For high school band kids, “drum corps” was the ultimate experience for diehard marching band performers. The music was louder, the marching was faster and the shows were out of this world and in your face. Each group required its members to spend three months perfecting a 12-minute show from sun up to sundown and by the time they stepped under stadium lights for nightly performances, their hard work had paid off.
I arrived in Denver on May 16, 2010, two weeks shy of graduation, not realizing the long summer ahead of me. My color guard team of 40 performers started rehearsing immediately in a park outside of the Mile High City. The rest of the corps, which consisted of brass instruments and percussion, eventually joined us and we started putting together our competitive show, piece by piece.
Aside from my brief trip back home to walk across the stage and get my diploma, I spent every day doing the same thing:
Get off the charter bus around 2 or 3 a.m. Pull out my air mattress in a gym full of my corps mates. Sleep. Wake up at 7 a.m. Eat. Practice in the heat until noon. Eat. Practice in the heat until it’s time to EPL (eat, pack and load) for the next show. Shower. Get ready for the next show. Drive to the show. Perform. Eat. Get on the bus and head to the next state.
Repeat, every day.
Once the show was completed, we started traveling across the United States. We started in Denver and traveled up the west coast from California to Washington. Then we traveled through the Midwest to the South and eventually touched the east coast with shows in the Carolinas and Pennsylvania. Every night we put on performances for people in high school stadiums and arenas, and every night we competed for a higher score against other corps.
If I said the experience didn’t wear on me, I would be lying. While I eventually got used to the heat and the constant state of hunger and thirst, I still wanted to quit every day. It was tough to endure criticism from leadership and directors and it was mentally tiresome to do the same piece of choreography for hours on end. (Not to mention it was killer to my knees, ankles and wrists, which still haven’t fully recovered.) It was difficult to receive phone calls from family and friends who were enjoying their summer before college out by the pool while I spent every day covered in sweat and dirt. Most of all, it was hard because each day went slower than the one before and every morning we stretched to “Leaving On A Jet Plane” by Chantal Kreviazuk.
I still think they did that to torture me.
When we finally got to championships on August 12, I was ready to go home but I knew I had gained a lot from my summer. I had an appreciation for beds, showers, dinner tables and metal silverware. I had a dark tan and had gotten trim and fit. But more than anything, I came to Baylor knowing the true meaning of hard work and determination.