Women Who Inspire: Interview with Michelle La Duca

It's been a while since I've posted an interview with one of my Naval Academy classmates, and I swear, I'm going to try to do better with this. Too many interesting stories out there not to! So without further ado, I'm pleased to introduce one of my active duty classmates, Captain Michelle La Duca!
 

Michelle La Duca graduated with a Bachelor of Science in Ocean Engineering from the US Naval Academy and was commissioned an Ensign in the Civil Engineer Corps. She  earned a Master of Science in Civil Engineering from the University of California, Berkeley, as well as a Doctorate in Industrial Engineering from the University of Alabama in Huntsville. She became the first female commanding officer ever to head a Naval Facilities Engineering Command (FEC), taking the helm at NAVFAC Far East, the command responsible for the Japan, Korea and Singapore regions.  Still on active duty after twenty-six years of service, she has accumulated several notable achievements, including her selection as Naval Facilities Engineering Command Military Engineer of the Year. She has served across the world, including  a six month Individual Augment assignment with the Office of Security Cooperation, Afghanistan in Kabul. She currently serves as Vice Commander of NAVFAC Pacific. Michelle lives in Hawaii with her husband and youngest son and holds the rank of Captain (O-6).

AW: You have had an extraordinary naval career, but it all started at the Naval Academy. Why did you choose Navy?  

ML: I knew I wanted to be in the military from growing up in a military family. I was interested in science and engineering and I knew the Academy was free. And you know how you tend to do things when people say you can’t do them . . . ? I lived in Perry Circle, which is just outside the gate of the Academy when my dad was stationed at the Naval Academy. I told him I wanted to go to Navy, but he said I couldn’t go. This was in ‘72 or ’74, when women still weren’t allowed. So, that inspired me to pursue going. While I was there, good and bad, I felt I had made the right decision. My dad was a ‘62 grad and a marine. Infantry. He retired after 20 years.

AW: Was he supportive of your decision, once you decided to go?

ML: He was very supportive and excited to have the legacy. My mom was very happy and supportive, too. My parents had five kids and always encouraged us. Going to college was just a fact, and they always said they would just figure out a way to pay for it.  

AW: You mentioned that you were always interested in science and engineering. How did you choose which engineering major to pursue once at Navy, and did you know from the beginning that you wanted to enter the Civil Engineer Corps (CEC)?

ML: I chose ocean engineering because it was the closest thing to civil engineering. As far as service selection, back then, most women had to go staff corps because not enough ships were open to women. I was on the crew team—a coxswain—and they had this board up in the crew spaces that listed all the staff jobs, and the Seabees was one of them. It just sounded really interesting.

AW: Your career has taken you all over the world. Did you have a favorite command?

ML: I’d have to say NAVFAC Far East in Japan.  The location was amazing, the people, the job, what I got to see. That command covers Korea, Singapore, and Diego Garcia, in addition to Japan, so I got to see all these places, while observing how we were contributing to the fleet. I had over 2,000 people working for me, and we did a billion dollars in business. It was really the best job in the navy.

AW: And really impressive that you were in charge of all that! And you were the first female to do it! The first female FEC commanding officer. I still find that mind-boggling—that it took until 2013 for this to happen. But anyway, I suspect it wasn’t the first time you were in the position of being “first” or “only.”

ML: True. When I reported to Mobile Naval Construction Battalion THREE [homeported in Port Hueneme, California], where I served as Charlie Company Commander and the S7 Training Officer, it was the first time women had ever been assigned to construction battalions. In NMCB THREE, it was me and one other woman, a chief petty officer, CEC Gagnon.

AW: Two women and how many total in the battalion?

ML: We had about 600-700 total.

AW: How were you received?

ML: Most of the men were very open, but just didn’t know how to work with women. Things like uniform inspections, hair regulations, sea bag requirements. It was a struggle for them, and it was a struggle for us. But as more women came, it got better. There are always a few knuckleheads, but eventually, they just saw us as members of the group, doing our jobs.

AW: You said you were in a “mobile” battalion. What does that mean?

ML: We would deploy for seven months, then return for seven months.  I deployed to Rota, Spain and then to Guam, so a total of fourteen months of deployment in two years.  In Guam, we did field exercises working on military skills like establishing defensive positions and planning and executing convoys.

AW: After this tour, you attended the University of California Berkeley to study for your Masters. Were you working a navy job at the same time or was this pure student life?

Michelle and her husband, Warren

ML: I was a pure student! It was tough, but it was a good break. I had just come back from deployment, but now I could wear civilian clothes and just go to class. No inspections. No captain’s mast. Just a great break. And also a great social experiment. It was night and day different from the Naval Academy!

AW: I can imagine! So speaking of night and day, I’m going to skip from graduate school at Berkeley to your deployment in Afghanistan. I’m curious about your interactions with the Afghan people, particularly the women. Did you meet any while there?

ML: I did and that was a great thing. We delivered supplies to the women’s maternity ward, like donations of clothes and blankets. Only the female members of the military could interact with them, so we’d visit, kiss the babies, things like that. I felt it demonstrated to them that women around the world can do anything or be in any position. They saw we had confidence, had authority. You could see the hope there. Less than forty percent of the women in Kabul were literate. The radicals were trying to keep women uneducated, and schools that took in girls were getting bombed.  Women couldn’t even drive.

AW: How about you? Did you have to drive when you were there?

ML:  I did and it was a strange sight for them. I didn’t get bothered when I was driving. Of course, I was armed, too.  It was an interesting thing, because I realized that in these cultures, people had to figure out a way to mentally handle it. Like in 1994, in Japan, they weren’t used to women in leadership roles. The way they were able to deal with it was that they pretended I was a man. They called me “Sir,” and then they were able to treat me professionally, and no one worried about it. I wish I could have been treated as a female, but this arrangement worked for them, and as a result, I could do my job.

AW: One of the hardest things about this deployment must have been the separation from your son. How did you manage that?

ML: I left for Afghanistan when my son, Sam, was eighteen months old. It was hard because I knew what I had experienced as a kid. My dad came home from Vietnam when I was about the same age as my son, and I had no idea who he was. It took time to rebuild that relationship, so I was definitely worried about that. Deploying today, though, is a lot better because you have the internet, the phones are better, and they have great family programs in place. Like they had one where they would videotape you reading a book and then send the book and the tape home for your kids. There was always a waiting list for that one, but I did it as often as I could. My son is twelve years old now, and he still remembers this.

AW: Did he recognize you when you returned?

ML: Yes! It was like a Hallmark moment! He was two years old, I got off the plane, I was in my desert cammies,  and he recognized me right away. I was balling!

AW: What advice do you give your female junior officers with regard to having a family in the military? I know many women cite “family” as a reason for leaving the service—that it would be too hard to have a family and continue in the service at the same time.

