Tout le jour on se crève la peau

The title is a line from the merchant shanty Sur la Fosse au Boulot and it says something along the lines of the skins on the hand getting weathered all the day as the crew man their ship with ropes and everything. Guess only Tri Yann can sing hardship into merriment this way.

Tout le jour on se crève la peau,
Et quand vient le soir on se brûle les boyaux:
Le vin, le rhum coulent à flots
Dans tous les caboulots.

I don't know what this means entirely, but the tune and lyrics stick to my tongue like tar and I sing this song (and Aloïda) on the long route marches when the beautiful countryside scenery turns boring.

It's these harder times I enjoy the most because whenever I think of the times I have absolutely nothing to do, I do not want to go back.

And it's not true you go brain-dead during National Service at all, least of all among Commando trainees; I rather feel you have to use more of your brain in your time here, learn things quickly, trying not to get yourself killed and suchlike. You might feel university is a little hard to adjust when you come back, but that's because you've learnt different stuff.

And what determines if you are weak or strong is all in your mind, which you can change.

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All credits to the Lord for letting me have a good time in camp.
I haven't forgotten Him either and it's good I stil go to church whenever I have a chance on Sunday.
Lord bless my platoon mates my company mates and the folks in my bunk and our instructors I know what our fears are and our weaknesses are; so please give us your strength so that we can overcome them together. Amen.

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So far I am doing pretty very well not blogging about military life at all, instead writing whatever I need inside a diary, where few inquisitive eyes would reach. Blogging at this point though is comparable to crossing a field of rattlesnakes at night, but I guess I'm careful.

Today was the day I can do 7 pull-ups again, and my platoon mates' cheers have never felt so warm and satisfying. It felt just like JC. Either my hands are ripened over the weeks or they didn't polish the darned bars the night before.