I had no idea how much 28 kilometers would really mean until we were about halfway through. Part of our march would lead us through the backway of houses and orchards and more apple fields. It was the first time I had the opportunity to size up the camp. We would pass by the same sparse and dense areas of the camp with big tall wavy trees. The landscape quickly changed to the typical army scene that very soon became hidden by pine trees. And after that, there was no time to take it all in.

Despite the fact we were one big group, there was a voice that wanted to give in. It was looking for drama. It was looking for worry. And it was succeeding. As subtly and immediately as I could, I did everything I could to avoid succumbing to the negativity so that it wouldn’t reflect from the outside. Everything about this scenario was beyond my comfort zone – but specifically, the idea of running with a stretcher laden with equipment filled me up with dread. How could I be of service with this kind of attitude? What if I couldn’t do my share?

When I was in the US, the way I dealt with these feelings of insecurity and anxiety was to constantly put myself down. In the US, I was trying to compete against other high performing high school students at the Fame- “I Wanna Live Forever” school so I could be in the top 5% of my class. But here, in the Israeli army, there was nobody to compete against except myself.

When prompted, we all ran to the stretchers. Along with everyone else, I repeated, “Hands on the stretcher” as I held one side of it. Having no prior experience working with stretchers, we followed instructions and began carrying them at arm’s lengths. I didn’t think of being next to someone of equal height so it took some time to maneuver the height while still carrying my own equipment. At times, we would alternate which also gave me time to get used to the stretcher and the pace became easier. I didn’t know if what I was doing was “right,” but I knew enough to follow everyone else.

With the sun beating on my head, I could feel myself getting weaker and more tired. The terrain had gotten sandier and my boots slumped deeper into the sand. I had just enough time to gain my senses as I vowed to keep going. Our commanding officers were constantly motivating us by shouting, “go, go!” We were forty five girls spread out from either sides of jeeps and stretchers. A final army jeep rounded the rear with the door left open. Dust and dirt flew everywhere.

I could feel myself fading slowly away. I suddenly heard myself saying in Hebrew, “ani lo ichola yoter!” I can’t go on any more! Secretly, I hoped only Svetlana had heard me. If my commanding officers knew how close I was to quitting, they may have rejected me a long time ago. I squeaked my way through. Svetlana eventually heard me and to my surprise, she grabbed me by the arm and pulled me so close, we began running at the same pace as the others. It was the very first time ever for the last seven months, she came in through for me. It was very comforting. Suddenly, we were in this together and that thought motivated me to push through to the finish line. But I had discovered she had more physical stamina than me and for some reason, I couldn’t keep up with her. I could feel there was something there that motivated her to push through to also continue to help me.

Svetlana continued to pull me, but by now I could feel my legs becoming jelly. “Ani lo yichola yoter!” I shouted. One of the commanding officers noticed Svetlana dragging me on and leading the rear, and instructed to the girls in my group to put me on the stretcher. What a feeling to be carried by Svetlana – the ultimate! For the first few glorious moments, I felt like a queen carried and all but couldn’t help but wonder if the girls would physically break down. As far as I knew, I was the only one on the stretcher. All this attention on me! All four girls including Svetlana and Eina carrying me. Other girls had taken my guns and then I was transferred to the jeep and watched the “show” from behind like a movie. I couldn’t help but wonder, would I still get the tag and green beret because I didn’t finish? What would others think? Would the army still want me not that I wasn’t participating in the march? These were questions I had kept secret to ask. I had come now to this.

At the jeep, I drank water until my stomach hurt. The army officer on board the jeep waited for me to calm down and when I did, she did not butcher me with questions, verbiages and guilty remarks as I might have anticipated – if anything, she was like my big sister. I got royal “sisterly” army treatment. She handed me a few juice bags to pump up my sugar levels, and very quickly, I came back to “normal.”

But the “normal” I really wanted was to feel the price I had paid for having that courage to say, “I couldn’t make it” and to “sit it out” even if I couldn’t finish the march. I wanted to be at peace that I could still “fit in” after that. And even in this militaristic culture, I wanted to know that the army would still hold the space for me.

To this day, I struggle to remember exactly if other females also “broke down” and found themselves on a stretcher or at a jeep and how they felt. I would have been comforted knowing I was part of the tribe of “vulnerability” and “shame.” In retrospect, I could have convinced the commanding officers to rejoin, but something told me I needed to stay put. I had struggled enough and I wanted them to know that.