  

USNA Class of 1989 Reunion, Trey Rhiddlehoover,
Cathy Masar, and Michelle

ML: I remind them that their equivalent job in the civilian world would be that of an executive. They think they’re going to get out of the navy and do a civilian job, like being a lawyer or going into business, or whatever, and they’re going to have all this flexibility. When really, they’re going to be traveling and working long hours, and it’s difficult to get time off—really difficult. You have so many vacation days, sick days. Even in the civil service, you have to earn your leave hours. But with the military, sure they “own” you twenty-four/seven, but they’re actually really flexible because of that. You can do what you need to do. If you need a couple hours off on a Friday night to watch your kid’s play, you can get it. So to the women who say they want a family, and therefore, can’t stay in, I say that it’s always going to be hard. And if you have a working spouse, it’s going to be even tougher. Today, the navy is more flexible and considerate with regard to work/life balance—things like extended maternity leave, pumping rooms, all of that. So I encourage women to stay in.

AW: In the 26 years since we’ve graduated, do you think it’s better now for women? Have we moved forward?

ML: I would say yes, but I would also say the military is still trying to get used to women. A good example is all the uniform changes. They’re going to gender neutral uniforms, except these uniforms all look like male uniforms. I understand the concept that the navy wants everyone to look alike and ensure uniformity. But what happened to uniforms looking professional while remaining feminine?  We had this whole movement to change uniforms to look professional and feminine, and now, we’re moving away from that. If you believe that giving me a new hat is going to help me garner respect or allow me to be treated more equally, it’s not going to happen. It’s just a head scratcher to me.

AW: One advantage that women in the service have today that we did not, is a large spread of women in senior positions to serve as role models and hopefully as mentors. Would you agree?

ML: Yes. When I first got out of Naval Academy, I was still very much in survival mode. We just didn’t have mentors. Now that I’m older, I don’t know if I’m wiser, but I do realize how important mentoring is. It started hitting me when I was a lieutenant in the construction battalion. It’s a responsibility to mentor, even if you’re not comfortable with it.  I’m an introvert, I’m an engineer, but I had to do it. Women are starved for direction work-wise and family-wise, and it’s the responsibility of senior women to do this.

AW: After twenty-six years of active duty service, have you thought about retirement? Do you know what you’ll do after this tour?

ML:  I'll probably retire after this tour. I will have been in for twenty-nine years. Not sure what I'll do next. I do know that it's my husband's turn to do what he wants. He teaches physics at a private school, so whatever he wants to do is fine with me. I just want my husband and son to be happy. They love it in Hawaii, so we'll see!

Women Who Inspire: Interview with Kristin (Reynolds) Goodrich

For those of you new to my blog, I periodically post interviews with my Naval Academy classmates under the heading, Women Who Inspire. My novels feature a strong female protagonist, so I like to offer examples of the real deal.

Kristin Goodrich is like so many of my other interviewees--women who are exceedingly modest, who've done amazing things, and yet, wonder why I'm asking them for an interview, insisting their experiences were nothing out of the ordinary. Typical . . .

Kristin (Reynolds) Goodrich graduated with a Bachelor of Science in History and a minor in Spanish from the U. S. Naval Academy. She reported to Naval Station Panama Canal  to serve in a Public Affairs Officer’s billet, which included supporting Operation Just Cause. Following her tour in Panama, she reported to Fleet Activities Okinawa, Japan, where she served as training officer, and then port services officer/officer in charge of White Beach. Her final tour brought her back to the U. S. Naval Academy to work in the Admissions Department.  Kristin has served as a Blue and Gold Officer  for the last twenty-one years. She currently lives in Colorado with her husband (a retired Air Force lieutenant colonel) and three children.

AW: You have a fascinating story that starts well before you arrived at the Naval Academy. Tell me about growing up and where you lived.

KG: My parents met and married in Japan. My dad was an international insurance broker and my mom had moved there as an adult dependent to her dad who worked for Westinghouse. I like to joke that I was “made in Japan,” however, I was born in Sao Paulo, Brazil. We lived there for two years before returning to Japan for eight years, where we stayed until I was in fourth grade. After Japan, I spent a year and a half in New Jersey, then moved to Bogota, Colombia for four years, where I learned to speak fluent Spanish, and then returned to New Jersey in tenth grade. I also spent a summer in high school as an exchange student in Sweden.

AW: What an interesting upbringing! So why the Naval Academy?

KG: That’s a good question! [laughs] I think I was visiting with my high school guidance counselor, when the Blue and Gold Officer walked in. At the time—this was tenth grade—I was really struggling with fitting in. I was an American, but I’d never really lived in the States, so I didn’t know the culture, the TV shows, the music. Anyhow, I didn’t think I’d get in.

AW: Once there, it looks like you continued with language. Probably no surprise, huh?

KG: Yes, I majored in history and minored in Spanish. But I finished all the requirements for Spanish after our second year, so then I moved to French.

AW: And then you studied in France after graduation, right?

KG: I did. I applied through the Cox Fund, which supports language study abroad. They treated it like temporary duty en route to my first duty station. I was in a university class with about twenty students—all from different countries—and we would practice speaking the language, talking about non-traditional things, like women’s rights, things like that. It was a fantastic experience.

AW: Tell me about Panama. Did you pick to go there specifically or was it a luck-of-the-draw assignment?

KG: I chose Panama specifically. On service selection night, I selected General Unrestricted Line, and they had these index cards with every assignment that was available within that specialty. I wanted to go back to a place where I had grown up, to see it as an adult, and also have an opportunity to use my Spanish. Panama borders Colombia, so it was as close as I could get.

AW: When you arrived, Panama was in a state of unrest, to put it mildly. What was happening there at the time?

Operation Just Cause - Panama

KG: General Manuel Noriega was becoming a dictator. He had lost the general election in the spring, but refused to honor the results. His Panamanian Defense Force [PDF] assaulted the winning presidential candidate. It was just getting tense outside the gates—Noriega thumbing his nose at America, basically.

AW: Is that when Operation Just Cause happened?

KG: Actually, no. I arrived in Panama in August of ’89, and spent the next two months just getting settled, learning my duties as a junior officer, qualifying for watch officer for the naval station, things like that. Then, in early October, I had to leave to go back to the states to attend a ten-week course on becoming a public affairs officer [PAO]. The day after I left Panama to attend the course, there was an unsuccessful coup attempt, which tried to remove Noriega from office. And then things began to escalate between U. S. Forces and the PDF.

AW: Were you in touch with the naval station when you were gone? Who was handling your PAO duties while you were in school? If things were escalating, it seems that would be pretty important.

