goes, and that sentiment rings true for many when they reflect on their time in service, especially concerning Army Physical Training (PT). For any soldier, the daily grind of PT, often conducted in the standard-issue Army PT uniform, becomes a constant. Whether you loved it or loathed it, fitness was, and remains, a non-negotiable aspect of military life.
For many veterans, including myself, PT wasn’t necessarily the highlight of the day. It was simply a part of the job, much like the ever-changing weather conditions we faced across various duty stations. And just like the weather, PT happened, rain or shine, hot or cold, often in the trusty Old Army Pt Uniform.
My personal journey with Army PT started in the harsh winter at Fort Sill during basic training. Oklahoma experienced record blizzards, shutting down the post multiple times. Yet, amidst the snowdrifts, our PT regime continued. I vividly remember Drill Sergeant Moran, a hardened infantryman with a dry wit, ordering us down for push-ups in a foot of snow. As we lowered ourselves onto the icy ground, his booming laughter echoed, “I want those chests on the ground!” That moment cemented a crucial lesson: in the Army, every day is PT day, regardless of the elements, and the old army PT uniform was going to be put to the test.
My first assignment after basic was in the extreme cold of Fort Wainwright, Alaska. If you think you’ve experienced cold, try a formation run at fifty degrees below zero. Back then, the standard PT uniform was fatigues. In milder weather, we might shed the shirt and unblouse our trousers. But in the Alaskan winter, the OG wool shirt became essential. I recall the surreal sight of steam from our bodies freezing on our shirts and wool balaclavas, creating a thick layer of frost. After miles of running on icy roads in the arctic darkness, we resembled a troop of frosty snowmen, all clad in variations of the old army PT uniform.
The Alaskan ice was soon replaced by the Texan heat of Fort Hood. My first summer there broke records, with over sixty days exceeding 100 degrees. And yes, PT continued. We tried to outsmart the heat by starting formations earlier and earlier. One morning, running in the pre-dawn darkness, I glanced at the bank’s time and temperature sign: 4:30 a.m. and already 86 degrees. The heat was relentless, but so was PT, and so was the old army PT uniform, adapting as best it could to the sweltering conditions.
That Texas summer also brought an unexpected encounter with nature. The cricket population exploded, blanketing parking lots in a shifting black carpet. Morning formations sounded like running through fields of cornflakes as our boots crunched through the insects. Even sit-ups became a buggy affair. Through Germany, Japan, Puerto Rico, and Kuwait, the story remained the same. Hot, cold, rain, snow – dawn meant PT, extending to the left, and relying on the ever-present, if sometimes modified, old army PT uniform.
Like everyone else, I grumbled about it. But it was mostly routine complaining. Army PT is a ritual, an unbreakable part of military life. Then, retirement arrived, and the early morning formations ceased. While I can’t say I yearn to leap out of bed before sunrise for sit-ups on damp grass, there’s a certain void in my day now.
Looking back, I feel a strange sense of nostalgia for those early mornings. Being a soldier was a profound experience, and early morning PT, in all its weather-beaten glory and often in the now-classic old army PT uniform, was an integral part of that. I genuinely miss it. It turns out, you often don’t appreciate the routine, the camaraderie, and even the sweat-soaked old army PT uniform, until those days are behind you.