KG: I managed the office remotely, as I was going through school, so I was able to keep up with things. Which actually leads me to a funny story. I knew through my contact with the command in Panama that our PMLs [Personal Movement Limitations] had changed and we now had to wear cammies, not khakis or whites. Back then, the navy didn’t have cammies as part of the sea bag, so I went to the Navy Annex [since demolished - 2013] to buy some, but they were out of green shirts. So I shared my dilemma with a navy commander at the Navy Annex. He made a call, then told me to follow him. We marched over to the Office of the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps! [The Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps is selected by the Commandant of the Marine Corps to serve as his adviser, and as the preeminent and highest ranking enlisted Marine, he is treated with a protocol equivalency of a three-star general officer].

AW: The Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps?

KG: Yes! So we walk into his office, and the navy commander I’m with says, “Sergeant Major, the ensign is going back to Panama this weekend and needs a green t-shirt.” The Sergeant Major then turns to one of his desk clerks and says, “Marine, take off your shirt!” And he took it off. Like right there! And I thanked him and everything and now I’m holding this damp, warm, green t-shirt.

AW: The guy is just standing there shirtless?

KG: Yeah. It was crazy. But I’m not going to argue with the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps!

AW: Smart move.

KG: And, to make a long story short, I also ended up getting five green t-shirts from our classmate Julia Meade, so it all worked out. [Julia just retired from active duty with the rank of colonel. You can read her interview here.]

AW: Okay, you have your cammies. Then what?

Flying over Colon, Panama

KG: I graduated from PAO School on December 14th. The next day, the Panamanian General Assembly, which was controlled by Noriega, declared that Panama was at war with the United States. Two days later I flew back—arrived on a Sunday—and then on Wednesday, I was standing watch as the duty officer for the naval station. I awoke to the sound of helicopters and learned that Operation Just Cause was underway.

AW: Uh, no pressure . . . 

KG: No kidding. The Senior Watch Officer told me, “Well, Kristin, if you can handle this, you can handle anything,” and he walked away. I remember thinking, “What if I can’t handle this?”

AW: I’d say! What then?

KG: Well, I just did what I was trained to do. I managed the duties of the watch officer, and eventually, a Marine Corps Chief Warrant Officer PAO showed up. His name was Charlie Rowe and he was a godsend. He’d been in Beirut when the Marine barracks were bombed and he was also in Grenada. I was so grateful for his guidance.

AW: How long was the conflict—Operation Just Cause—and what did you do during this time?

KG: It lasted for about six weeks, and I’d have to say, that even though I’d just graduated from PAO training, nearly all of it went out the window. The idea of having embedded journalists had sort of been shelved after World War II. And, as you know, there had been an adversarial relationship between the military and journalists since Vietnam. So when Operation Just Cause happened, we did something completely different than had been done in recent years, which was to take members of the media out to where the action was happening, or as close as we could. I drove a white van with “U. S. Navy” stenciled on both sides—not exactly camouflage!—and Charlie rode shotgun with his pistol out, and then we had a Marine that hung out the side door with a machine gun. We would pull into the Southern Command media center and tell the media guys what we were going to do for the day, and then we would leave once the van was full.

AW: Were you actually close to where people were firing? And what did the journalists think?

KG: Yes, we were pretty close. Once, we were right there when a Marine fired a LAW [Light Anti-tank Weapon] rocket launcher, and it knocked the hubcaps and the rear-view mirror from the van, which was parked two blocks away!

AW: Whoa! So were there many women stationed at Naval Station Panama Canal?

(L-R) Deni (Leadham) Johnson '90, Laura (Bush) Barsland '89,
Kristin, Lynn (Jones) Johnson '89

KG: I had two roommates—both lieutenants—and there were about five enlisted women. I think the naval station maybe had two hundred personnel total.

AW: Did you ever have any trouble because you were a woman, either in Panama, or elsewhere?

KG: I think the single most profound event that was negative for me happened on First Class Cruise [At that time, Naval Academy midshipman were assigned to ships during the summers that preceded their second and fourth years].  I was sent to an AFS—a Fast Combat Stores ship—with a crew of over 400, and this class of ship had just opened up to women. I was supposed to have had a roommate, but ended up being the only woman on board. There were two other midshipmen with me, one from the Academy and one NROTC, and we were called in to meet with the Executive Officer. He told me that we was going to put me in engineering because it was the worst place for a female and that I would set the tone for the women that would follow me. And I thought, “Oh, boy.” And then, when we were walking out of his office, he said to our backs, “And by the way, I’m a ’79 grad.”

AW: For our readers, the class of ’79 at the Academy was the last group to graduate without any women in their class.
  
KG: Yeah, so that did not bode well. And then that day, I sat alone in the wardroom, and no one would talk to me, which really wasn’t a shock, because no one’s going to win by befriending me. The next day, I woke up and someone had bored holes in my stateroom bulkhead at eye level.

AW: So this is not starting well.

KG: No, not really. Then I was told I was going to be the division officer for “B” Division—the guys in charge of the boilers—because their normal division officer had to go to alcohol rehab. So I go down to the engineering officer’s spaces, and there are Playboy pin-ups everywhere, and I go meet with the chief. And that was an . . . uncomfortable exchange. Finally, I left, and I headed to the boiler room. I knew next to nothing about boilers. And to this day, I’m not sure how I knew to ask the right question—maybe divine intervention?—but I asked those twenty-five guys in “B” Division to teach me what they knew. I carried no arrogance. I didn’t do the ring knocker thing. I just asked them to help me learn. And the coolest thing happened. Those twenty-five guys totally took me under their wing. I had zero support from above, but here were these sailors who stuck up for me and taught me everything. I was surprised when I got back to school for the academic year and my company officer announced at morning quarters that the captain of the ship had designated me as a junior engineering officer  of the watch. The real thing, too. Not a token title.

AW: That is an awesome story. And a great lesson for junior officers.

KG: Absolutely. And really, just a good life lesson, in general. Be humble. If you don’t know, ask. And people will respect you for it.

Women Who Inspire: Interview with Julia (Smith) Meade

My Naval Academy classmates rock! Their stories are wonderfully varied and always impressive. You'll see it again here with Julia Meade, a very recently retired U. S. Marine Corps Colonel.

Colonel Julia Meade, U. S. Army War College graduation

Julia (Smith) Meade graduated with a Bachelor of Science in General Engineering and was commissioned a Second Lieutenant in the U. S. Marine Corps. Her Military Occupational Specialty was Motor Transport, and during her career, Julia deployed to Okinawa, Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait, Korea, Turkey, Spain, Croatia, and the Philippines. She also completed two tours at The Basic School in Quantico, VA, once as an instructor, and again as a lieutenant colonel serving as the operations officer. Julia retired with the rank of colonel (O-6) after 23 years of active duty service and lives with her husband and daughter in a very tiny town in Tennessee.

AW: You have such an amazing story, Julia, but with these interviews, I always have to start with why you went to the Naval Academy.

JM: When I was in fourth grade, my family drove from Connecticut to Florida to go to Walt Disney World. We stopped in Annapolis on the way to spend the night—we needed a reprieve because it was July and we had no air conditioning in the car—and decided to tour around a bit while there. We visited the Naval Academy and I knew it immediately. I said, “Dad, I want to go here.” This was 1975 and women weren’t even allowed to attend yet. But at the time, my dad said he thought it would be great. And then, I applied in high school.

AW: What about the Marine Corps? Did you always know you wanted to be a Marine?

JM: No. But when I was a plebe in 27th company, Gunny [Gunnery Sergeant] Frank’s office was right across the hall. My upperclassmen always sent me there to do pro reports and the more I learned about the Marine Corps, the more I realized, this is it.

AW: There weren’t many of our female classmates who service selected Marine Corps, right?

JM: There were just four of us. Susan Seaman, who’s still in. She’s a colonel now. And Maria Long, who you’ve already interviewed. And Duska Pearson.

AW: And I suspect that played out a lot throughout your career—moving around with just a small number of women.

JM: Yes. I was a motor transportation officer and was primarily stationed on the east coast and in Okinawa. I served mostly in operational billets and was almost always the only female everywhere I went. My two "out of the fleet" billets were both at The Basic School in Quantico, as the only female instructor for the majority of my tour when I was a captain, and as the first non-combat arms—and female—operations officer when I was a lieutenant colonel.

AW: How were you received at your commands as the only female?

JM: For the most part, I never really had any issues. Checking in to any unit was the hardest part. There was always that moment of, “Ooh, wait, you’re a girl.” But after they worked with me, it became a non-issue.

AW: You just retired as a colonel after twenty-three years of active duty service. Did you ever think you would stay in that long?

Julia with husband, Jeff

JM: Actually, I made the decision to leave the service in 1999 to help my dad take care of my mother, who was battling lung cancer. So I moved to New Jersey and taught middle school and then high school math, ran a program for at-risk kids, and coached softball. Unfortunately, my mom didn't make it, but on the good side, I ended up getting married while I was there.

AW: So when did you go back in?

JM: After 9/11 happened, I knew I had to do something more than teach ninth grade Algebra One. Having been born in New York City, I have a lot of family who are first responders or who worked at WTC or right nearby, and the attack on the World Trade Center was very personal to me. So I called the reserves and they said they could definitely use me. By 2002, I was back in the Marine Corps and serving at Camp Lejeune.

AW: Were you in the reserves then or were you active duty?

JM: I was in the reserves for only about three drill weekends, but the unit was just horrible. I ran into a guy at Camp Lejeune, whom I knew when I was on active duty, and he said he needed a motor transport officer, so I went back on active duty.

AW: And then you had your daughter, right?

JM: Yes, I was stationed in Camp Lejeune, and she was born in 2004. She was born fifteen weeks premature, weighing only one pound, three ounces.

AW: One pound, three ounces! 

JM: Yeah. I was diagnosed with preeclampsia and had to have an emergency C-section. They medevaced me to Portsmouth Naval Hospital near Norfolk. My daughter was put on a ventilator and every day it was touch and go. We couldn’t hold her because if the ventilator moved, it might damage her throat. She was in the NICU [Neonatal Intensive Care Unit] for four and a half months. There were twenty-four isolettes in the unit and ours was the smallest baby that lived that summer. It scared the crap out of us. Shook us to the core. It was also very humbling to get emails from Marines who were preparing for Fallujah saying they were praying for us.

AW: I would say so! How did the Marine Corps handle this? You were on active duty, you were deploying . . . 

JM: The Marine Corps really took care of my family and transferred us to Norfolk, when Kelsey was in the NICU. My husband retired and took care of her, so that I could deploy and do the things the Marine Corps needed me to do. Kelsey was on oxygen and monitors until she was a year old. She was developmentally delayed in almost every way, and I had to deploy my first time to Afghanistan when she was only 18 months old. When I left, she was not walking or talking, and when I got back, she was doing both. Deploying is a whole lot harder when you have kids!

AW: Without question. And how is Kelsey doing now?

JM: Great. She’s eleven now and just ran her first 5K. Because she had so many problems with her lungs developing early on, the doctors said she would probably have cerebral palsy, her lungs would be weak, she’d tire easily, and certainly never be able to run something like a marathon. I’m happy to report that she’s training for her second 5K now!

AW: So awesome. Now, I want to go back to The Basic School in Quantico. This is where every Marine Corps officer must go to begin their training. You were there on three different occasions. Once as a student, once as an instructor, when you were a captain, and once as the operations officer, when you were a lieutenant colonel. What changes did you see with regard to women at Quantico?

JM:  Very little of the curriculum has actually changed since we were lieutenants. Everyone learns the basics—to shoot, move, and communicate, and to become a leader of Marines. When I was a student, they segregated the women into a separate platoon, which was awful. When I returned as a captain, they had just begun integrating women into every platoon, which was a huge leap forward, once we worked through some initial challenges. Now you have male lieutenants growing up with female lieutenants and it makes all the difference. And you should see the female lieutenants in the Marine Corps now. They’re Superwomen!

AW: Well, the junior officers now have some great role models like you! Speaking of that, did you ever have a female Marine Corps officer that was senior to you in a command?

JM: No, never.

AW: So you’re making your way through the Marine Corps, charting new waters, so to speak, gaining a lot of people’s respect along the way, and then you’re deploying to places like Afghanistan, Saudi Arabia, Kuwait. How was your time in Saudi Arabia, for example? How were you treated there?

JM: We were in Jubail for Desert Storm and I was a motor transport officer. I had Marines spread out over a 200-square-mile area, so I would drive out to them. I got pulled over a couple of times by the local police.

AW: You mean because you were a woman?

JM: Yeah. I was in a uniform. I carried a weapon. But they would pull me over because they couldn’t understand why I was driving. It was ridiculous. And what I found humorous was that the police that pulled me over had no pistols. They didn’t even wear shoes.

AW: I find it interesting, by the way, that you were a motor transport officer. I mean, through your whole career, you were so operational. Like not moving through the Marine Corps in administrative positions.

JM: Yeah, Motor T was not a glamorous MOS [Military Occupational Specialty]. I spent my whole career there and I only saw one master gunnery sergeant mechanic who was a female. Women just don’t gravitate to that specialty. And for example, I was a motor transport officer for an artillery regiment, which was completely unheard of. Division was just off-limits for females, at that time. But we went to the field all the time, and a lot of hard work earned their respect. The regimental chaplain nicknamed me the “Iron Maiden.” I think that was a compliment!

AW: What about all the women-in-combat-units debate. For example, should women be artillery officers? What do you say to that?

JM:  People are wringing their hands over this. As long as you don’t change the physical standards for the job—they should be gender neutral—then women, and the unit, will be fine. I’m glad they didn’t change the standards for the infantry officer course. If no female makes it through, fine. But eventually, there will be one who’ll make it through, and she’ll be well-qualified and will do fine.

AW: So you’re retired now—just recently, in fact. How did you decide it was time?

JM: In 2014, when my daughter turned ten, we realized I hadn’t lived under the same roof with my family for five of her ten years, so we knew it was time to retire. Since she was born, I had deployed to Afghanistan twice. I had had a one-year tour in Okinawa. And when I was stateside, I was a geo-bachelor and had to commute to see her. We had to move to the Norfolk area so she could be near the hospitals she needed. So when I was stationed in Cherry Point, for example, I wasn’t living with my husband or daughter then, either.

AW: That had to be so ridiculously challenging. I know you mentioned earlier about deploying to Afghanistan when Kelsey was only 18 months old. What did you have to do there?

Julia's second tour in Afghanistan. She was the Plans Chief in
the CJ-35 section, and the military liaison to the Presidential
Protective Service (Former President Karzai's Secret Service). 
This photo was taken on a convoy en route to Jalalabad
from Kabul to get ready for a Presidential visit.

JM: I was in Kabul as the deputy logistics officer (Deputy CJ-4) for Combined Forces Command-Afghanistan (CFC-A). Basically, we were doing the planning for turning over the logistics for the mission to NATO. To ISAF [International Security Assistance Force—the NATO-led security mission in Afghanistan]. But that was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. To leave my daughter then.

AW: Must have been a nice homecoming.

JM: It was. I was so afraid she wouldn’t know me when I got home, but my husband was fantastic. We took a family picture before I left and he gave it to her to carry with her every day. He taught her that the woman in the picture was mom, so it was pretty amazing to come back and have her walking and talking and also recognizing me.

AW: How is it now? I’m sure you spend a lot of time together now that you’re retired.

JM: Yes, I get to do all the normal things now that I’ve missed for so long. Girl Scouts, making dinner, packing lunches, homework. It’s great.

AW: Where did you retire and are you working?

JM: We moved to a tiny little town in Tennessee, not a single traffic light. I'm not working right now, as I’m trying to decide what I want to be when I grow up! I’m doing some volunteer work and deciding if I want to go back to school. We bought a small 21-acre farm, so there is plenty to keep me busy in the meantime!

A Nod to Swimming - A Sport that Fosters Equality

If I give a nod to swimming, I must offer a bow to my coach,
Bob Gillett, and his wife, Kathy.
Kathy taught me to swim at the age of four, and Bob took the
reins from there, coaching me for the next thirteen years,
through high school. I don't think I can ever thank Kathy and
Bob enough for their guidance. I learned strength and
perseverance through swimming--and yes, equality--and truly,
this has been the foundation for everything else. 

When I stepped onto the grounds of the U.S. Naval Academy for Induction Day in the summer of 1985, women comprised just ten percent of the incoming class of midshipmen. In a recent radio interview, I was asked if I felt intimidated by the prospect of entering the Academy as a member of such a small minority. My answer was no.

Certainly, I was intimidated about a lot of other things at the Academy. But worried or nervous because I was a woman? No. And it wasn’t that I was extraordinarily brave or some super woman who was going to bust in, kick ass, and take names. No, I wasn’t intimidated, because up to that point, I didn’t know I could be. Or should be. Or was supposed to be.

I believe this was due in large part to my competitive swimming background, where girls and boys were treated equally from the get-go. We swam in the same lanes, performed the same workouts, raced the same events, and completed the same strength training routines. We practiced before school, after school, and on weekends. We suffered, rejoiced, complained, and commiserated, day after day, week after week, year after year. Equal all the way. Taught the same. Tasked the same. Evaluated the same.

Fortunately for me, this was reinforced at home, too. Equality in my family just was. My mother was a physician, my dad a dentist, mutual respect always. Never did they intimate that girls and boys were different in terms of intellect, drive, or resiliency.

And this constancy in example continued when they dropped me off for swim practice—a place absent of “motivational” speeches like the following:*

• Gentlemen, the cheerleading squad is over there!

• Come on, ladies, let’s move it!

• You wear a jock strap, not a skirt. Now, get out there and play like it!

• Man up!

• Cheerleader practice starts at five. If you want to stay on this field, you’d better hit somebody!

*No prizes for guessing what male-dominated sport produced these quotes.

Don’t get me wrong. We swimmers got our asses chewed if we were screwing around or not making sets or whatever, but no one’s gender was degraded in the process.

So when I finally left home to attend college across the country, I did so—naively, I guess—without thought to gender.

It was a surprise—a big surprise, actually—when I arrived at the Naval Academy to find the men’s and women’s swim teams practicing separately. Men on this end of the pool, women on that end. What?

And then, those other things. When women were separated in our physical education classes to learn self-defense, while the men learned boxing. Or when we were made to climb over a shorter wall on the obstacle course named—cringe!—the “Women’s Wall.” [Oh, that’s hard for me to write]. Or when my female classmates who entered the U. S. Marine Corps following our graduation four years later, arrived at The Basic School in Quantico, VA, and were assigned to an all-women’s platoon.

Separate. That other group. Over there. Those lesser ones.

I do believe the military services are attempting to move in the right direction, adopting physical fitness standards based on job requirement, not gender, and integrating men and women into the same units. So we’re making progress.

But we would make so much more—not just in the military, but everywhere—if we established the gender equality mindset far earlier. When our children are still kids. It could be track and field. It could be co-ed soccer. It could be equestrian. Taekwondo. Cross country. Triathlon. So many thoughtful options exist for parents—sports that foster equality between girls and boys early on, avenues that allow our children to grow up knowing no differently.

Was I intimidated going to the Naval Academy because I was a woman? No. And it’s my hope that your daughters will be able to answer in the same manner, regardless of the challenges set before them.

The Great Hair Experiment

Midshipman 4/C Anne Hotis
(with short hair)
testing her lungs for something that
I'm sure was very important at the
time, but I can no longer recall.
  Parents' weekend -
summer of 1985.

Yesterday, the navy announced that it's putting a halt to short haircuts for new female recruits, aligning the navy with the other armed services, which do not require new female accessions to cut their hair.

I was surprised to hear this—surprised it hadn't happened sooner.

In the case of women at the Naval Academy, we had this hair discussion over twenty-five years ago.

When my female Naval Academy classmates and I donned uniforms for the first time in the summer of 1985, our hair, when worn loose, had to fall above the collar. If it was longer than that, you had to cut it.

That's me in the picture to the left, standing on my chair in King Hall—our dining hall at the Naval Academy—when I was a plebe, or first-year student, with my short hair.

I know. I 'm standing on a chair. My classmates in the background are doing it, too. For those of you who did not attend the Naval Academy, suffice it to say, that's the subject for another blog article.

In the mid-eighties, women in the fleet had been wearing their hair long hair for years (once out of boot camp, that is), putting it up in an appropriate manner when in uniform. But not midshipmen. We had to jump through hoops to adopt the same standards at the Naval Academy.

Today, when female midshipman are in uniform, they can simply pin their hair up if it falls below the collar mark. Easy. But what's easy now, wasn’t so easy then.

To that end, several of my classmates and I participated in a "ground breaking" experiment. In our first class, or senior, year, a select few were allowed to grow our hair long to test the theory that female midshipmen were in fact capable of pinning our hair up to meet military standards.

Midshipman 1/C Anne Hotis
(with long hair)
accepting her diploma from our Superintendent,
Rear Admiral Virgil L. Hill.

Fortunately for the female mids today, we were successful, and now they can wear their hair long when not in uniform.

I guess I'm just surprised it took so long for the navy to follow suit with regard to females entering boot camp.

But hair, Anne? Really? You're devoting blog space to this?

Yeah, I know. It's a small thing. But it was nice to be part of a change like that. Great, also, to finally see it come full circle.

Women Who Inspire: Musings from our 25th Naval Academy Reunion

U. S. Naval Academy - Stribling Walk

Women of the Naval Academy Class of 1989 are a special lot. Only the tenth graduating class of women, they made up a mere nine percent of the class at the time, compared with twenty-two percent today, and were commissioned just a few years before combat exclusion laws were changed to allow service aboard combatant ships and the piloting of tactical aircraft.

I’ve conducted interviews with several of them as part of my Women Who Inspire series and I hope to continue to do so as long as they’ll oblige me. But it was a special treat this reunion weekend to meet with so many personally, catch up on where the time and tide had taken them, and reminisce about our four years together by the bay.

My author self—the introvert, the observer, the listener—couldn’t help but notice some commonalities among the members of this extraordinary group. Their talents have taken them in a variety of directions—piano teachers, commercial airline pilots, pharmaceutical sales reps, stay-at-home moms, attorneys, naval base commanding officers, engineers, home school teachers, one carrier air group commander, physicians, school volunteers, business owners, real estate agents, elementary school teachers, corporate executives, and the list goes on—but almost to a person, when I mentioned I’d probably be hitting them up for an interview in the future, they demurred. “Well, I guess, if you want,” they would say. “But really, you should interview so and so.”

Even those I’ve already had the pleasure to interview, when I first contacted them, the response was similar. “Are you sure you want me? You should interview so and so.”

And so, I would ask so and so. And she would say, “Me? Oh, no. You should interview so and so.”

And so it went.

Modest. Humble. And not falsely so. As a matter of course, these women have put their noses to the grindstone and done their jobs—competently—with little fanfare, and have reaped the rewards, the promotions, and the well-deserved accolades that have come as a result.

For most, they summarize how they've gotten to their current stations in life with a simple sentiment:  “I just did my job.”

I suspect this mindset, this ethic, has a lot to do with the foundation forged through grit  and frustration at the Naval Academy, especially at a time when women weren’t trying to stand out, but rather, fit in. Personally, I’d never worked so hard in my life only to fall, get up, and fall again. But somehow, ninety-four women shook off the set-backs, squared their shoulders and moved forward.

Once these women graduated, for many, it was more challenges and trials Academy style, but multiplied times a thousand—deployments, separations, harassment, deaths, divorces, sacrifices too numerous to count—life smacking them upside the head until they had no more tears left to cry. But again, they stood up.

Which leads me to another commonality. Inner fortitude. This steel lining is invisible, and yet, immediately recognizable. I hadn't seen some of these women since 1985 even—our plebe summer—twenty-nine freakin’ years ago. But even if I didn’t recognize someone at first, I knew almost as soon as the first words were out of her mouth that she was a classmate.

So it’s easy to see why many of these women have enjoyed close, enduring friendships over the years. For me, if I’m honest, I feel that I flutter about on the periphery somewhere—that introvert thing again—always on the outside looking in. But even so, I feel more comfortable, more at home, and have more in common with these women than any I’ve met since. Mutual respect? Probably. A common bond formed at school and one nurtured through shared military service? Definitely. Whatever it is, I value it greatly, far more than I ever thought I would.

I look forward to bringing more of my classmates’ fascinating stories to you and highlighting their achievements—crow a bit for them—because they deserve it. And someone has to do it, because in this modern news culture, one ravenous for scandal, these women who just do their jobs, don’t make the headlines, and therefore, don’t get their due. Which is ironic, of course, because this is exactly the trait that makes them so special. They don’t draw attention to themselves, don’t brag, don’t peacock. They just get the job done, over and over, across the country and across the globe, whether minding their kids at home or commanding a naval air station or both, quietly and competently, and always, it seems, when no one is looking.

Phrog on Fire: A SEAL's Tale

The helicopter featured in my debut novel, HOVER, is the H-46 Sea Knight, known colloquially as the "Phrog." It was my primary aircraft during my time in the navy and a real treat to fly. John Czajkowski, my Naval Academy classmate and former Navy SEAL, writes this guest post about one of his more memorable flights in the H-46. Thank you, John!

I have a funny story about helo pilots for you starring Denise Shorey [our Naval Academy classmate] and yours truly. She and a senior female pilot were to fly my squad out about 20 NM past Point Loma and drop us and a CRRC [Combat Rubber Raiding Craft] boat out using the "limp duck" drop just after sunset on a beautiful, clear fall evening in the early 90s. Well, this was the first time we had ever flown with female pilots, so some of the guys were a little anxious about it.

So, as luck would have it, as we got about half of the way to the DZ [Drop Zone], sparks and smoke started billowing out of the APU [Auxiliary Power Unit] area. As the bird did a very hard 180 back to NAS [Naval Air Station], I said to Denise over the net that it did appear they would not be dropping us off, and she replied that we might be very useful. She wasn't kidding as the thing was totally on fire now. They dropped down to a very low altitude in case we had to ditch.

I had been in one autorotation/crash with army MH-60s a year prior and would also survive a midair rotor hit while flying with TF160 several years later. Helos . . .WTF is up with them?

Anyway, my squad and I were pleased to look into the cockpit and see the girls flipping a hundred switches/minute and scrambling to try to keep us aloft. Suffice to say, it was exciting to watch the crash trucks following us as we came screaming over NAS NI [Naval Air Station North Island - San Diego] runway. So, there was a box of good tequila delivered to the squadron the next morning.

A Deployment for Two

Sweet homecoming

I had written three novels of epic fantasy and one medical thriller when I made the decision—finally—to try to get published. For my fifth novel, I knew I wanted to write a love story with a strong female protagonist, but when I began my research into agents and editors, they all called for the same thing—something unique!

At the time, using the Navy as a setting wasn’t an option, a thought, or even a microscopic notion. I had simply never considered it.

I was at such a loss for an idea, I began writing my fourth novel of epic fantasy to fill the time. About six chapters into this new manuscript, now July 2011, the Navy announced it would begin assigning women to submarines. I’ll never forget when my husband looked at me and said, “A woman in the Navy. That’s your story.”

Common advice given to authors is to write what you know. The Navy? I knew this. A love story set in a battle group, particularly with a woman as the main protagonist? Unique. And as a bonus, I knew what it would be like for my protagonist to deploy with someone she loved.

My husband and I met at the Naval Academy and had been married for four years when we deployed together with the USS Nimitz battle group—he on the USS Lake Champlain, a guided missile cruiser, and me on the USS Kansas City, a replenishment oiler. Our first Western Pacific deployment was short by today’s standards, just six months. At that time, in 1993, women were still prohibited from serving on combatant ships, however, a growing number of auxiliary ships were opening their decks to women, including the Kansas City.

My roommate and I were the first women to deploy aboard the Kansas City, members of the air detachment, flying the H-46 helicopter. It was just the two of us, serving with a crew of about 500. Our battle group, now called a carrier strike group, counted four women total—two of our squadron mates were deployed aboard the ammunition ship, USS Shasta—in a task force numbering about 7,000.

Of those 7,000, one was my husband, Bill, who flew the H-60 helicopter. That we were assigned to the same battle group was pure happenstance, a matter of timing more than anything. Because we entered flight school at the same time and eventually received our wings on the same day, the timing of our arrival to our fleet squadrons matched, and our deployment schedules somehow aligned from there—for the first long deployment, anyway.

Bill on the flight deck of the Lake Champlain

Because HOVER takes place in present day, the main characters, Sara and Eric, are able to use email and cell phones to communicate. However, when Bill and I deployed, there was no such thing, not onboard ships, anyway. So we found other ways to communicate. Fortunately for us, the other ships in the battle group relied on the Kansas City for their food, fuel, supply parts and ammunition. We conducted something called CONREP, or connected replenishment, where ships would come alongside ours, lines would be cast between the two to connect them, and hoses run across those lines so we could deliver fuel. During these evolutions, if we weren’t flying, we could wave to each other, while standing on our respective flight decks.

When appropriate, we also talked to each other via the hand-held radios we carried with us for flying, the PRC-90. And when I landed on the Lake Champlain, as we did on daily logistics flights, we took advantage of our in-house “mail delivery system,” otherwise known as passing notes.

Sara and Eric’s story is not the tale of Anne and Bill. Our love story was quite different and maybe there’s another blog article in that. But I drew from our joint experiences in the fabrication of Sara and Eric’s journey, and I’ll briefly touch on one of those angles here—a couple serving in a risky work environment, both in harm’s way. A modern issue, to be sure, now that so many married couples and partners deploy together. 

For example, during work-ups for our deployment, one of our H-46 aircraft had to ditch in the Pacific. Bill was in the cockpit of his H-60, turning on the deck of the Lake Champlain, when the call came that a Sideflare—the call sign for our H-46 helicopter—had gone in the water. Only two Sideflare helicopters were flying that day, so there was a fifty percent chance it was my aircraft. He was about to lift from the deck to provide search and rescue support, when his officer in charge pulled him from the cockpit and replaced him with another pilot. 

Bill remembers that perhaps he may have had a few choice words for his boss for pulling him from a mission. His officer in charge explained that no one knew yet if I was in the helicopter that had gone down. But in Bill’s mind, whether I had been in the bird or not, he felt he should have been able to fly. He clearly remembers the rush of adrenaline and thinking, “A helicopter’s in the water! Let’s go!”

He learned later that I was flying in the second helicopter when the first ditched. In fact, we performed the rescue for the pilot, while the ship sent a small boat to retrieve the remainder of the crew.

The tables were turned during a transit through the Strait of Hormuz, when another helicopter went down, this time at night. Initial reports indicated it was an H-60. As I learned later, Bill did the search for that aircraft, an H-2, which in this case, ended tragically with the deaths of all four crew members.

Comparing notes after each incident, we both admitted reacting in a detached way to those initial reports of helicopters in the water, compartmentalizing and responding to the task at hand of searching for a downed aircraft. The emotional side—What if he/she is in the aircraft?—never kicked in for us.

I want to point out that Sara and Eric react and respond differently than Bill and I would have in several scenes in HOVER, due to the requirements of the story, its arc and plot. But like I said earlier, Sara and Eric are fictional characters in a fictional setting doing things that will hopefully keep the reader turning the pages.

But back to reality, I’ve heard it many times in discussions about integrating women into combat units that men might act differently with women present and vice versa. But what I personally experienced and what we witnessed time and again was consummate professionalism, men and women doing their jobs side by side, just as they were trained. 

Granted, the emotional stakes were higher since we were married. But Bill says that if he ever found himself worrying about me, he would tell himself, “Anne knows what she’s doing. You just need to make sure you know what you’re doing.” I felt the same way, channeling my focus into doing my job well, knowing Bill was doing his, and understanding that worrying wouldn't accomplish much of anything. 

Yes, it was a unique shared experience for a married couple, but the Navy trained us well, and I think we handled it like any professional military service member would, just as our soldiers, sailors and airmen do today.

Equal military physical fitness standards . . . please

Discussing the complexities of the Navy’s Physical Readiness Program surely warrants something on the order of a doctoral dissertation. But since this is a relatively short article, I will focus on just one piece of this ignominious puzzle, one that allows me to give my two cents based on personal experience. Namely, that current physical fitness standards aren’t doing women any favors with respect to finding true equality in the ranks of the military.

Many moons ago, when I attended the U.S. Naval Academy, the campus showcased two obstacle course climbing walls—the men’s wall and the women’s wall. One higher. One lower. Two passing 1.5-mile run times. One faster. One slower. Two numbered requirements for push-ups. One more. One less.

Men:  Higher, faster, more.

Women:  Lower, slower, less.

It just glares at you, doesn’t it? And in my opinion, it’s the kiss of death in terms of unit cohesion. We say we want to give women a fair shot at integrating equally into our military, but how is this possible with differing standards within our ranks?

While there is no easy solution, ultimately, the Navy would do well to move to fitness standards based on job requirement.

Let’s use the easy example of a Navy fireman.

 

If the job requirement states that a fireman must be able to drag a 170-pound person for 50 feet, there’s a valid reason for it. If I’m that 170-pound person, lying collapsed in a burning building and in need of rescue,  I want to know that whoever arrives to save me has passed this requirement. I don’t care if they’re male, female, gay, straight, purple or striped. Can you get me out of here? That’s all I want to know.

In Navy flight school, the instructors employed all manner of contraptions and apparatuses to simulate helicopter crashes, jet crashes, and being dragged by a parachute. No surprise that the tests were the same for all of us. Survival in the event an aircraft mishap is most certainly a gender-neutral endeavor.

The camaraderie and mutual respect garnered from shared experiences like the ones I had in flight school, men and women having met the same standards, drew us closer as a group, resulting in a more cohesive team.

Compare this with the “baseline” physical readiness standards that every member of the Navy, regardless of warfare specialty, must meet.

Navy personnel must run 1.5 miles or swim 500 yards, followed by curl-ups and push-ups. They are then rated in one of six performance categories, delineated by age and gender, based on their physical readiness test results:

 

Maximum

Outstanding

Excellent

Good

Satisfactory

Failure

 

Let’s say a 35-year-old woman runs 1.5 miles in 15:00. This would earn her a “good” score, whereas, her 35-year-old male counterpart who also ran 15:00 would only receive a “satisfactory” score. Come the end of the year when annual job evaluations are given, assuming all else is equal, this could be the tie breaker.

In fact, a 35-year-old woman can run a full two minutes slower than her male counterpart for a “satisfactory” or passing score. Two minutes? Are you kidding?

Ok, I said this would be a short article, but I just have to say something on this point.

My husband and I have owned a triathlon coaching business for eleven years, coaching athletes ranging in age from  18 to 74. This means we work day in and day out with individuals, men and women, who fall within the age range to serve in the military. Most of them are not elite-level athletes, just as most military personnel are not elite-level athletes. Most of them are accountants, attorneys, stay-at-home moms and dads . . . you get the idea. Just normal folks who like to stay in shape.

Based on our experience, it would be ludicrous to suggest that our female athletes would, on average, perform two minutes slower on a 1.5-mile run test than our men in the same age range. And yet, if we use the Navy’s physical fitness standards as an example, this is exactly what you see.

Regarding the performance of the 35-year-old woman, the 35-year-old man has every right to say, “She did not meet the qualifications I had to meet.” And there is nothing more damaging to the esprit de corps necessary in any well-functioning team than the splinters of perceived unfairness formed in cases like this.

I remember completing the physical readiness test while overseas on deployment and receiving a “maximum” score for push-ups. When my fellow pilots found out, they were smug. “So, how many push-ups did you have to do on the women’s scale?” You know, that inferior one. The one that proves that you’re weaker and we’re stronger. Yeah, that one. Fortunately, I was able to respond that I had scored the maximum on the men’s scale. But what was interesting was their reactions. It was immediate.  A 180-degree about face. I had to squint from the onrush of air from so many rapidly deflating balloons. Well, ok then. Perhaps you’re worthy, after all.

More on push-ups below, but first, back to running. If the Navy insists on baseline run time standards for its personnel, they should use a physical-standards-based-on-job-requirement model and calibrate the baseline to the job that requires the lowest physical standards. Then, depending on warfare specialty, the physical requirements would go up from there. Regardless, the standards should be the same for all, men and women, in their particular warfare specialty.

And just as a side note, does running 1.5 miles once per year and doing so under a certain time indicate fitness? I knew plenty of service members who never worked out. Ever. Yet, once a year, they gutted out a 1.5-mile run and were deemed “fit.”

Which leads me to the 500-yard swim standards . . .

You know, I’m not even going to cover this. The main problem with swim standards isn’t a gender issue, not primarily, anyway, so I won’t touch it. No, this article is supposed to be short. I won’t even start. Can’t start . . .

But . . . Just . . . Can’t . . . Help . . .  It.

Aghh, I have to say something!

The swim tests are so utterly unrelated to fitness, it’s ludicrous. Yes, ludicrous. I’ve now used the word ludicrous four times in one article, but the absurdity of the swim standards demands it.

As a swim coach, the subject is near and dear to my heart—perhaps too near. But when a 30-year-old woman is given 15 minutes to swim 500 yards—this is 3 minutes per 100 yards—you have to scratch your head. I mean . . . no. Just no, no, no. This is not in any way, shape, or form, a proper measure of fitness.

At these swim speeds—in fact, for most of the swim speeds listed in all categories for all ages—you are testing technique, not fitness.

Times in swimming for all but those engaged in the competitive swimming arena are far more technique-dependent than fitness-dependent. Someone with decent swim technique who hasn’t exercised in years, can jump in the pool and swim 500 yards in the time standards dictated by the Navy.

And lest you think upper body strength has anything to do with possible swim time differentials between men and women, you’d have to move to the collegiate levels of competitive swimming and higher to find it. For the average sailor, there is no difference between men and women in the water. The sport is so technique dependent, gender becomes a moot point. Therefore, if the Navy insists on swim time standards as a measure of fitness, without question, these have to be the same. 

And, oh by the way, swim times required for a passing score should equate to the fitness level required for a passing time in the run within the same age group. For the 30-year-old woman, to pass the run test requires completing 1.5 miles in 16:45, or 11:10 per mile. And while this might not seem exceptionally fast, if you were to equate it to the “fitness” required to swim 500 yards in 15 minutes, you could walk the 1.5-miles. No, make that stroll. No, actually, you could hop backwards, spinning the whole way, and it would still work . . . .

But I digress.

The powers that be have it right with curl-ups.

The number of curl-ups required for men and women are the same across all age categories. Bravo. As it should be.

But push-ups . . . ?

I have two issues with push-ups. First, is the test itself fair? Can men and women be expected to compete equally here based on the inherent physical differences between them? And second, is the number of push-ups one can perform indicative of one’s fitness.

On the first point, whether you like it or not, men and women are built differently. Generally speaking, men are more well-muscled in the upper body than a woman. That’s just how it is. Our bodies are different.  So, generally speaking, men are going to be able to perform more push-ups than a woman. The current standards reflect this.

But no matter how you slice it, no matter how fair you think the adjusted standards are, in the elemental psyche of a  human, we know the score (pun intended). The 35-year-old male knows he had to perform three times the number of push-ups—three times—to receive a passing score than his female counterpart.

Can you imagine how the 35-year-old male would feel, having just performed 26 push-ups, an effort resulting in the category “failure,” while the 35-year-old woman next to him performed just 9 and received a passing score? You can scream all you want and say that the standards have been adjusted to allow for the differences in our physical make-ups—that it’s a fair test—but I highly doubt that man is going to think so. And will this add to unit cohesion? Highly doubtful.

On the second point, does the number of push-ups one can perform indicate physical fitness? What if a 45-year-old man cranks out 68 push-ups, but can only manage 1.5 miles in 16:08, which is 10:45 per mile? Is this person more fit than the 45-year-old woman who can only do 4 push-ups, but who can run 1.5 miles in 10:58, which is 7:19 per mile?

In this example, the man would pass the Navy’s test, but the woman would not. Hmm.

If the Navy is going to require physical fitness standards, the tests to determine if personnel meet those standards need to be fair. Once fair tests have been established, the standards need to be the same across the board. Moving to physical tests based on job requirement would be a step in the right direction.

Women need to be viewed equally, as having passed the same standards, not as having taken an easier path or that they are somehow less qualified or inferior. The successful integration of women in our ranks depends on it.